Day 5 - Bakersfield to Mariposa

A very big breakfast followed by very large oil fields, very tall trees, very scary brush with the law and recalling very old French lessons

Setting off from Bakersfield we decided to try out the American diner experience for breakfast. Adam went sweet with THREE pancakes and maple syrup with a vanilla shake and I went savoury with omelette stuffed with spinach, feta cheese and tomato - our veggie credentials are blurring you might observe.

Although I had not set any goals for the road trip, an intent was to converse with as many locals as possible and see where those conversations led. An obvious option for this fairly imprecise research project would be the many waiting staff that we would encounter along the way and, much to Adam's irritation, I engaged this one in a friendly way hoping for a return on my social investment. Unfortunately, it seems the breakfast shift affords no time for frivolity; American customers knowing precisely what they want on arrival and anyone dithering over the vast array of options is, it appears, viewed as an impediment to serving tables that will provide tips more quickly. I licked my research wounds and vowed to try again another time. That said, we did overhear a great response from one customer to the inevitable diner greeting of "Hi. How are you today?" The reply came, "Fantastic to anyone who would care to listen". Who says Americans don't get irony?

Leaving the diner very full, we were curious to take a look at the nodding donkeys that covered the landscape in Bakersfield's oil fields. Heading over to that area of the city (another Adam fun USA fact - Bakersfield is the 48th largest city in America), it became clear quite quickly that this was a fenced-off part of corporate America and close up views were not going to come easily. Parking up by a high wire mesh fence, these machines are a curiosity. The connecting rod to the pump looks almost too thin for the task required, the donkeys are smaller than you would most likely imagine for the job, and each appears to be running at a different speed from its neighbour. In combination across the immense hillsides in front of us, it looked like some throwback to an earlier industrial age with hundreds of gloomy, drably clothed workers unceasingly slaving over some factory production line. 

We left Bakersfield to continue north to Lake Kaweah. Set amid some relatively low mountains, the Lake is a man-made reservoir caused by the damming of a river. Man's involvement with it now, as a centre for recreation and leisure, offers an initially curious site; large numbers of pontoons have been secured away from the shores and, moored up to each of them, dozens of rectangular shaped boats provide floating holiday home retreats.; something akin to villages of beach huts. The day after a weekend, we could only imagine how busy this place would have been over the previous two days whilst we watched a procession of small launches carrying people to their waterborne idyll accompanied with all the requirements needed to be comfortable in the modern world.

Half an hour or so on from Lake Kaweah is Sequoia national park, which was our main objective for the day. Once again, our America the Beautiful pass remained in the glove box. It is home to the General Sherman tree which, by volume, is the 'largest' known living single-stem tree on Earth. It is estimated to be around 2,200 to 2,700 years old and stands at just under 85 metres with a diameter of 11 metres (in America that's about 280 feet by 36 feet).

Entering the park, we were immediately met by the waft of pine created by the immense number of conifers and also that we were stepping out into a cooler environment more akin to a warm English summer day than the baked alive sensation that we had mostly had thus far. A footpath led us to a grove including the famous tree and my first question was, "Which one is it?" as there certainly was competition from the surrounding equally grand specimens. Judging a tree by volume is a difficult measurement to grasp and I had to accept the sign rather than see clearly that there was on obvious winner. 

We returned to our car and, as so often on this trip, very shortly found a viewing point that commanded us to stop and admire for longer the beauty of the scene in front of us. We reciprocated with a pair of American ladies to enable both of us to capture a photo with the background on offer and then got talking. It turned out they had been friends since the age of twelve, one had lived in England for many years and had taken out dual citizenship and the other was a professor of English in Vermont. Somehow, we stumbled into a conversation that embraced the 'excitement' of the Trump presidency and the contradictions caused by the near 250-year-old American constitution being interpreted for political gain in the current partisan climate. A holiday conversation I would recommend all to have with the locals. 

"You don't want to see our Pass?"

We said our goodbyes, returned to the car and began to descend the mountain to the park exit. Passing the seemingly unmanned Park Rangers' booth, again we were not challenged to present our cherished America the Beautiful card. A few seconds later we hear a police siren and looking in the rear-view mirror I notice flashing lights. My immediate thought was that, okay maybe in somewhat dramatic style, this is our first opportunity to present our America the Beautiful pass as we should have stopped at the booth. I pull over, wind down my window and smugly await my chance to prove our paid for and legitimate presence in the park.

The Park Ranger however has an alternative take on my thinking as he tells me I have been caught doing 40mph in a 25mph area! Having seen so many traffic cop moments in the movies, it was extremely interesting, and a little unnerving, to be involved in one first hand. After confirming my 'alleged' offence, the first question I was asked was, "Do you have any weapons in the car sir?" That 'right to bear arms' bit in the Constitution we had just been talking about, was never so clearly illustrated. I confirmed there were none and I was then asked to wind down the other three windows.

By now the first officer was joined by a second who positioned himself on the other side of the car and both began to look into the back of our vehicle. The first officer then came back to my window and asked me for my ID. I told him that I had a UK driving licence which was in my bag in the back of the car and I would get it for him. The mood changed instantly. I was advised to not reach into the back of the car as the officer explained that it was in the interests of my safety and theirs that I should not make any sudden movements. I offered that he could reach into the back and remove the bag but he declared that this was also not a move that this 'traffic violation' procedure would allow.

A notebook and pen appeared, and I was asked for my full name and date of birth. In the pressure of the moment, the second question was not so easy to answer as you might think; Americans, like Europeans, reverse the date and month elements. Told to stay in the car, they went off to verify my details in their vehicle and returned satisfied that my identity was genuine. The officer explained that this was to be a verbal caution only but that I was now logged on the National Parks' database and if I was caught speeding again in a National Park I would be issued with a ticket.

So there it is, I am a recognised felon on a database somewhere in America. The whole process was handled very professionally but I certainly felt a high level of caution, even nervousness, on the part of the main Officer involved. The implications of the ready availability of weapons in the country clearly have a bearing on the expectations of a law-enforcement officer approaching any suspect or crime scene. An interesting insight and a sobering experience which I left vowing to never be involved in again. I judiciously stuck to the speed limit in all the other National Parks we drove through but wished I could explain why I was so diligently doing so to the queue of drivers behind me.

Our hotel that night was in Mariposa which was somewhat like a Bavarian mountain town crossed with the wild west frontier. We had begun to move into a more tourist area as we were close to Yosemite national park our destination for the next day and the various wooden-fronted, chalet style gift and craft shops reflected that fact. 

Aidez-Vous?

On arrival at the hotel, a French couple with limited English were checking in ahead of us. Now I had for some time realised that Americans don't do foreign languages well, following another Adam USA fun fact that only around one third of US citizens hold a passport. Unfortunately, the lady on the desk was not an exception with no linguistic compromise offered at all to the pair in front of her. I have rusty schoolboy French and, seeing that some of what they were being told was passing them by with little recognition, helped out as best I could with some French interjections such as "premiere etage" for guidance to their hotel room and, "Est-ce que vous avez un chien?" to the "Any pets?" question. At that point, the husband entered into the somewhat surreal nature of the moment and mimicked a dog barking and bent down to stroke his imaginary canine friend. We laughed but this was not matched from the other side of the counter, just the business-like efficiency of another waitress equivalent.

We headed out to eat and found Savourys which I would describe as a level up from a diner, something akin to what we in the UK would regard as a more formal restaurant experience. But this is America in tourist season so the waitresses (I didn't spot any waiters) were dressed in black dresses of shortish length coupled with an assortment of ankle and cowboy-style boots. A different dining experience and maybe a different type of waitress with which to converse. Sadly not and my efforts were rebutted again with a blank expression and cold efficiency, plus a shake of the head from Adam.