It Doesn't Rain Here

Outside of Bakersfield on Route #58 the highway climbed a couple thousand feet into steeply rolling grass-covered hills. Trees dotted the crevices between hillocks. Then, like giant mole piles, the rounded peaks reached higher and steeper. More and more trees clustered and then dominated the hillsides.
When the highway reached 2,800 feet in elevation, we saw rock outcroppings and snow in the adjoining ranges. Puffy white streaks of clouds outlined the highest ridges. "It's so much prettier, and no one lives here," said Andy. "It is clearer up ahead, so in the valley the haze must be pollution. The air hits the mountains and just stops."
The town of Tehachapi, cradled in windmills at about 4,000 feet, had patches of white nearby. "They must get some cold winds up here through the pass to support the thousands of windmills," said Andy. Turning, turning, turning, the wind turbines lined every ridge. The giant mole hills pulsed with energy.
On the other side of the pass at 2,500 feet, the mole hills turned to cinder cones; Joshua trees replaced oaks, and the brown haze disappeared. Mist settled above the valley floor like a white sheet in the cold morning air.
"Is this the Mojave?" I asked Andy.
We passed the exit for Edwards Air Force Base. "Yes, and this is where the shuttle lands when weather prohibits touchdown in Florida," said Andy.

A sign at Harper Lake Road said, "Wildlife viewing area." We followed the pavement six miles toward the dried out lake bed until it changed to washboard dirt. "That's it," said Andy, turning around. But heading back out past abandoned houses, a motel and a general store, we checked out a side road. There in the middle of the high desert of sage and creosote bush was a SEGS plant, with thousands of solar panels to gather the energy from the sun for heating water to steam to create electricity.
"I've read about this," said Andy. "At least they are trying to develop alternative sources of energy. I give them credit, although it's still very expensive."
Everything along old California Route #58 was abandoned, from the truck repair garage to the outdoor movie theater to motels and private homes. What a decrepit result of progress!

"Are you having heart failure?" Andy asked as we pulled out of Rainbow Basin. We had bushwhacked with only a road sign for an hour.
In truth, I held my breath. I really thought our luck had run out and this is where we would be stuck. The Canyon Loop, actually just a dry wash, had soccer-ball size rocks and eight-inch deep ruts. Like it or not, we couldn't turn around.
"Easily, enough to destroy the undercarriage," said Andy about the road conditions.

But Canyon Loop was one-way and one-car-width narrow in the most washed-out areas. We stopped to let the engine cool more than once. Andy breathed a sigh of relief when two other empty, parked vehicles showed us people had gone before. Unfortunately, one of the two was four-wheel drive. I kept one eye on the clouds. Any rain meant no hope of getting out ourselves. "Don't be silly," said Andy. "It doesn't rain here." But I saw his hand shaking.