Beyond the Setting Sun

Playing the Angel

Yosemite was lush and green.  It was a total contrast to the dry desert to the east of The Sierras.  Squirrels hopped amongst the trees and there were tourists everywhere.

The river bent and wound its way around, going where it wanted to go, with rapids in places and other parts that flowed quietly by.  The valley sides were covered in broad-leaved trees and pines.

The narrow road I followed took me out of Yosemite to El Portal.   At points the road cut through thick rock buttresses.  Boulders the size of houses lay alongside the black strip of tarmac, where landslides had brought them crashing down.

Cathedral Rock, El Capitan and Yosemite Falls lay behind.  Rocky vegetation, cut through by rushing water and lit by deep blue skies, lay ahead.  Beneath The Sierras the valley took me in and led me away, en route to the West Coast.  Strolling down Route 140 I had found the passage into the Central Valley of California.

As night came and dark fell, small bats winged their way across the valley.  At El Portal I was to stay with Jody Onzo.  Jody was a friend of Ron Krekey, who had given me a place to stay in Yosemite.  Ron had friends all the way to Merced, and once more all I had to do was get from one place to another.

The day out from El Portal I followed the River Merced, which flowed strongly through low rocky hills and small earth-covered mountains.  Blue jays, humming birds and red-epauletted blackbirds flitted amongst the budding trees of spring.  After the desert and snow this was another world.

In many ways the land reminded me of England.  The grass was deep and there were fields with horses and cows.  The reason for the greenery was the rain, and as I walked on the skies clouded over and a steady downpour came.  Fortunately for me it was an easy 25 mile day to reach Mariposa.

Merced was 35 miles from Mariposa.  I left early and walked until eleven at night.  Rain flooded down again that evening and I was soaked by the time I reached town.  It was Wednesday, 1st March.  In the dark and rain of Merced I wandered around the streets looking for the house of Chana Robinson, who was a friend of Jody Onzo.  I had to stop several passersby to find the way.

Chana was going away for a few days, but the place was mine and the fridge was fully stocked.  The plan was that I would have a day of rest there and contact the hospices up to San Francisco.

On this side of the mountains California was heavily populated.  The distance between the towns was now much less.  From Merced to Turlock was only twenty miles and there I would stay with the Baker family.

As I moved on from Merced the twenty miles seemed like an easy stroll after all I'd been through.  Almond orchards filled the land, covered in white blossom.  Bees flew between the fragrant flowers.  White wooden hives had been placed in the orchards to ensure pollination and produce honey.  New York, the Great Lakes, Plains, mountains, scrubby desert, canyons, snow-covered pines and rivers lay behind.  Now orchards and neat fields passed on by.

Television interviews became more frequent and the story of my journey was told.  From Turlock I travelled along a railroad to avoid an Interstate.  All was well until I reached a small trestle bridge over a river.  I was halfway across when the sound of a train came up from behind.  With my pack bouncing, I ran across the bridge as the train thundered my way.  I could hear it getting closer and feel the rumble on the sleepers beneath my feet.  Chuggedy-chug, it came on.  The horns blared on the train, as the driver spotted me.  It was close now.  With a last spurt, I dived to the side of the end of the bridge and the train rumbled by.

'Danger, Trains!' the sign at the end of the bridge now told me.  My heart pounded.  I walked on, but kept listening for more trains.

In the Californian spring rain I sweated along in my waterproofs, bringing back memories of walking in England.  I walked late into the night to reach Ripon.