A poor rabbit.

North of Lone Pine,

16-10-2002.



I wake up well before sun-up, rolling up my sleeping bag, getting my things together and quickly cycling north, away from the massive Edward Airforce Base.

These blokes were a bit too busy to my liking most of the night, driving jeeps around with huge lamps beaming in all directions. I actually got a bit scared they were aware of my presence and on the look-out for me, not that they ever found me, hidden in a small clearing between creosote bushes and low chaparral well away from the main road.

I pass through a couple of small cities where life is just about to start before stopping in Cantil for breakfast, strong black coffee, omelettes with banquette, muffins and pancakes and a big glass of ice-cold orange juice.

I've a long day of cycling ahead of me and need a hearty x-fast to keep me going.

Soon after Cantil I enter the Red Rock Canyon State Park cycling along a wall of strangely shaped sandstone cliffs. It is still early and the play of colors from the early morning sun on these weird rock formations is truely magnificent.

I've to cycle up a steep hill - almost a serious mountain slope - but I'm hardly aware of the hard work I've to do on the pedals of my bike gaping at all this natural beauty around me. Right next to me a small rabbit gets snatched by a huge light brown owl with an enormous wingspan. I stop to investigate finding only a few tufs of rabbit hair . This happened all so quickly I was hardly aware of it untill it was all over.

I presume the owl being a nocturnal animal, was just getting supper before retiring for the day.

I manage to get across the mountain slope leaving the greatly impressive Red Rock Canyon State Park behind, plus the memories of a poor sad rabbit that never realised he was gonna be supper for a nocturnal winged predator, his last day on planet earth.

Letting the laws of gravity do their work I enjoy the wind blowing in my face cooling down my near overheated body while gliding downhill with my old and overloaded crappy bicycle.

I'm entering the Owen's Valley leaving the last of these - only a few days ago - ubiquitous Joshua Trees behind.



Afternoon,



I'm on a real serious high now having cycled all day with only short breaks for coffee and a bite to eat in small truck stops, passing through small cities that give me the feeling I'm in the middle of a Western movie, shops that sell food and drink supplies as well hunting and fishing gear, big rifles and mean looking revolvers, a pair of deer antlers hanging over the entrance, whisky and big bottles of beer on call, strong coffee and smoked bear meat that is supposed to be highly nutricious. The owners strong and confident looking men dressed in colorfull shequered wood cutter shirts, plenty of expensive Harly Davidson motorbikes parked in front of these places betray me what sort of clientêle inside. But nobody giving me as much as a second glance while I drink a coffee and stock up on my supplies. I'm in a bit of a hurry, I want to get as close to Bishop City as posible before nightfall.

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