Note: The last in the series of the author’s memories of San Francisco in 1967 and the Summer of Love.
The monthly travelogue from the-ever itinerant Maderan, Leon Emo.
My gal and I had taken Highway 101 to the Bay too many times to remember — in our younger days to party in the City, but lately it seemed to see a specialist for heart or back, or for a hospital stay.
G entle reader, young and old, longtime Maderan, or a recent citizen, please ride with me, a kid just turned 12, on my Schwinn bicycle on a summer Saturday morning in the late 1950s along what was known as F
I headed out of Keeler on the east side of the wasteland that is all that is left of once beautiful and pristine Owens Lake.
The temperature was in triple digits as we drove eastward from the shore of the Salton Sea to what is known as Slab City. It was hot even for this lover of the desert.
This spring tour season was not one of the best for this desert guide. By April only a smidgen of wildflowers had burst forth with their vibrant colors scattered among the green sage and mesquite.
Formed by mistake, the largest inland body of water in California lies in a sink over 200 feet below sea level in the southeastern corner of the state.