The California Tour: Marysville, Penn Valley & Hwy 20

Back on the road I headed north on Hwy 65 to Marysville to meet my niece Brittany and her boyfriend Marc for a quick cup of coffee. I made one last stop at Grumpy Bear’s on the way out of town. I peeked through the window at my Vegas Low sitting just inside the door. I cursed my friend Jeff for having shown the damn thing to me and then headed north.

Hwy 65 is a two lane highway that seemed to have more gravel on it than I thought it should and although I was going to end up making a big half circle to get to Hwy 49 there is no way I could have ridden this far without seeing my favorite niece Brittany who lives in Chico.

I had been to Marysville several times as a boy, I grew up in Sacramento and these were my old stomping grounds. Sunday morning seemed to bring out the locals as well as the tourists, the town was buzzing, the traffic rather thick.

As I rolled through town two things hit me; the first one was that things had changed. The second was that nothing had changed.

Brittany, Marc and I met at a Starbucks and sat for about an hour talking and watching the people pass by. It was nice to meet family out here on the road. Finally we said good bye and I slid back onto the Honda Shadow and continued east.

Our Starbucks was located at the intersection of Hwy 65 north and Hwy 20 east. Hwy 20 was going to be my route to Hwy 49 south where I would begin the downhill leg of the trip. As I turned on to Hwy 20 there is no way I could have known or even imagined what lie ahead of me. I’m not even sure that I’ll have the words to describe what I was about to experience.

Within minutes maybe even seconds of hitting Hwy 20 I was blanketed with shades of green and gold that up until then had only existed in my dreams. The colors were overwhelming. They were thick and rich and lush. I wasn’t “seeing” them I was actually touching them or I should say they were touching me. The farther down the road I rolled the deeper the hues became until I thought I actually was in a dream.

How could something, some place as beautiful as this be right here in my own backyard? How did I come to be right in the middle of it? How long could I stay? Was this even real? My head was swirling, my heart was pounding. I felt like Dorothy drinking in her first glimpse of Oz.

The two lane road gently twisted and rose as I headed east. The road was safe enough to ride at 60 MPH but when I glanced down I saw I was barely doing 40. There was no need to rush this.

Ahead to my left I saw a red farm house nestled among a grove of tress, I slowed even more and eventually stopped in front of it.

I got off the bike, as I took off my gloves and helmet the warm morning air filled me with scents of pine and straw and sweet grasses. I don’t drink but at this moment I was throughly and completely intoxicated. Looking, no staring at the house, the trees and the rolling hills all around me was not easy. The beauty was so intense I was lightheaded. It was a very long two or three minutes before I “came to” one of the few cars I saw on this road passed, barely bringing me back to semi-consciouness.

I had pulled over on the westbound side to get a closer look at the house. On the eastbound side was a road sign announcing where I had landed – Penn Valley. Again Dorothy and the house crashing into Munchkinland flashed in my head.

I remember thinking: People Live Here! A phrase that I would repeat for the rest of my trip.

Forcing myself back on the bike and back on the road I headed on to Grass Valley still not sure if any of this was real.

Just 15 minutes past Penn Valley I rolled up to the Grass Valley city limit sign and the turn off to Hwy 49 the real destination of this trip. I stopped at the sign and took a picture. I looked back west down Hwy 20 and said a prayer. It was quick and simple but they were the only words I could muster: Thank You.