No room at the inn—nor at any of the other motels in Hawthorne, Nevada. I had ridden 900 miles that day, coming down from Cody, Wyoming. I was beat, and the sun had just set. I needed some comfort food, like a steak and fries. And a look at my map as I ate. Next town on my route was Lee Vining, California, 60 miles away, but that would probably be full up with Yosemite tourists. Tarnation!
However, just south of town was the Toiyabe National Forest. Heck, that belongs to me, and you; I won’t be trespassing. I rolled down the highway a few miles, found a dirt road going off into the woods, went up there a half-mile, and put the sidestand down in a patch of starlit space. I had a sleeping bag on the back seat, which I carry for just such emergencies, but no air mattress. Digging myself a little hip-hole, I laid out the bag, got in, and went quickly to sleep.
I woke a little before dawn because admittedly I was not terribly comfortable, and decided to get on the road, Nevada Route 359. As I came over Anchorite Pass the sun was just rising up behind me, creating a spectacular sight as it reflected off the sheer eastern wall of the Sierra Nevada range. Stunning! A sight I will never forget. If I had been in a Hawthorne motel, I’d still be sleeping. But thanks to a free night in the national forest I was having a memorable time.
National forests are public land, and I love that fact. As a matter of fact, I like the whole concept of public land, especially the national park system. I’m all in favor of private property, and will defend my little plot of land against any incursions, and I understand the need to pay my taxes, but I am also glad that I am part owner of millions and millions of acres in the U.S. of A. I am also glad that these lands are protected from being overrun by developers. I wonder what the Grand Canyon would be like if it hadn’t been declared a national park back in 1919.
I realize there will be differences of opinion here, but I am glad that there is no $100 gondola ride swinging along on a wire between the north rim and the south. That would be a real money-maker, but I prefer to see the canyon in a more natural state. And it is a nice 200-mile ride from crowds in the Grand Canyon Village on the south rim to the remote Grand Canyon Lodge on the north. The north is really my favorite side, not the least because it gets only about 5 percent of the visitors that the south gets.
Recently I watched a series on TV about our national parks, and it showed what this great nation is really made of—men and women who love their land. Thanks to a lot of intelligent lawmakers we all share property across these 50 states. And I take advantage of that, having spent many, many nights camped on public lands from Alaska to the Apalachicola National Forest in Florida. Sorry, the Everglades are just too mosquito-y for me to camp there.
“Public land” has been with us since the Land Ordinance of 1785, when our elected congressmen tried to figure out what to do with all this real estate that America had just acquired from Great Britain. And now, through various agencies that evolved from that act over the next two centuries, I have pretty free rein on almost 30 percent of this country, for which I am grateful to our farsighted forefathers. Yellowstone was our first national park, way back in 1872, while Yosemite became a state park in 1864, getting national status in 1890. Today the National Park Service oversees close to 400 sites, from the 88 million acres of Alaska’s Gates of the Arctic National Park to the Vietnam Veterans National Memorial in Washington, D.C.
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American Rider
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Available in the February 2010 issue of American Rider magazine
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Hikers have the freest rein on our public lands, as they can traipse along just about anywhere, but any good map will show thousands of miles of roads in our parks and forests. We even have National Parkways, like the Blue Ridge visited by 20 million people a year; that is a lot of traffic. I’ve ridden the paved roads in Acadia National Park in Maine and the dirt roads in the Big Bend National Park in Texas, and been very glad to have the opportunity. And there are designated Forest Roads (like FR 120 in California’s Plumas National Forest) which offer marvelous riding experiences; this is where good maps are better than GPS units. The first national forests were established over a hundred years ago, and were dedicated to the notion that trees can be harvested intelligently, allowing for continuing growth, rather than clear-cutting.
From my home I can put my camping gear on the back of the Electra Glide and in 10 miles I’m at a campground in the Los Padres National Forest. The ranger would charge me a small fee for the privilege, but that is fair enough, as I have running water and toilets here. Better yet, I can go another 80 miles north and be 2,500 feet above the Pacific Ocean in an informal campground called Prewitt Ridge high in the Santa Lucia mountains, still in the Los Padres Nationl Forest but without amenities.
I’ve never done a serious study, but I would imagine that everybody in this country lives within a hundred miles of a public campground, be it county, state or federal. I’m not quite sure what all the rules and regulations are, but I understand that on much of the U.S.-owned land, owned by us, I can roll out that sleeping bag so long as I adhere to common sense. The popular national parks have to be a bit restrictive, otherwise the Great Smokies or Yosemite Valley would be one big people-jam. But in a place like Death Valley the campgrounds may be full, so if I just want to be alone, I can head out towards Hunter Mountain on Racetrack Valley Road, preferably on a Buell Ulysses rather than a Glide, and make myself at home in Hidden Valley. (Side note: despite the sad news about the Buell Motor Co., new Ulysses are still available, at charmingly reduced prices.)
The key rule in back-country camping is, if you bring it in, you bring it out. Don’t leave cans or bottles or anything plastic behind. Most important, if you build a fire, make darned sure it is completely and utterly extinguished before you leave.
I’ve looked around the Internet trying to figure out just how much publicly owned land there is in this country. The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has over 260 million acres under its loose control, and my rancher cousin in Colorado makes use of it. Every year she trucks her cattle up to high country and lets them feed all summer. For this she pays us (more precisely, pays the BLM) a fee, and she maintains the fencing up there. Fair trade. The national and state forests add another 200 million acres to the communal pot, and many of these forests allow the locals to pay a small fee and go out and cut wood to keep the house warm in winter.
Public land is good land, useful land; we should be sure to take good care of it. And don’t complain about an entry fee to a park, as it is money well spent.
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