Coming down from Mammoth a couple of weeks ago we snapped some good shots of the snowstorm, the Sierras and the creepy town of Lone Pine.
The clouds only hung around the mountains; once we were on the highway pass Bishop we were rolling through a desert.
This is the Owens Valley. This area used to be productive farmland until LA stole all the water.
We’ve all seen Chinatown. You know the story. The San Fernando Valley was born but the farms in this place all dried up.
During World War 2 they took the Japanese and held them in an internment camp called Manzanar, in the shadow of the mountains.
Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
More of those stately mountaintops.
The town of Lone Pine is something out of a David Lynch flick.
To top off the big old heaping of Americana was the long rattling of a train passing through the Meth wasteland of California City.
These desperate nowhere-towns remind me of Jack Kerouac and Woody Guthrie, cold-blooded killers and mining accidents.
Artists, drifters, madmen, tragedy.
Only a truly brilliantly-unbalanced individual would think to say This Land is Made for You and Me.