Horseback America - The Travel Adventures of the Dane Hartwell


	HORSEBACK AMERICA
	The Rich, The Poor and The Ugly
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Leaving the U.S. Garlic Capitol of Gilroy, California, we entered the Salad Capital of Salinas Valley. This area is also home and inspiration to one of this country?s best-known writers, John Steinbeck. With the spirit of the famed author floating in the mist about us, we ventured into Carmel, visited the beautiful historic Mission, and then rode off to Pebble Beach and Monterey Bay to see the
famous piers of Cannery Row.

It was a slow grind up the hill on Hwy 1 from Carmel to Pebble Beach. We were featured in both the local newspaper and on the TV station, which may have been responsible for the warm welcome we received from the motorists stuck in the stop and go traffic. People were beeping their horns and waving and yelling words of encouragement. There was no shortage on this highway of Jaguars, Mercedes or BMW's. This was one of the nicest receptions we?d received yet in any city or town.

Our friend, Lisa von Saltza, not only gave us the best welcome of all, but also put us up for a night at the Hilton Resort! Our beautiful room overlooked Carmel Bay and was probably last used by a movie star or golf pro. The pricey bellman didn't bat an eye as they carried our two chicken cages into the room. We had a balcony over looking the bay, a fireplace and a Jacuzzi. The feeling of euphoria and comfort was almost too much to bear after the long, arduous ride in from San Francisco during this wet winter season.

On our way out of town, we stopped for a taco at Chevy's Mexican Restaurant, as a group of women and children piled in for a birthday party. Kids were running wild from one end of the restaurant to the
other, screaming and popping balloons as their mothers sat at the bar downing multiple margaritas. A lady from the mission stopped by our table and announced that the group was with Clint Eastwood's wife and their birthday girl, Morgan. We could see that Morgan was a cute little girl with just a hint of Clint's rugged personae.

After leaving Carmel, we traded misty coastal vistas for inland cattle ranches. When we held our hands up for a friendly wave, we were met with hostile stares. We must have looked like modern day cattle rustlers, or would-be trespassers on their cherished, over-grazed pastures. We have faced this problem in the past and learned to avoid ranch country when at all possible. Through my experience, I have found that folks who are rigid and victimized are often responsible for their own isolation, depriving themselves from diversity and richness of life.

With all the heavy riding in order to escape the unfriendly cattle area, we desperately needed a time out. We rode upon a beautiful arroyo inhabited by the strange and unusual. Some people were living
in a big cult-type complex and others were just retired or transient and struggling to survive.

We found a place to stay where the owners thought the government was poisoning the country with jetliners. They were on their way to Idaho, so we helped them move in trade for a place to camp. Desperate for feed, we went to a neighbor to buy hay, but the lady was outrageously rude. She bitterly screamed and yelled for no apparent reason but still sold us a bail of hay. It was again hard to deal with the reality of leaving the warm welcome of Carmel to another place where we were scorned.

We had a pharmacist friend who heard where we were and immediately helped to find us a place to regroup in Greenfield, CA. We rested the horses and found work for a few months. The pharmacist told us that most of the psychotropic drugs he prescribes were to residents of the arroyo (go figure.)

We scrapped the idea of riding along the Coastal Range and decided to try our luck with the farmers of the San Joaquin Valley. The last town we rode through made us feel good about our decision to leave. As we peacefully clip-clopped down the side of the road, a Sheriff pulled up to a corner market to get a closer look at us. He gave us a quick stare-down and then heavily swaggered into the store. A person who swaggers is threatened and trying to appear larger than life. With no intention to threaten anyone, we just kept riding well past the city limit.

Just as we crested the last Coastal Range peak, high above the San Joaquin Valley, I looked over my shoulder and thought, farewell... you land of the rich, the poor, and the ugly!

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