Crossing Antelope Valley.

We passed the lake, turning down the grade into Antelope Valley.  After several miles of very rolling country, we halted under some almond trees in a deserted orchard for lunch.  The grasshoppers were thicker than people on a hot Sunday at Venice or Ocean Park in the “good old summer time.”  We managed to eat our lunch without eating any of the hoppers, but there wasn’t much margin in our favor in the performance.  Before starting we emptied our can of gasoline into the tank.  Soon we intercepted the road leading from Palmdale to Fairmont and Neenach.  We passed both of these places, then Quail Lake and Bailey Hotel.  We were soon at Lebec.  Then came the beautiful ride past Castac Lake, and down the canyon, under the noble white oak trees, which are the pride of Tejon Ranch.  We passed through Ft.  Tejon with its adobe buildings already fallen or rapidly falling into ruinous decay.  Still descending through the lower reaches of the canyon, we took the final dip down the big grade and rolled out into the valley.  A pleasant stream of water followed the road out into the plains, at which sleek, fat cattle drank, or along whose banks they lolled listlessly, having already slaked their thirst.  We whirled past the dilapidated ranch buildings put down in the guide books as Rose Station.  From this point, since my trip over this country a year ago, much of the road to Bakersfield has been fenced.

Cloud Effects.

While crossing Antelope Valley during the afternoon, I observed a most wonderful cloud effect.  A perfectly white cloud hung over Frazier Mountain.  Its base was miles long and as straight as if it had been sheared off by machinery.  Its top was as irregular as its base was finished.  It extended into the sky farther than the blue old mountain did above the surrounding country.  Irregular in shape, it assumed the form of mountains, valleys, forests, streams, castles and turrets.  I watched it for hours, apparently it never moved.  It hung there as immovable as the mountain beneath it.  It was at once an emblem of purity and apparent stability.  After we had passed Fairmont, my attention was diverted from it for a short time, not over ten minutes, and when again looking for my cloud, it was gone.  Every vestige of it had vanished completely, and in its place was the blue sky, its color intensified by reason of its recent meager obscuration.

Bakersfield.

We reached Bakersfield early in the evening, having made the run of one hundred and forty-six miles, over a heavy mountain range, on fifteen gallons of gasoline.  This I call a good performance for any six-cylinder car.  Coming down the Tejon Canyon, we passed the only Joe Desmond of Aqueduct fame, with some companions, taking lunch by the roadside.  He had come from Mojave.  He was bound for Bakersfield to buy hay.

Off for Porterville.