DAY 4: THURSDAY, MARCH 7, 2024
Goooooood Morning, Independence! Fueled by his inner-peace moment yesterday, The Militant had a nice slumber and woke up somewhat earlier than usual. Time really does move slower up here. He started his day with a jaunt across town, stopping for coffee at the convenience store at the local Valero gas station and enjoying the cold, clean morning air. He did a lot of deep breathing to soak it all in. He wanted to have breakfast at one of the local taco trucks, and chose the only one open at this time – the colorful trailer parked on Edwards and Pavilion streets, called either “The Lemon Food Truck” (according to the sandwich board sign out front) or “Los Mochis” (according to the graphics on the trailer). It may or may not be the former, as it’s possible they might have purchased this from “Los Mochis.” Anyway, he ordered himself a chorizo breakfast torta, and expected it to be somewhat mediocre but palatable. But to his pleasant surprise, it was pretty dang good! It tasted just like the food Back Home. Even better, he sat in an outdoor dining table and was able to enjoy the view of the Sierra as he enjoyed his breakfast torta in the cool morning air.
He continued to walk south on Edwards Street to the south edge of town to get a full-width view of the Owens Valley – he could see the outline of the Alabama Hills in the distance, and the Coso Mountains (north of Ridgecrest) even farther in the distance, as he could hear nothing but the sound of the wind and the occasional passing vehicles along 395. He was also afforded another stunning view of the Sierra towering over the carpet of sagebrush. Over here, distances seem deceiving; what looks near enough to reach out and touch may actually be 10, 20 or 30 miles away.
EMPIRE OF THE DWP
The Militant walked through the backstreets of the west side of town – Washington Street, and by walking through the street, he literally walked in the middle of the street (look ma, no CicLAvia!) and only one car passed him by without incident. The residential streets of Independence looked much like their Lone Pine counterparts, save for no Alabama Hills nearby, only an expanse of gradually rising valley floor leading up to the Sierra. Again, calm, quiet, with no activity, save for…those DWP trucks again. He followed one of the white DWP trucks up Kearsarge Street only to find more of them. This was the DWP’s Independence facility, one of the industrially-zoned sections of town (Caltrans has a smaller facility on the northern edge of town). This was a campus of a handful of buildings that had offices and maintenance garages. It was a bizarre sight to see a familiar white DWP truck parked on the street with the snowcapped Sierra as the backdrop.
He paid another visit to the Eastern California Museum to get a closer look at the Aqueduct construction vehicles and the old steam locomotive inside its little enginehouse before returning to Ray’s Den motel.
AQUEDUCT DOGS
Now The Militant made this journey to take a first-hand look at the Los Angeles Aqueduct, and he chose Independence as a place of lodging due to its proximity to the start of the water conveyance system. He hopped back into The Militant Mobile and took a short drive up 395 some 10 miles north to a town called Aberdeen, situated amongst ancient lava deposits (the locals call this area “Black Rock”) with a reddish-colored lava dome looming nearby. He pulled over at an “exit” (these were just roads that intersect the highway) called Goodale Road. The macro-view of the area looked very Martian, yet up close was very down-to Earth, with sagebrush dotting the valley floor and the sight of cows grazing among them. Just one of the many conflicting juxtapositions seem to be the Owens Valley’s poetic leitmotif.
The Militant did his research and due diligence – he was here to visit the start of the Los Angeles Aqueduct – a structure called the Intake. It is where the Owens River splits off into two separate courses – the river and the Aqueduct. This exit was met with a closed metal gate. He wondered if what he was doing was trespassing, yet there was no “No Trespassing” sign; in fact the sign on the gate only read, “CLOSE ALL GATES – LIVESTOCK IN AREA”. The Aqueduct is public property, after all. There was a chain on the gate, but upon closer inspection, indeed it had no lock; it was only wrapped around the section that joined the two sides of the gate, with a wedge to keep the chain secure. So, The Militant unwrapped the chain, opened the gate just enough to let his car through, then closed the gate and wrapped the chain around again. He was greeted with more signs, but they read, “DAY USE ONLY – NO OVERNIGHT CAMPING” and “25 SLOW MPH.” He had read that the DWP allows the public to roam freely on its Owens Valley land – the only conditions are not to camp overnight and not to start fires of any kind. Fair enough.
The dirt road curved eastward, and The Militant, cautious of the suspension of his decidedly non-4-wheel-drive vehicle rolled slowly and gingerly, avoiding any washboard ruts and cow poop. Yes, them Owens Valley cows looked at him funny again. But they should be used to it by now. There was another gate with a chain ahead. The Militant felt this was like some sort of quest-type video game or something. He knew the drill: Unrwap chain, open gate, drive through, close gate, re-wrap chain. Finally, he saw some equipment and heavy machinery stored along the side of the road; and no one around. This must be the place.
He parked off the side of the road and there it was – the intake of the Los Angeles Aqueduct. It looked like a low-lying concrete bridge, with the words, “AD MCMXI (1911) – LOS ANGELES AQUEDUCT INTAKE” chiseled on its north side. He hiked north upstream, combat boots crunching on top of the greyish alkaline to find a smaller version of the intake across the water, with grates, pipes and a small footbridge behind it. This was where the Owens River forks into the Lower Owens River Project (LORP!)- i.e. some water, and the Los Angeles Aqueduct – i.e. moar water. All of a sudden, this is where it finally clicked for The Militant – this is how we “stole the water.” We literally created a diversion.
The Militant turned around to take a look at the singular, natural course of the Owens River before hiking back to the Intake. He took a minute to take in the surroundings: The cold, windy air, the grey cloudy sky, the sound of flowing water. He reflected for a minute on “Bill’s Ditch” built some 110 years ago and what has been described as “Los Angeles’ Original Sin.” Yet, he also pictured his birth at [REDACTED] Hospital back in 19[REDACTED] and imagined a very newborn Baby’Mil crying upon his arrival in Los Angeles and being washed in a basin of water – water that originally flowed through this very intake (Talk about deep thoughts, yo).
Like the countless contradictions that define this place, The Militant still felt like he was trespassing here, a place where he supposedly didn’t belong — and yet, he also felt like he was called to be standing here at this very place, at this very time.
THERE’S NO BUSINESS LIKE SNOW BUSINESS
He returned to Independence as the sun started its long sunset process behind the snowcapped Sierra. Instead of pulling into Ray’s Den, he decided to drive closer to the Sierra, up Onion Valley Road to take a closer look, and drove up to where the winding mountain road led up to the upper elevations, but was blocked by a gate and snow. Lots and lots of snow. Just a few minutes west of Independence!
For Native Angelenos like The Militant, snow is not so much a time but a place: Snow is a place one visits, be it another city/state/country, or up the mountains somewhere. He hiked for a small distance in the snow, his combat boots digging deeply into the snowpack with every careful step. Yes it was cold but he didn’t care. HE WAS IN THE SNOW! And since he was here…YOLO!
Returning to his motel, The Militant felt like he attained a new level of militancy today (no, not the snow, the Aqueduct Intake). It was like this place changed him, or at least expanded his breadth of knowledge. He ruminated on this while walking through Edwards Street at night, again the sole pedestrian in this small burg of 669, still wondering how this very urban militant could still feel oddly at “home” in this most rural of settings…
…must be in the water.
To be continued in Part 5: City of Creeks
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