Yes, the title is a nod to Clint Eastwood… but I think high plains are what I would have to call this broad valley running high among the tops of mountains, through which I was making my way.

It was stunning… in a ‘wow, this stuff is so dry because of our years-long drought, and could burn like a match head’ kind of a way.

I was on the third… and last… day of my detour-laden, epic road trip adventure from Northern to Southern California… but you know all that… you read the other posts, right?

There was almost no one around.

I do like the Spanish moss growing on the oak trees.

I don’t know if oak trees lose their leaves in winter. I hope so. If not, a lot of these were dead.

I was still on that crazy detour on that crazy steep and twisty road that led me up from the coast into these mountain ranges. I had no idea where I was. I didn’t see any military personnel, but I did see rifle ranges that still had the rubber target dummies set up. Ha… I used the word ‘ranges’ twice in one paragraph, in different contexts. Bonus word score!

And there were a few other indications as well.

Do you still want to hear that poem?

Do you even know what poem I am talking about?

No?

You mean you don’t want to read a poem, or you don’t know what I’m… oh, forget it.