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April 11, 2019

Photo Essay: The Forgotten Highway Between LA and Bakersfield

Before the Castaic-Tejon Route opened, there was no good way to get from LA County to Bakersfield (or back). Stagecoaches and wagons could make it, but the trek over the Tejon Pass was harrowing. And because of drainage issues, dirt roads to the north of LA often became muddied or downright flooded.



As "automobilists" (as they were called) began taking over the roadways with motorized vehicles, those dirt paths just no longer cut it—and they began to complain.



The solution offered by the newly-formed State Bureau of Highways? Carve out a road, high up along a mountain ridge to keep the puddles away (not taking into account the snowpack of the harsh winter seasons), by using horse- and mule drawn-scrapers and grader.


German Point in background

Today, a very civilized, paved portion of the old "Ridge Route" runs alongside the 5 Freeway—its eventual replacement—in Gorman, a common pit stop for travelers needing to fill or empty their tanks.



Since renamed Gorman Post Road, it passes the former sites of the Gorman Inn, the first store in Gorman, and the home of Oscar and Mary Ralphs (brother and sister-in-law of the grocery store chain founder).



You can even see some original curbs along the road shoulder, some dated 1924 (although the Ridge Route's first iteration actually opened in 1915). In the beginning, the Ridge Route was so narrow that some joked it was just one long sidewalk.



Today's Gorman Post Road is also where a lot of the construction camps were set up for the workers who first put down the gravel and oil road bed—and would later lay reinforcing rods and tamp the wet concrete down (circa 1919).



Between the construction works and the travelers, there was plenty of business for the free water given away at German Station, as well as the goods for sale at Caswell's Road Stop, the services provided by mechanics, and the gas pumped at Holland Station #1.



But like many of those early roads, it quickly became obsolete. The two-lane engineering feat of the Old Ridge Route was bypassed in 1933 by a straightened, three-lane alternate (with a center "suicide lane" for passing) that became Highway 99.



Even Highway 99—which shortened the journey by nearly 10 miles—gave way (mostly) to the eight-lane 5 Freeway, which began construction in 1963 and opened in 1970. Though the Ridge Route was abandoned, it wasn't erased.



In fact, at the southeastern terminus of Gorman Post Road, west of where Quail Lake reservoir is now and in the general vicinity of the former Bailey Ranch, you can actually drive on a flat, well-preserved stretch of the Ridge Route. It just doesn't go anywhere.



To follow the original path of the Ridge Route, you've got to get off of Gorman Post Road and turn left onto Lancaster Road (a.k.a. Hwy 138) and drive 2.5 miles to the signed juncture with Old Ridge Route Road.



That's where the old route finally begins to climb the ridge, looking down over the former General Petroleum (later Mobil) pumping plant and Pacific Telephone and Telegraph Relay Station. This is the future site of Centennial, California—a master-planned community on land owned by Tejon Ranch—in the westernmost portion of the Antelope Valley.



It's actually not that easy to follow the entirety of the Old Ridge Route because, like Route 66, its alignment did change—and portions of it were even buried with the construction of the California Aqueduct.



But a stretch of this "miracle of modern engineering" that runs through Angeles National Forest is both drivable and maintained.



It's a fun destination for vehicular tourism...



...but it also provides access to some recreational and historic sites (as well as campgrounds).



In fact, the most famous stop between LA and Bakersfield was a midpoint waystation known as Sandberg, whose lampposts across the street beckoned travelers (no truckers or dogs allowed) to stop at its Summit Hotel, located near the peak of the Ridge Route at 4100 feet of elevation. (The streetlights' concrete footers still stick out of the hillside.)



Sandberg's Summit Hotel—which was later sold and rebranded The Sandberg Lodge—was set to reopen in 1961 as a children's camp when it burned to the ground. Nothing has ever been built in its place.



And that's where the Ridge Route really starts to get interesting.



Although the county no longer maintains the road, you can still drive on it—at least, until you hit a locked gate.



This is also where you get a good feel for a few of the route's 697 curves that you could really only take safely at 15 mph in a car.



And even so, some of these stretches have since been widened, their hairpin turns more gentle, with even some blacktop that was added later (though now crumbling, revealing the original concrete in astonishingly better condition).



As you round Horseshoe Bend, with Liebre Mountain in the distance and the ghosts of the former Liebre Construction Camp as your guides...



...you've got to swerve and snake your way past the rockslides that nobody has cleared, trying not to drive off a cliff as you take in the scenery.



Up there, long-gone guard rails would save some careless drivers—sometimes.



The big payoff for your drive are the ruins of the Tumble Inn (later, the Mountainview Lodge).



Although the landmark arch is some rebuilt version of the original, the edifice of native stones still marks a nice turnaround point.



If the road south of the Tumble Inn is open, you can take it past the site of the former Kelly's Halfway in, and all the way down to Castaic. But when you get there, you might find the gate at the other end closed, forcing you to make a two-hour drive back the way you came.



By 2005, the road had suffered so many rockslides and washouts that it's been officially closed—but sometimes the gate is open. (And even when you can't drive on it, you can walk/hike on it.)



I'm banking on it being open the next time I come to the area, so I can see the rest of it (as well as any sections north of Gorman that are still open).


Photo: Circa 1922, Automobile Club of Southern California collection, USC Libraries (Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

Stay tuned for dispatches from my visit to the Ridge Road Communities Museum and Historical Society. 

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Hiking Old San Francisquito Canyon Road, Along the Path of the St. Francis Dam Flood
Photo Essay: The Road That Google Maps Forgot, Old Hwy 62

April 09, 2019

The Most Orangey Orange I've Ever Seen

I hadn't planned on making a special trip to the poppy fields of the Antelope Valley this year—especially not after my infuriating experience earlier in the season at Walker Canyon in Lake Elsinore.



But then I was looking down upon the valley floor as I was standing along a ridge at the westernmost portion of Lancaster—and I saw it. From nearly 20 miles away, it was the brightest orange I'd ever seen. It couldn't possibly be real.



So instead of hopping on the 5 freeway to go home, I detoured east on the 138 and drove along Avenue D, past the Lancaster Road turn-off, and gawked at the Joshua trees in bloom.



Spiky yucca soon gave way to curled fiddlenecks and an abundance of other yellow flowers...



...with a few California poppies sprinkled in...



...their orange petals quivering in the breeze.



And then... yowza.



What I'd seen from afar was even more spectacular from Lancaster Road—across the street from the Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve.



It was the most poppies I'd seen at any one time in any one place. The hillside's fluorescence was preternatural.

This time, I decided to enjoy and admire it from afar, taking in the full panorama rather than fighting the crowds for the perfect close-up.

I crawled down Lancaster Road in my car, bobbing and weaving around those who'd parked outside the fee area and walked, and pulling over a few times to snap a few shots while double parked.

Once again, the photos don't do it justice. It was even more unbelievable than what a picture can portray—as though the landscape had been spray-painted with the brightest caution orange that a construction crew could ever find.

Wildflower season is nearly over here in the southernmost reaches of California—especially with the heat wave that's set in over the last two days, which is sure to burn out any remaining blooms.

I didn't get to see everything—but between the Antelope Valley, Anza-Borrego, and everything in between, I do feel I got the best of the best.

And that'll tide me over until next year.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Poppies Peaking in Antelope Valley
Springing Forward in Search of Wildflowers
The Worst of the Superbloom, At Walker Canyon

April 05, 2019

Photo Essay: The Bygone Celebrity Playground of Borrego Springs

[Last updated 4/6/21 8:27 PM PT—details regarding Hoberg family members clarified]

When I first visited Borrego Springs, nestled in the heart of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, I'd actually wanted to stay in the nearby mountain resort town of Julian.

But it was September, and apple-picking season was beginning to peak.

The desert, however, was still a little too hot for most tourists, so we had no troubles booking a room in the valley.



I didn't know a thing about Borrego Springs before I visited—save for what a New York Times article had described as something like "The Next Palm Springs That Never Came to Be."



That article suggested we stay at the Palms at Indian Head, and we obeyed. Knowing me, always to root for the underdog, it was the perfect place for me to escape as well.



At the foot of Borrego Palm Canyon, The Palms at Indian Head was originally built in 1947 and opened in 1948 as Hoberg’s Desert Resort, owned by brothers Frank and George Hoberg. In 1950, after Frank's death in 1948, its proprietor became Mildred K. Hoberg, who'd been widowed by a third Hoberg brother, Paul. She moved to the desert with her own widowed mother and three teenage children.



Hoberg sold off the property in the 1950s, remarried, and moved to Northern California. But by 1958—after much of the resort burned down—it had already been rebuilt in a modernist style and renamed “Borrego Palms.”



Eventually, even the new post-and-beam version fell into disrepair and was forgotten, with all eyes shifting to Palm Springs instead. In 1993, new owners started restoring the property to its original splendor, naming it "The Palms" and adding "at Indian Head" after the mountain that rises up behind it, which some say is shaped like the head of a Native American chief.


circa 2008

Unfortunately, the underground observation deck for the swimming pool has been permanently sealed off (though I got a glimpse through it back in 2008 when I stayed there).


circa 2008

The architect of the rebuilt The Palms at Indian Head is unknown—but its design can hold its own among the creations of other desert modernists, like Albert Frey.


circa 2008

And it's in good company, too—as Borrego Springs features architecture (including pioneering use of steel construction) by such Mid-Century luminaries as William Kesling, Cliff May, and William Cody.


circa 2008

Architectural pedigree aside, sunset was absolutely magical at the Palms at Indian Head, as the cottontails emerged from their warrens and hopped freely through the bushes, and the bats began to dive-bomb the placid surface of the swimming pool water (while we were still in it, of course).


circa 2008

Having done it myself, I could also see why the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Bing Crosby, Orson Welles and other glitterati enjoyed waking up here.


circa 2008

I didn't want to leave, back then—especially not to return to my East Coast life. (It would be another 2+ years before I could move to California permanently.)


circa 2008

The Palms at Indian Head had just been restored, and I was having all these fantasies about becoming its live-in caretaker.


circa 2008

Things like that are possible in the desert, after all.


circa 2008

I liked that Borrego Springs never became the next Palm Springs and retained its remoteness and quietude.


circa 2008

I also loved that the Palms at Indian Head kept the ruins of much of the original property.



You can still walk right through them—despite how architecturally unstable they may seem—though the exterior walls have been painted an incongruous shade of lavender.



There are few signs of trying to demolish the old remains or even make it safer to visit...



...with rusty spikes sticking out at every turn.



It's fascinating to try to piece together the plot of the old Hoberg Resort, walking on sidewalks that led to nowhere, standing behind walls with huge chunks missing out of them.



It's the spooky feeling of walking through someone else's memory...



...piecing the bits together as the details crumble around you.



I wonder what Mrs. Hoberg would think, to see it today.



Original shower stalls and even toilets are still standing, sheltered by salmon- and mint green-colored tile walls.



But beyond this upright skeleton, this standing shell of a bygone resort, there lies the desert...



...wide open and blue, with the day-moon rising and a frondless palm piercing the sky.

Related Posts:
Just Deserts.
Photo Essay: Borrego Springs Ranch (Closed, Reopened as La Casa del Zorro)—Updated for 2019