Every since I was a youngster listening to the radio, sitting in the backseat of my parent's Plymouth with the tail fins reading street signs and road markers, I have felt the call of the road not taken. I fell in love with the song Seven Bridges Road by the Eagles:
Sometimes there's a part of me
Has to turn from here and go...
Running like a child from these warm stars
Down the Seven Bridges Road.
It's a slow meander past gravel pits, industrial-sized marble and tile storage yards and huge back-lots for the local large nursery: Mini forests of potted palms dotting a field. Once past the populated areas, and finally beyond the upscale snooty golf course and gated living of Murietta Springs, the land opens up into the beginnings of the Sierra Foothills.
It's then that I turn down Ione Road, and it's then that I turn off the radio and spend the next 30 minutes just thinking and observing.