Travel California

Bakersfield and Back Again:
It’s a road trip into the California that time forgot as we venture in search of California’s country soul.

By Matt Kettmann

Bakersfield gets a bad rap from many a coastal Californian. Sitting at the southern end of the San Joaquin Valley, right before the hot and arid flatlands jump over the grapevine of Interstate 5 into Los Angeles, Bakersfield is the capital of the Golden State’s Dust Bowl. That title is especially fitting for a town founded by Okies, those down-on-their-luck Midwesterners who traveled out west in search of better lives. These days, the Bakersfield good life means big meals and bigger trucks—with radios bumping loud country music—as the sprawling city of roughly 300,000 continues to work the earth in pursuit of happiness.

So while many Californians dread even driving through the city, I’ve always figured that such a hardscrabble history must lend itself to a hearty regional pride. With some simple research, I quickly learned that such pride surfaces most readily when it comes to the “Bakersfield sound,” a type of “electrified honky tonk” music that was fashioned there in the 1950s by none other than country music legend Buck Owens, who also came from Oklahoma roots. Turns out that Bakersfieldans like Owens, Merle Haggard, and other lesser known guitar pickers entirely changed the way country music sounds—and then in the 1980s, stuck by their town when comparably glitzy Nashville tried to lure them away. Even better, I found out that Buck Owens, now a spry 76, still plays at a museum/restaurant called the Crystal Palace on Fridays and Saturdays. Armed with that info—and tips on a few other country life-loving places along the way—I made plans for a weekend trip to Bakersfield.

Leaving from the California coastline near Ventura on Highway 126—which is about an hour north of L.A.—my first stop on the loop to and from Bakersfield was in the picturesquely quaint town of Piru, a name drawn from a Native American word that roughly means “reeds,” specifically those used for basketry. Those reeds can still be found in the town’s eponymous creek as it meanders down from Lake Piru, a dammed body of water—perfect for waterskiing, fishing, and camping—that’s located high in the mountains that frame the entire Santa Clara Valley.

In downtown Piru sits the Heritage Valley Inn, a recently renovated ranch-style mansion that has served visitors since 1890, including many of the silent movie stars in the early 1900s. While the inn’s quaint atmosphere and “homestyle” restaurant are reason alone for visiting, the real reason outdoor lovers come to Piru is to experience the wonders of Rancho Temescal. Dating back to 1834 and perched beneath Lake Piru’s tall dam, the rancho now offers a full-scale dude ranch experience, suitable for beginners and experienced equestrians alike. Trips, which can include cattle herding as well as simple rides through the 600 acres of streams, mountains, and flowering meadows, can be arranged for two to five days, with overnight stays at the inn.

While Rancho Temescal is leading the charge for the cowboy-minded in the Santa Clara Valley—not to be confused with the same-name region in Northern California that’s home to the Silicon Valley—there’s also the Fillmore and Western Railway, which is headquartered in the nearby town of Fillmore. They have a full schedule of events, ranging from murder mystery rides for adults to spaghetti western family rides, throughout the year, and every ride through the valley is worth it.

Heading east out of Piru, past the amusement park mecca of Magic Mountain in Valencia, Highway 126 ends at Interstate 5, the lifeline for commerce and travel from Mexico to Canada. Taking the northbound onramp, “the 5” quickly becomes the infamous “Grapevine,” a mountainous section of semi truck-troubling freeway that twists this way and that thanks to the whims of the state-shaping San Andreas fault. As the road starts downhill, the San Joaquin Valley opens up. Although it seems desolate from such a view, this valley—which extends for hundreds of miles toward Sacramento—is the source of much of the country’s food.

Following the signs to the 99 freeway—the offshoot of 5 that meanders through the valley’s many towns—the signs of Bakersfield come fast as oil rigs and ranches give way to strip malls and billboards. For an introduction both to the Bakersfield sound and to a history of the region, my first stop was the Kern County Museum, a sprawling mini-city mixed with old-style buildings and indoor exhibits about how this West Coast Dust Bowl came to be.

The $8 entrance fee was well worth the hours that can be spent investigating the old jail, drug store, blacksmith’s shop, general store, harness shop, undertaker’s office, Santa Fe caboose, Roscoe Martin corral, Wells Fargo bank, one-room schoolhouse, and just about any other antiquated structure that could have been found in the Bakersfield of the late 1800s and early 1900s. Plus, displayed inside each authentic building are the tools and trinkets needed for the job at hand, making the whole museum seem like an Old West ghost town whose inhabitants had just left for the afternoon. But just as frontier living was an integral part of the Bakersfield experience, so was oil drilling. Lucky for museum visitors, the interactive, informative, and fun-for-everyone “Black Gold” exhibit is on hand to explain everything we needed to know about oil—and plenty more.

It wasn’t till the end of my visit to the museum that I located the exhibit for the Bakersfield sound, which located the exhibit for the Bakersfield sound, which is upstairs in the main museum building. Photos, old guitars, memorabilia, and the necessary explanations served as the perfect introduction for the history of Bakersfield’s musical roots, which were honed at the Blackboard and the Lucky Spot, two watering holes that have since been knocked down. Seeing the young face of Buck Owens—and hearing how his decision to electrify a genre that in the 1950s was an acousticonly sound—only made me more anxious to see the performer live that Saturday night.

But the show wasn’t till 7:30 p.m., and it was only early afternoon, so I had ample time to check into the Best Western Crystal Palace that—as you can tell by the name—is conveniently right next door to Buck Owen’s Crystal Palace, the restaurant and museum where the country music legend still performs. As a clean, air-conditioned refuge in a town of dust and heat, the Best Western—visible from the 99—plays home to many a tired traveler; the weekend I was there, in fact, the parking lot was filled with Europeans who had just gotten their kicks by driving the extent of Route 66. I spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the shade and swimming in the massive pool, located amidst the serene gardens that the hotel’s cabanastyle design surrounds. The Crystal Palace The bar at the Crystal Palace featuring a rifle-toting white convertible coupe American Cowboy November/December 2005.

As the sky drew dusky, my hungry stomach and eager ears drew me to Buck Owens turf. As the doors opened to the Crystal Palace, the first thing I noticed were the bigger-than-life statues of, well, bigger-thanlife country legends on the right side of the lobby. Walking into the Crystal Palace is breathtaking: it’s a two-story, balconied, crescent-shaped hall full of seats and tables built in the grand theatrical style that mixes the Old West with the New South. Every cascading seat has a perfect view of the stage, but I decided that for dinner, I’d sit at the bar, in front of the rifle-toting white convertible coupe that Buck had put into the wall. Some “Dwight Yoakam” baby back ribs and big beers later, it was time for the show, so I took a seat near the first-floor balcony, intent on finally finding out why Bakersfield was known as the “ Country Music Capital of the West.”

Within minutes, I understood. Mixing slow ballads and jam-fueled hits, Buck Owens had the crowd gushing with joy, whether they were dancing in the front, raising their glasses to salute the many birthdays and anniversaries in the audience, or watching intently as one brave soul proposed marriage to his lady. It was just a regular old Saturday night, but thanks to Buck Owens, the Crystal Palace was packed to the gills and bumping with energy. Buck’s castle would give Nashville a run for its money any day.

When the show ended, I walked the few dozen yards back to the hotel, but noticed a familiar twang coming from the hotel bar. Inside, groups of Bakersfield locals kept up their town’s musical roots by singing karaoke to the popular country tunes of today. While watching them for the rest of the night didn’t compare to the earlier Buck Owens affair, I did notice that the country music genre these days is filled with electric guitar. Thanks to my Bakersfield outing, I now realize that modern country music would be entirely different if it wasn’t for Buck Owens and the Bakersfield sound.

By morning time, the heat had returned, and good tunes can only take you so far. It was time to head back to the California coast, but this time, I’d be taking the northern route, through the mostly untraveled roads due west of Bakersfield. Picking up Highway 166 west off the 5, I made a turn on Cerro Noreste Road, which passes through golden fields and rolling ranch hillsides into the private resort community of the Pine Mountain Club. Framed by the 8,000-foot-plus peak of Mount Pinos, the club boasts a golf course, tennis courts, horseback riding, and all the outdoor pursuits possible. Plus, there’s a tiny town center with a restaurant, bar, and general store, not to mention a real estate office where those seeking to be part of the action can buy one of the fastselling homes. The best way to enjoy the Pine Mountain Club is to rent a house for an extended weekend, so all its leisurely offerings can be explored.

Just past the Pine Mountain Club, I hung a right on Lockwood Valley Road, one of those hidden routes that pass through untrammeled California wilderness. While there’s countless spots to pull off and camp in the Los Padres National Forest—a truly unexploited forest of chaparral, pines, and oak woodlands where the lucky ones are rewarded with cave paintings and bear sightings—I kept driving till the turn-off for Schiedeck.

One of the few homesteads of the 1800s that managed to survive, Schiedeck is a cluster of homes along Reyes Creek, where trout still swim and cool water flows. There’s a campsite just past town along the banks of the creek for extended stays, but it’s even worth an afternoon visit for a beer and conversation at the Schiedeck Inn, which hovers above the creek. Occasionally, country bands from Bakersfield and Ventura will stroll into the inn for an evening of dancing, but usually, the living is slow and easy. It made a perfect rest stop for me, before I picked up and headed further west.

My final destination, once getting on the weaving, mountainous Highway 33, was Ojai, a small, quaint artist-filled town less than 30 minutes outside of Ventura that once served as the setting for the movie Shangri-La. Surrounded by the peaks of the Los Padres forest and shadowed by numerous oak trees, Ojai is jam-packed with places to stay, fine eateries, and quirky shops to entertain all in the family. But the most renowned place to spend your Ojai night is the Ojai Valley Inn and Spa. Just in case that name sounds a bit too posh for you—and posh would be a good way to describe this hideaway for Hollywood celebs where spa treatments preface world-class cuisine—saddle up one of the inn’s many horses for a ride through their 600 acres of wilderness. Daytrips are available even for those who don’t stay at the hotel, and they’re the perfect way to reconnect with the vaquero lifestyle of rural California. Plus, you might just be lucky enough to spot a cougar along the way.

I finished my trip with a Sunday night dinner at the Deer Lodge, an aptly named eatery specializing in meats of all sorts and boasting a cowboy-friendly vibe. Sundays are barbecue day at the lodge—complete with a westerny rock band in the afternoon and plenty of leather-backed motorcycle riders—so I settled on the roasted pig sandwich, which came with chili,salad, and all the toppings you could imagine. (The barbecue sauce is unbeatable and, for the adventurous, try the chipotle mayo.) As I drove away listening to a CD of George Jones singing with Buck Owens—perfect twang for the slow road back to the coast—it dawned on me that while I set out to find the Bakersfield sound, what I’d discovered was much more. Just as Bakersfield’s people find deserving pride as the country capital of the West, the rest of California can take pride that there’s plenty of hidden backroad haunts where the true Golden State spirit survives.

No wonder the Okies came.

Matt Kettman has frequently contributed features to American Cowboy on West coast travel estinations. He lives and works in Santa Barbara, Calif.

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