Armen’s resuscitated enthusiasm for fishing inspired him to plan an overnight fishing expedition to the edge of the Range that spring. He talked Sam into joining him for a bike ride up to Lake Kaweah one weekend.
Come one Saturday morning in May, Armen and Sam collected their bait, tackle, flashlights, matches, and bedrolls, hopped onto their ten speeds, and rode off into the morning sun. They rode their bikes east down Grangeville Boulevard, then cut down 7th Avenue to Lacey Boulevard and continued eastward. Lacey, also known as California 198, had more traffic than Grangeville, but it had a wide shoulder and the traffic meant no bike-chasing dogs. Laid out in a straight line directly east, with nothing else but farm fields and dairies in sight, and the old, great oaks shading the pavement at regular intervals, the highway resembled the tree-lined drive of some old Southern plantation, from Slough City to the citrus orchards that skirt the Range.
Kaweah River and Lake
Just east of Slough City, the boys entered Kaweah River country, though they were not aware of it. One Sink watershed looks no different from the next, and it’s hard to tell from where a wandering canal flows on a featureless plane. Dogs barked from their restraints. The boys passed under Highway 99, and pedaled through Visalia—the starting point of the early Hockett Trail. The ride taxed Armen’s legs, as he did not ride regularly, but his enthusiasm more than compensated for his mediocre condition. Sam wasn’t much of a biker, but he ran often enough and he didn’t succumb to physical stress very easily. The pedaling kept him occupied, and he needed an occupation more than he needed to rest or to outsmart a fish.
Neither Sam nor Armen caught anything that weekend, but that overnight bike trip was a confidence builder for Armen. It wore him out, but the vision outlasted his fatigue.