It was already dark when I rode into Las Vegas and I straight away booked into a motel near 'The Strip.' This is the name given to the street which contains all the famous casinos such as Caesar's Place and The Flamingo Club. I quickly unpacked and set out to explore the night life. Everything seemed to be a Kaleidoscope of neon lights inviting me to this casino or that show. The shows in fact were very cheap and all seemed to be under ten dollars. All seemed to be subsidised by gambling, as to get to the entertainment of your choice you had to pass through gaming rooms and passed countless rows of one- armed bandits. I decided to spend the whole of the next day exploring this area as it would be interesting to compare the night life with the day. Indeed, the gambling went on just the same in the day. The Casinos appeared to be open twenty four hours. It was fascinating simply watching the gambling. The craps tables were the best as there was a lot of shouting and yelling along with the rolling of the dice. I did not indulge except to put a few coins in some of the machines but I did not win anything. I left Las Vegas the next day and rode west on R.190 into California after twenty miles I entered Death Valley by way of Jubilee Pass. Death Valley was very eerie. Nothing seemd to grow here. In the other deserts I had ridden across there were at least some sage brush and cactus. But not here. The Valley floor seemed to take on a mauve appearance. The surrounding mountains were composed of rocks of varying colour from deep red to almost gold. I followed the valley floor north. The narrow road hugged the base of the mountains on the eastern side presumably because the centre of the valley seemed to be composed of quick sand. It was much warmer in the valley than in the Nevada Desert from whence I had come, I rode on through this "Martian " landscape and reached the small alkaline lake, known as 'Badwater', at the centre of the valley. This was several hundred feet below sea level; the deepest point. I rode on. The road was practically deserted. Then, suddenly, I reached Furnace Creek and found myself amongst what seemed like millions of people. The effect was quite staggering after the quietness of the rest of the valley. There were masses of cars and camping trailers. There was an open air Country and Western show. It seemed that all the population had descended on that bit of Death Valley that day. I was told that these were members of the 'Forty- niner Club' who came here annually to celebrate the Gold Rush of 1849. It was all too much for me. I stopped to fill up with petrol and then hurried on my way, I left Death Valley by way of 'R.190' riding west up out of the valley with the famous sand dunes on my right. As the road climbed it began to get colder. I stopped at a lay- by to put on more clothing and was suddenly joined by a group of motorcyclists all bound for the 'Forty-niner Meeting'. They all appeared to be middle-aged, very rotund and were riding large 1000cc Goldwings with stereo and CB radio like those I had seen in Lake Havasau City. We exchanged a few pleasantries and I rode on. As I rode, the sun set; the reflection glowing off the deeply coloured rocks surrounding the valley behind me. The effect was extremely beautiful, causing me to stop frequently and look back in wonder. Ahead of me in the distance I could see the Sierra Nevada mountains capped with snow. It soon became very dark and very cold. Soon the cold was cutting right through me and I was relieved to reach the town of Lone Pine at the base of the Sierra Nevadas. There was snow in the air. This revelation came very much as a shock to me. For most of my trip I had been travelling across deserts. Temperatures had varied from very cold to extremely hot but I had not expected to encounter snow. I booked into a motel which was run by a middle-aged woman from Manchester. We reminisced about the great by-gone days of Manchester United and "wasn't it a pity about George Best". She told me that the pass I had wished to take across the mountains was blocked with snow and would be closed for the rest of the winter. I was very disappointed as I had planned to cross the Mountains the next day and visit San Francisco. The alternative was to ride south which would take me nearer to Los Angeles, my ultimate destination, but further away from San Francisco and I had only a week of my holiday left. She told me that some of the passes further north might still be open and that the ride over the mountains was very beautiful after the fresh snow falls. Still further north was the main freeway from Reno which was always open even in the depth of winter and now it had only just turned November. But, would the roads be icy? I do not mind cold that much on a bike but I hate the idea of icy roads. Would there be snow storms? Apparently, the forecast was good. I decided to make my decision in the morning. The next day the sky was clear and blue. I put on several extra layers of clothing and rode north. Very soon snow was piled up on both sides of the road. I kept my speed down and watched for ice. Cars whistled pass me, some with skies tied to roof-racks. I plodded on , gaining confidence as it seemed the road surface was safe. At the turning to the first pass, a sign told me that the road was blocked. The same was true at the second. I reached the turning to 'Monitor Pass'. There was no sign. I decided to risk it. Soon I was climbing up a steep narrow road. All around me was a winter wonderland. Then Monitor Pass was blocked but a diversion led me on to 'Kit Carson' pass (named after the legendary scout) and there was no need to turn back. My route led me passed fur trees. There were breath taking views of mountains and valleys all covered in snow. I might have been in the Alps. I passed through a resort where people were skiing. I pressed on . Already half the day was over and I did not want to get caught there in nightfall in case the roads iced up. It began to get extremely cold. Then, after what appeared to be an extremely long time, I felt the road descending. I entered a huge pine forest. Then suddenly the snow ended. I had made it. All at once the temperature became warmer. I rode out among green fields. Not desert but the first really green fields I had seen for weeks. Soon the sun began to set and the fields and road became covered with a thin blanket of fog. So, although I could see quite far ahead, I could not see the road surface. The whole effect was very eerie. Coupled with the exhilaration I felt from having conquered the Sierra Nevadas, it seemed as if myself and the motorcycle were flying through the air above the clouds. I glided on to Stockton and booked into a motel.