The town of Bridgeport is one of several, small rural towns that dot the California's Eastern Sierras along its historic Hwy 395. You can't miss it — the road runs smack through the middle of the two-block town. Carol and I have driven through and right by it too many times to count and pretty much considered it something of a one-horse town. Or a worse slight...a gas stop.
We corrected that oversight (and descriptor) this time around with a picturesque homebase a few miles out of Bridgeport at the Robinson Creek campground. A meditative spot surrounded by pines, large granite boulders, a meandering creek and the ever-present ground squirrel nation. Our five nights certainly gave us plenty of time to dig a little deeper around the place. No surprise Bridgeport (pop. 542) is one sleepy spot. Like most of Hwy 395 it slows you waaaay down. No doubt just the way the 'bridgeportians' like it. For the full-time locals and tourists, it seemingly has the basics covered. A couple motels, a historic Gold Rush Inn, eateries serving up plenty of local beef, a smattering of eclectic shops, a compressed civic center and even a jail attached to the two-car Sheriff station. For the first time we also noticed the small rodeo grounds at the edge of town that had a little action happening over Labor Day.
What it really has going for it though is its location! Nearby Bodie State Park features perhaps one of the nation's quintessential (working) ghost towns. The impeccable Mono Lake is only a half hour away and just beyond it looms Tioga Pass - the backdoor to Yosemite National Park which we drove home through. Mammoth Lakes is just another half-hour and change down the road.
...also an enjoyable thanks to folks we traveled and met up with in route : Terri Griffin, Ted Berger, Joan Berger, Michael Berger and Katie Mitchell
