We turned the heat on the car, so as to suck the heat out of the engine, and poured more water over the grille. The Jeep started with a hiss and whiz, and soon we were braking downhill, the engine puffing and whirring, towards the city of Independence.

We talked about the history of Sierra Nevada's. It is one of America's most famous bits of iconography: the 49ers, guns, rough living and murder. Songs influenced by the era have always painted the picture:

".Daddy made whiskey and he made it well. Cost two dollars and it burned like hell. I cut hick'ry just to fire the still, Drink down a bottle and be ready to kill." (Robert Hunter)

In Independence, we visited the museum: A mammoth bone. Pistols. Paiute baskets. And a collection of small bottles, one of which was labeled 'chocolate-covered nitroglycerin tablets.'

We passed the Cal-Tech radio observatory, and into Mono County. "We're everywhere," Antonin said. This was the rugged land of the Eastern Sierra's, America's wildest mountain ranges; gnarled pines gripping for life, year-round snowcaps and countless jagged spires.

This was the land that never fit into Sequoia or Yosemite, just endless public acres. It was the poster-child for the Turner Thesis, a turn of the century notion that purported that America's success as a practical, creative nation developed as individuals moved west; constantly reinventing old ideas and tools into new ones to adapt to a changing environment.

As society reached the west coast, and the frontier became civilized, America would complete its creative development. Sierra Nevada history was all gold. Over a third of all gold ever found in the United States was mined here. It all began in the Sierras - first with the sheath knife jabbing at rocks. As Turner's thesis progressed, the pan was developed, then a rocker and finally a sluice. Prospectors came from everywhere; China, France, Mexico, free blacks from the South and Scandinavians from the north.

Without law, there was only vigilance. A man could be noosed and dragged in plain sight of town, for stealing flour or wheat.

We passed into a giant caldera, miles wide. "See that pinkish-white rock on the side of the road," Antonin said. "That's famous among geologists. Its called 'bishop tuff'. When this volcano blew 760,000 years ago, it was the size of Mauna Kea. The magma was so hot, it turned into gas, and hardened all over this area. You can find it as far away as Nebraska, the wind just picked it up and deposited it there."

In the heart of Long Valley; the giant caldera, we turned east, along winding BLM roads, to the Mono River, where we met up with two Berkeley graduate students. One studies Latin American literature, and on the surface, it is easy to notice her soft demeanor and intelligence. She is also a skilled outdoorswoman. Just a year before, she rode a tandem bicycle with a friend, from San Jose to Colorado.without a tent.

Her companion is also a Berkeley graduate student, although according to Antonin, its "not difficult to find him hiking around out here in the Sierra's." We passed the signs that said, "Warning, scalding water" and jumped in the hot thermal springs of the upper Mono River. The water was hot as a bath, the winding river, beautiful. Antonin said, "Its just not a good idea to be here if there's an earthquake."

We headed out, on a narrower, rockier road, to a remote grassy valley, a bureau of land management cattle passage. A thermal creek ran through it like a steaming spine. After all, we were inside a crater. At one point, the high ledges above this valley were one of the local hunting spots for elk. Obsidian Paiute arrowheads are common here.