First thing for east coasters: U.S. Route 395 is the GOOD 95—nothing to do with the six- or 8- or 12-lane ribbon of concrete slabs and stress that you’ve plied as part of summer vacation trips on Interstate 95 and its bewildering beltways. For Jennifer and me this summer, U.S. 395 was both a journey and a destination, even more than a route from Lake Tahoe to Inyokern, about 300 miles south.

Two lanes for much of its length, 395 runs from the Canadian border to Hesperia in the Mojave Desert, near the Western terminus of its legendary counterpart, U.S. Route 66. Although it’s the only practical north-south route on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada mountains, our three days on the road were free of traffic troubles and road rage. Traveling this road rewards an elastic timetable, a good photographer as copilot, and curiosity.

Following a stay with friends at Donner Lake near Truckee, California, we hugged the Nevada shore of the big lake before veering left to pick up 395 near South Lake Tahoe. (Our timing was fortunate, as just weeks later, much of this shore was evacuated due to the Caldor wildfires.) This is ski country, hiking country, biking country, with changing terrain and visual drama around each bend. Further south, with Mono and June lakes to the east, the two-mile high peaks in Yosemite looming to the west, and the top removed from our rented red Jeep Wrangler, photo ops abounded as we cruised south along straightaways and sweeping curves. A ski lodge in Mammoth Lakes offered a hot tub; a brewpub completed our restoration as the night cooled rapidly.

By lunchtime the next day, we were lying on the lush lawn of a shady park in Bishop, dozing off our burritos to the background joyful noises of kids in a public pool on a hot day. Hosting on that day a high school rodeo competition, the town of 4,000 was probably the most populous on 395 south of Tahoe. Bishop is a tidy time capsule, with classic neon signs touting dusty stores. Old West facades line a Main Street which seems to have been preserved over generations, perhaps by the high desert air.

Further down the road in Lone Pine, we checked into the El Portal motel near dusk and hurried out to catch the dramatic desert light radiating from the unseen sun, setting far behind the sculpted foothills and serrated peaks of Mt. Whitney and its neighbors in the southern end of the Sierra Nevada. As daylight faded and stars emerged, the wide main street - 395, of course - swarmed with outdoorsy types back from the trails and scrambles of the mountain, illuminated by the rainbow glow of neon over sporting goods stores, motels, restaurants, and a saloon with swinging doors (but no brawling cowboys).

The town is the starting point for most of Mt. Whitney’s hikers and climbers. For dilettantes like us, the trip entails a drive to the Whitney Portal parking lot at 8,300 feet, then a hike to Lone Pine Lake at 10,000 feet, from where experienced climbers and fit novices with permits can finish the ascent to the highest peak in the lower 48 states. A 6.5 mile round trip on the well-groomed lower section took us about four hours. Give yourself an extra hour to cool off in the crystal blue lake.

Whatever your mission on Mt. Whitney, you’ll pass through the Alabama Hills, astonishing and unique hoodoos and arches sculpted by glaciers from red metamorphic rock and lighter granite, spread over many square miles of valley floor. These formations take weird, organic forms which served as the backdrop to hundreds of westerns, sci-fi movies and TV shows. Scattered groupings of these glyphs enticed us far off the paved road, on graded and packed red stone as well as Jeep trails, with campers, 4-wheel crawlers and bikers sharing the Martian landscape.

Night life along Route 395 in Lone Pine.

South of Lone Pine, we stopped at Manzanar, a ghost town which during World War II was a detention site for more than 10,000 persons of Japanese ancestry. Only a couple of structures remain from the sprawling camp, but rocky outlines of the hundreds of buildings once at Manzanar convey a sense of the austerity and desolation internees faced in this played-out ranchland, hundreds of miles from home.

Heading south, the landscape is dominated by alkali flats of borax and salt, interspersed with rangeland, spreading west to the feet of the receding Sierra and east to the smaller Coso and Argus ranges. We parted from 395 at Inyokern for a hotel with a pool to wash off the day’s heat.

Our last serendipitous find awaited us en route to the Pacific coast the next day, when we drove hungry into a tiny, faded town called Maricopa. Resigned to eating gas station food, we instead found an oasis in Tina’s Diner, a classic luncheonette, improbably vibrant with murals of owner Tina’s native Philippine island and scenes of Maricopa’s colorful past. After days riding in 90-degree heat, it seemed like a mirage, but Tina’s milkshakes and burgers confirmed its delicious reality.