Cool

Out of Auburn, Highway 49 drops like a bobsled run to the American River. The road crowds the rim of a river canyon dotted with a few digger pines and much scrub. As you turn onto the bridge that crosses the river, you enter El Dorado County. In the rearview mirror you can spy the Foresthill Bridge, testament to the 1960s plan to dam the river at Auburn. The bridge is hundreds of feet above the river level and was built in anticipation of the reservoir that would fill the canyon. The dam may or not be built. Construction was begun decades ago, but was halted due to seismic concerns. It has been proposed for years in Congress to resume construction but the bill always fails. It continues to be a hot button political issue in the area. Fading "Build it! Dam It!" bumper stickers can still be seen occasionally.

Six miles out of Auburn, you pass through the breezily named community of Cool. It has a couple of buildings but is primarily a residential area for Sacramento commuters. Historically, it was distinguished for limestone quarries and kilns. It comes by its name honestly. It is generally ten degrees cooler than its Auburn neighbor.

Pilot Hill

Four miles further along is the much more interesting Pilot Hill. Pilot Hill is prominent for several reasons. It was named after the "pilot" fires lit to guide John C. Fremont and his pathfinding troupe from the Sacramento Valley into the Sierra in the mid-19th century. It is the location of the first Grange Hall constructed in California. But, it is the story of "Bayley's Folly" that provides Pilot Hill with its primary fascination. It is a story that reflects the hope and gamble of the Gold Country.

In 1862, Alcandor Bayley, starry-eyed visionary, took a chance. Anticipating that a transcontinental railroad route would pass through Pilot Hill, he invested $20,000 in the construction of a three-story 22-room hotel -- a considerable sum for the period.

Unfortunately for Bayley, a different route was selected about ten miles to the north and Alcandor Bayley, a man dressed in hope, became Alcandor Bayley, a man saddled with a white elephant. The once splendid plantation-style structure is now a ghostly, crumbling red building in arrested decay -- a chain linked fenced and gated testimonial to a dream deferred and finally abandoned. It was not the first aspiration relinquished in the Gold Country, nor would it be the last.