Monday, December 3, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Random Pictures and Ancillary Notes
The road pix throughout the journal were taken out the window at 75 mph with my I-Phone, hanging on for dear life. The random joke is that we argue over who was driving and who had the camera during the great shots.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
#12 - ORVIS - Petering Out (Ridgeway, CO)
"But you simply must finish. You've always had completion issues with your projects." My mother is half scolding, half encouraging, but I am never sure which half is which.
"Well, I'm hung up on Nashville. It's basically four days of nothing but exile."
"Just pretend the trip stops there, and keep writing!" she fake chirps, which would be her second half.
"I can tell you - I got very good at two things during 30 days and 8000 miles."
"What is that?" she perks up, in what what sounds like a sincere effort.
"Sitting on my ass and giving directions. I think it might be in my DNA." I shoot Mom a wink and grin, even though she is on the other end of the telephone. "Just kidding!"
"You know what they say about kidding. It's how you tell the truth without getting slapped."
OK - that is the 38% creative license. This would be the other 62%~
Final Itinerary:
1) Nashville, TN (his mother's place - 3)
2) Vail, CO (friend - 4 days - COTTONWOOD HOT SPRINGS)
3) ORVIS HOT SPRINGS - Ridgeway, CO (camp - 3)
4) Moab, UT (Canyonlands campground - 2)
5) Scipio, UT (1)
6) Reno, NV - (Circus Circus - 2)
7) San Francisco (all right - Mill Valley, CA - close enough - 2)
8) PCH 1 Campground (Ocean Cove - 1)
9) Eureka, CA (1)
10) Medford, OR (Crater Lake - 1)
11) Wendover, NV That place at the Nevada border with the casino - Wild West Dodge House "Home of the Cowboy" (1)
12) ORVIS HOT SPRINGS - Ridgeway, CO (3)
13) Salida, CO (1)
14) Memphis (1)
15) Nashville (some hotel - 3)
So I think I am up to #11 with the journal, which I will combine with #12.
#11 at the casino - at some point in a journey like this, certain things become a blur. I was asleep when we got there after 850 miles of travel. All I remember is pools and volleyball nets and groovy lighting for the hotel rooms that encircle everything, including ping pong tables and skee ball! Did I mention this splendorous party palace is ALL INDOORS? Great concept, however...
Dang get me to this room and please - let the sheets not smell like chlorine. There are no notes in the elephant journal for this evening, but I do remember this: we got in late at night, and this time we parked in the right place in one of many parking garages.
Once again we find ourselves among people stuffed like sausages in shiny polyester suits, doing a lot of jeers and cheers in front of flashing lights while cheesy cocktail waitresses bustle about. We maneuver our luggage among old school gamblers and other semi-lost people meandering around assorted tables where money is lost. Within minutes we are in our hotel room (no tent) and asleep - and that's all I have to say about that.
Numbers 13 and 14 on the list are also unmemorable ventures, other than busting a move across the country to the birthday party - #15, which is like Voldemort: "That of which we do not speak." I was incredibly disappointed that we weren't able to carouse in my old stomping grounds in Forrest City, AR or see the walking ducks at that hotel in Memphis, but at some point you have to make time.
#12 - ORVIS HOT SPRINGS (Part 2 - Eastward Bound)
Three nights of camping and it goes like clockwork. The lovely staff knows us, and I can navigate the stone trails blindfolded - foot is on the mend. We have found the best spot in the best hot spring, which is where we navigate each time. Even some of the locals recognize us and give the familiar nod.
However, both Wayne and Garth the Orvis Cats gave me grief last night. That wasn't supposed to be a complaint, so I will attempt to disguise it as a funny story.
"We just love Wayne and Garth!" she says, referring to the feisty felines who have been pestering me. They are both lounging in the sunshine chair in the the front room (the best one), trying to belie all of the havoc they have wrought during our nights of camping here. However, no one dares disturb them.
The black cat (Wayne) has taken a liking to me, and won't leave me alone. The first time we were here three weeks ago, he tried to break into our tent in the middle of the night, and then jumped into the innards of the van when I needed a flash light. 4:30 in the morning, sub-freezing temps, and I am chasing a black cat around inside a dark van. With no glasses on.
OK - cat is out, glasses are on and I am wide awake. Damn, it's cold. The creepy crawlies (heebie jeebies?) have arrived, so I go to the lodge to warm up, stretch and perhaps read. I am enjoying the solitude - umm - electric heat - when the striped cat (Garth) comes out of nowhere and won't shut up. That cat was going to wake up all of the people who paid real money to stay here in a real room! Back to the tent I trudge.
Wayne has obviously been waiting on me, and greets me as I exit the warm building. Hissing, "Go away!" didn't work, and he follows me all the way out, past the yurts and the lobster pot, letting his presence be known all along. I had to zip fast and dive into the tent so another black cat scramble wouldn't ensue and wake up my love. For the next 20 minutes, he circled the tent and complained that we wouldn't let him in. Instead of cussing, all he did was chuckle in his sleep.
Next morning - both cats are once again sleeping in in the best seat in the house as I write this. Later, Wayne is roaming about in the kitchen - giving new meaning to the word "communal" (hence the exasperated look in the picture).
"Well isn't that just hilarious?" the girl at the front desk says when I tell her of last night's escapades. Hmmm - no it is not. But perhaps my perspective has become rosy, and it's all in how you frame the picture and tell the story.
"I have seen so much beauty, it could make you cry." ~ Brett Dennon sings to us.
"'Homeward Bound' - name the group."
(Note: I used both sausage and cheese as adjectives. I must be hungry~)
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Spooky Dust Campground (Medford, OR)
"Apparently Keith Moon was so wasted at one concert that they had to haul him off, and the band conjured someone from the audience to play a couple of sets."
He is telling me a story I don't know, which both pisses me off and intrigues me at the same time.
A classic Who tune is on the station. "So who is this random drummer dude from the audience, and where is he now? I would love to meet him and write about him. Talk about a story for the rest of your days," I say as I drift off to sleep after what seems like the umpteenth hour and thousands of miles of distance and reflection.
"Petaluma... I know that town..." (really having trouble with the snooze... mind won't stop, but my body is in the half-way zone asleep)
"WINONA RYDER. Amber's Law. They're both from here. Used her star power to get that bill passed. Child abduction, shoplifting... Oh - AMERICAN GRAFFITI was filmed here. Steven Spielberg's second movie, great soundtrack..." within minutes I am snoring again.
"You are so making this shite up," he whispers with a beautiful grin.
Day 21 - We are Halfway Home
Traveling up the Pacific Coast Highway is an amazing experience: steep mountains reaching towards blue skies and falling into jagged cliffs. I turn my head to one side, and it is straight up; I turn my head again and the other is straight down into an ocean with a color I have never seen.
Later that afternoon, we meet with a relative of His close friend from the other side of the country, who greets us like family and welcomes us into their home. He is a renowned chef and local vegetable grower (and goats for milk and meat - yo!) He and his lover are lovely folks, who offered their home for the evening even though we were onwards towards Oregon.
OCEAN COVE CAMPGROUND, CA
The campground we finally find at the end of the day was eerily still and we have little time to set up camp (attached photo was taken upon arrival). I don't mean to burst my buttons, but I have become pretty good at the set-up camp thing, although the trusty lamp refuses to cooperate.
"Sprinkle spooky dust on it." I inform him. "That's what my brother always resorted to in Boy Scouts when all else failed."
"What are you blathering about now?"
"Waggle your fingers and say 'Spooky Dust.' It's like St. Anthony helping you find missing items, except this fixes things when you don't have any duct tape or WD-40."
Another incredibly cold evening. We usually wake around the same time and always chuckle at the adventure we are on, struggling in our sleeping bags to find one another's "spot" at the top of our mummification so we can kiss each other "Good Day Sunshine."
"Great birth control: sleeping bags and close proximity of complete strangers!" Steam rises as we both quietly hoot and holler, if that is possible: we love each other's company so much, some times it is hard to contain ourselves in a tent, even in the middle of Oregon.
He goes on a bike ride and I explore our new digs. There is a low hanging mist all around and within a short walk past the privvies and garbage/recyclables, I find myself on the edge of the cliffs. There are huge campers and small pop-ups that seem to be suspended with only ghosts that drift about when no one is there. That is when I hear children's laughter. Campsites with tree cover obscure all activity, and with the fog as thick as pea soup through the morning light, I am unable to watch the people who belong to this place and time... it is all very dreamy.
As I reach the precipice, there is a break in the clouds and I can see the sea. Huge boulders with trees growing out of them jut out of the breakers and hang on for dear life as rollocking saltwater waves incessantly pound them day after day, year after year. Somewhere, I hear Tom Petty wailing, "I Won't Back Down."
It's not 'clean' like the Atlantic. There are no white beaches to walk on, and the water is littered with lots of fungus. "That's a sign of a healthy biosphere," he informs me. "I don't care - it looks like crap. I mean - you make out on that beach - if you can find a beach - it's gonna be more AIRPLANE that FROM HERE TO ETERNITY. And forget swimming... you'd emerge looking like something out of a creature feature as opposed to a Bond flick."
In addition to their lovely sense of humor and zest for life, there is a mystical mist that hangs over the British Isles: now I know why Scotch-Irish age so gracefully.
Monday, November 12, 2012
She-Dracula on the Oakland Bridge (San Fran, CA)
"Name the singer."
"Joe Walsh."
"OK - that was soooo easy," as JW's distinctive guitar style is wailing on the radio and his nasal love song to the five boroughs of NYC fills the car.
"What movie was it written for? Perhaps one of the best/worst movies of all time." There is a short pause - I already know the answer, since I am the moderator of this here game. "WARRIORS!" And of course I have to waggle my fingers with pretend bottles and do the shout-out in falsetto: "Come out to plaaaaaay."
DAYS 18 & 19 - SAN FRANCISCO (In the City)
I have spent much time in New York's Chinatown, familiar with the layout, and know all of my favorite shops and restaurants. But this is a parallel universe: a major metropolis with hilly terrain unfamiliar to me, trolley cars clanging, blue sky everywhere and the Pacific Ocean always looming in the distance. Same smells, same vendors with familiar tchotka, same thickly accented epithets urging you into their place of business. I feel like I am in the Wookie bar in Star Wars, twice removed.
We meander about and find a great local restaurant - it is incredibly busy and we are the only Caucasians in the place. My veggie lo mein is some of the best I have had since teaching in the mid 80's in Liaoning province. However, His dish is nasty. NOTE TO SELF: always get the veggies because you never know when there is a homeless cat wandering about in the back (lame joke from teaching in China.)
We manage to find the most awesome Halloween party ever. It must be - since hundreds of people in some of the most outrageous costumes are snaking their way around every venue of a mega hotel: escalators and cattle chutes, camera bulbs flashing and people posing. After nearly two hours in pre-party mode with the escalation already in progress, we get to the front of the line.
"That will be $100," a female Dracula tells us.
"Like... for both of us?!" He asks. We look at each other with horrified grins.
"No - that's $100 apiece."
"You mean - there's a DJ?... I don't know what live performer I would see for that kind of money," I whisper to him.
And the Walk of Shame back down the escalator and cattle chutes isn't so much that, because the night has been splendid with humorous folks we met along the way - and the pictures were better.
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