I just finished uploading my third series of travel photos to Webshots:
When I have even more time at my disposal I need to order them but at least this time I had the presence of mind to name most of them before uploading. If anyone can identify the flowers leave me a comment.
March 18
Now this is what retirement is all about. I’m propped up in my bed with the remote keyboard on my lap reading E-mail on my computer with a coffee on the night table beside me—I feel almost decadent. After the sun has had a chance to warm things up I plan to go for a shower; then I need to pump out my grey water holding tank. When I’ve finished that task I plan to cycle down to a local restaurant called The Chart Room for lunch. Life is good. The world always looks better when the sun is shining.
When Ol Sol finally peered out from between the clouds yesterday after the rain stopped I got my bike set up and went for a spin up the coastline 6 miles to the end of Pebble Beach Rd. The wave rollers wash in up to 10 at a time crashing against the rocks along the shoreline and the prominences further out. Several off-shore islands actually have grassy patches and trees clinging to the rocks. Everywhere the seagulls and shorebirds own the skies. There are a surprising number of oceanfront homes for sale along this roadway—a sign of the present economic times or in the case of homes on the Oceanside an attempt to unload homes in danger of being washed away by the sea.
I’m just back from that shower and although I managed to figure out how the present shower stall works and get hot water, after six months on the road there’s nothing I’d like better than a full length luxuriant soak in a bathtub. Whether or not it would be worth the cost of renting a motel room for the night for that purpose I’m not entirely certain. Perhaps I’ll wait until I can borrow a friend’s in Calgary. (Are you reading this in the birdsnest?)
March-19-2009
Just a twenty mile drive up the coast and into Oregon and the price of gasoline drops 50¢ a gallon. The Welcome Centre at the border, alas, proved just as impossible to locate as any in California. A sign on the highway is useless if nothing indicates exactly where the place is located. Given the importance of tourism to the local economy you’d think they’d make a better effort to be visible.
Gold Beach has a decent bookstore but alas they had none of the books I was looking for in stock. The people in the attached coffee bar were the only servers in sight and they seemed to know nothing about books. I’m reminded of the proprietor of the Lutheran Bookstore in Kitchener Ontario whose classic response to any book enquiry was a wringing of his hands and “We don’t have it but we can order it.” At least there is no tax on books in Oregon. The toothy grin on cover-shot of the then 18-year-old author of a collections of WW#2 letters home from the European Front so captivated me that I just had to buy this book by a local Gold Beach ‘boy’ who looked remarkably like myself at that age.
Having an exact street address for Honey Bear Campground made finding it easier than usual even if my GPS wasn’t exactly sure where the cut-off to reach it was located. I ended up retracing my steps slightly getting here. The proprietors Gary and Jeanett Saks are German and Gary has been making German Sausage since he was 14 and has two missing digits to prove it. I may have to stick around an extra day to enjoy their Blackforest Kitchen Restaurant Fare tomorrow night. The Oregon shoreline is just across two highways a short walk away and from my RV I can hear the Pacific’s crashing waves.
From my online CBC sources I learn that Standfield’s Underwear in Nova Scotia is shrinking the size of its workforce by instituting a 4-day work week to avoid lay-offs. As long as their briefs don’t shrink as well. Atlantic Canada has a glut of frozen lobster. It would seem that sales have been hit by the economic downturn. Plans are underway to find new and unique ways to market it.
In 2008 Toronto Police used Tasers once a day and in 1/3 of those occasions the person tased was emotionally disturbed--if they weren't before they certainly were afterward. Should police be using a tranquilizer gun instead? I still say that Taser use is replacing the need for proper training in the use of physical restraint and replacing the need for police to get in close and risk possible physical contact; or just good old patience, waiting for the individual to calm down and rationally assess his/her situation.
Beware the Ides of March Beware the day after as well. It’s been raining a monsoon here in Northern California since Saturday afternoon with no signs of letup in the immediate future. The cantankerous perpetrator of this blog is rapidly getting cabin fever cooped up in this 22-ft RV. Outside the flowers in the grass are floating in two inches of water.
Funny people’s priorities. Statistics report a frightening percentage of Americans have no fruit or vegetables in their diet but in the grocery store true 18% coffee cream is impossible to find. Surely it’s about the amount you put in your coffee, not the level of butterfat in it. I use only a drop of true cream but here I need to cool my coffee with a large finger to get the same effect. And just what is fat-free half and half? Still on the subject of food if you buy carrot and celery sticks, broccoli flowerets, sliced peppers remember you are paying four times the price for that convenience. If you like hashed browns with your bacon and eggs the price of frozen prepared is usurious compared to preparing your own. Also know that you don’t have to go to the work of boiling those potatoes the night before; simply peel and slice them into a bowl of water to keep them from turning black, then drain them just before you want to fry them and tip them into a hot pan of grease and cover, sprinkle with black pepper and turn once. If you like them hashed simply coarsely shred them just before you’re ready to put them in the pan. By not boiling your potatoes you preserve all the nutrients that would be lost in the water.
A week ago Saturday at Dolphin Isle I wrote this wail. For a week now I've been watching a veritable zoo of wildlife from my RV Windows but this morning I took a camera outside and everyone disappeared. I realize the outboard motor-equipped canoe didn't help but even my resident herring gull abandoned his favourite post. Hopefully tomorrow and I'll be able to start earlier. The sound of squabbling kids and someone mowing his lawn do nothing to improve the atmosphere.
Toronto celebrated it's 175th anniversary March 6. Muddy York or Hogtown, however you might remember it has come a long way but a look at any local webcam will show that it's still very much under construction.
Queen's Park, Ontario Legislature Tory leadership hopeful, John Tory lost his bid for a seat in a recent by-election. It would seem there's no hope for Tories. What with the shenanigans of Stephen Harper's minority Tory Government in Ottawa and long memories of Mike Harris and Ernie Eves Tory fortunes will likely languish a while longer.
Toronto driver clocked doing 150 mph on HWY 400. Such speeds are no longer cool even on the German Autobahn.
Fisheries catch size limits causing genetic change in the size of fish. By setting a minimum catch size in areas where target fish are aggressively caught our Ministries of Fisheries are influencing natural selection by encouraging smaller and more immature fish to spawn at a time when they will be less productive and their offspring less viable. So say scientists researching fish biology.
In another case of tech support providing no help I used the link provided to complain that the video I’d ordered and paid for in iTunes wasn’t being made available by the software for download. What I got back were directions to spend hours doing utter violence to my hard drive and operating system on the odd chance that this might resolve the issue. When I replied that none of this so-called stock advice was of any use I was offered the option of calling in for paid assistance. They wanted me to pay to get help downloading the material I’d already paid for. That not sitting very well I waited another 4 days and miraculously the download became available when Apple’s Servers were put back online. Before you try to clean the speck from your neighbour’s eye take the log out of your own eye.
Or at least today’s rant. After 37 years a letter carrier I’ve received regular issues of rain gear over the years and at home have a $300 Gore-Tex Jacket still sitting in its plastic wrappings; why then are none of them packed aboard my RV? That’s a rhetorical question by the way. I ask that because it’s raining again this Friday morning.
I’ve been riding around in this RV for the last 6 months with a set of keys for which I had no known use—fortunately I decided to keep them just in case. Just today I discovered they open the cover surrounding my continental spare tire. It wasn’t until today while I had the tire lowered to access my second rear door that I discovered the lock on the underside of the casing.
I read in the online edition of the Oakville Beaver recently that at a corner where I used to stop twice daily to get mail from one of my relay boxes someone assaulted a 85-year-old woman at noon time. In Sackville, NS a clerk asked a robber to “Please leave the store.” and it worked! Sometime it pays to be polite as your Mother taught you to be.
Just in case you’re feeling over-weight and bemoan losing the battle of the bulge remember; Lady Liberty in New York Harbour has a 35 ft waist.
Here are a few points to ponder:
Football is a mistake. It combines the two worst elements of American life. Violence and committee meetings.
George F. Will (1941 - )
The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure they're going to have some pretty annoying virtues.
Elizabeth Taylor (1932 - )
Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything.
Charles Kuralt
The reason why so few good books are written is that so few people who can write know anything.
Walter Bagehot (1826 - 1877)
The only reason some people get lost in thought is because it's unfamiliar territory.
Paul Fix
Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.
Leo Tolstoy (1828 - 1910)
California Welcome Centres continue to hide on me; I’m beginning to believe they don’t want people to find them. I suppose that saves on travel brochures. Is it because they don’t want tourists in the first place? Whatever the reason they do a disservice to the travel industry.
Making breakfast this morning it occurs to me that the chicken who laid the egg doesn’t have to die to provide my meal like the porker who supplied my bacon and since most chickens have never seen a rooster there’s no chance that egg could have ever become a chicken.
Guess I’ll sign off now before I confirm unequivocally that I’m full of it.
February 26, 2009
Tonight I’m in Marin County 5 miles from George Lucas’ famous ‘Ranch.’ I drove up to San Francisco this morning along Hwy 101 in driving rain. Heading back out to the coast just didn’t seem worth it in those conditions and I needed to get somewhere north of San Fran to find affordable camping. That meant nearly 200 miles of driving today. The traffic on 101 grew steadily heavier though the number of lanes remained steady at 4—one for multi-passenger cars. I took the second lane from the right to avoid continually merging with on and off traffic and in the heavy traffic the speed slowed enough to accommodate me. I arrived in San Fran at 11:00 AM. The 15 mile drive along city streets in Downtown on the approach to the Golden Gate was something else. I really hadn’t anticipated running out of Freeway before I crossed. I would not push a baby carriage against a red light in front of a moving 5-ton vehicle but a local did just that. She trusts my brakes more than I do.
After that transit of the city crossing the bridge seemed anti-climactic. The sky was clear by this point but the view even from my RV’s height was limited as it is on most bridges. Traffic was not heavy and I got a break in that there is a toll only for south-bound traffic. Highway 1 north of the Gate is another of those narrow, winding, hill and dale passages filled with switchbacks, flooded roadways, and washouts. Again I was fortunate in finding little traffic. The views of the coastline were magnificent but as usual there were no pullouts in the best locations to allow photography. The side-hills were filled with some sort of flowering shrub having whispy leaves that I could’t identify.
What is it with these campgrounds. The privately-owned campground I’m staying at tonight demanded cash payment. Which century are they living in? I’ve learned to expect it of State Parks but what next? At least their Internet works. I’m in Olema, a small enclave that remains in the middle of Point Reyes National Seashore. So far I have yet to explore the park, only take a walk along the narrow main highway to see large signs in front of the few businesses that read open despite the locked doors under them. Next door is a typical Catholic Church with large white statue of Mary and a grotto with flickering candles and a painting of the Virgin and a small statue of Christ. The daffodils are in bloom here and the Irises ready to shoot blossoms. The flowering almond is in bloom. Seems strange in February.
Next morning I awoke early to the sounds of a Great Horned Owl calling in the distance.
Not all travel experience is sweetness and light. Even the best of meals eaten out can be spoiled by bad service. Twice recently I had to remind servers that bread and condiments came with the meal I'd ordered. Rolls should arrive with the soup and the meal—not after one has finished it. All waiters seem to be schooled in the art of flogging over-priced alcoholic beverages though. The practice of requiring motorists to key in their zip code when they purchase gas with a credit card makes it problematic for a Canadian to fill up at a gas station. This is particularly difficult when they insist that one fully pay for the fuel up front. How does one estimate the dollar value of fuel when the price is ever fluctuating and one has a wonky gas gauge? Rude gas station attendants don't help matters much. And in my vehicle gassing up begins with switching my propane fridge to battery power. Gasoline at $3.10 a gallon doesn't improve one's mood much but it's better than running out.
In Monterey I drove through Fisherman's Wharf and Cannery Row while I thought of John Steinbeck. Finding no place to park I kept driving and after reading Monterey's crime statistics not leaving my vehicle unattended may have been a wise move. After fighting city traffic I was thankful to gain the relative calm of two-lane farming community roads in the Salinas Valley.
I pick campgrounds by consulting the Woodall's Guidebook I installed on my computer and their location based on MS Streets and Trips. I then attempt to find them with the help of my GPS. State and National Parks that provide the address of their head office up to 100 miles distant can make finding them difficult and local names for streets that appear on no map and highways that lack street addresses add to the challenge. Casa de Fruta near Hollister, however, is hard to miss. A dynasty built up over 100 years this is a city state unto itself. It boasts Casa de Everything. Gas Stations, the original Orchards, Motels, 300 site RV Park, Winery, Mini-Railway and Carousel, Fruit Market with grapes displayed in the box of an antique Chevy, Sweet Shop, panning ore, Restaurant, grocery store, even Casa de Washroom. The whole is 'decorated' and fenced in by a centuries' worth of cast-off farm implements and trucks. Aside from cows there are buffalo, deer, and a peacock who brayed for his harem of pea hens at 4:30 AM and roosted for a time on my picnic table. The girls were up a tree for the night.
Thursday Morning I began the drive up to San Francisco in driving rain. It seemed pointless to head back out to the coast at this point. Eleven AM seems to be good timing to approach a major American City and traffic though heavy moved at a reasonable speed. Running out of freeway and ending up on busy downtown city streets was not an eventuality I'd anticipated. I would not push a baby carriage in front of a 5-ton moving vehicle against a red light but a San Francisco 'Mother' did just that. After 15 miles of traffic lights and one request from my GPS to go the wrong way on a one-way-street and a precipitous climb up one of San Fran's famous hills complete with a cliffhanger red light I was thankful to reach the approach to the Golden Gate. The air was clear and the sky filled with billowy clouds as I began my crossing. Northbound passage is toll-free so I found. As with most bridges one has to walk them to really enjoy the view.
At the north side I chose to keep going. Highway one leads up the coast along another narrow, winding, hilly stretch of highway. Marked by washouts, flooded patches, and land slides this is not a road for the faint of heart and its sharp hairpin curves require close attention, slow speeds, short vehicles, and a busy steering wheel. Once the coast is reached the view is fantastic and the highway follows the view. After leaving Golden Gate Park one enters the domain of Point Reyes National Seashore. Camping is provided by a local State Park and a few private outfits. The small hamlet of Olema remains along the highway in the park and there my campground demanded cash for my site. They don't seem to understand credit cards and the Twenty-First Century. I still don't understand why, with pot holes one could get lost in they feel the need for speed bumps. The buildings are ringed with sandbags in an attempt to prevent flooding. Their power works however and their Wi-Fi is high-speed.
Daffodils are in bloom here and irises shooting. The Flowering Almond is also in full-flower as were wild purple shrubs along the highway I couldn't identify. The sight of a cyclamen blooming in an outdoor garden reminded me I am not in Canada. Overhead the distinct call of a red-tailed hawk sounded and at dawn Friday morning the answering calls of two Great-Horned Owls. A walk along the highway before dark revealed large signs proclaiming the local businesses to be open despite obviously locked doors. Five miles distant is George Lucas' Marin County Ranch, the home of Industrial Light and Magic.
No, I don't have an explanation for this name.
Even after 5 days I still encountered nearly 15 miles of fog enshrouded coastline but it seemed to be a localized phenomena. Everything written about the majesty of Big Sur is justified once you see it. The Los Padres National Forest was burned over last December but the coastline has regreened nicely. New commercial development along Highway 1 has been frozen and nothing obscures the views of endless coastline. This also serves to make the few private properties valuable commodities witness a shoreline property for sale by Sotheby's. An eighteenth century lighthouse located on a hummock of land at the coast stands out as a unique sentinel as does the beautiful Bixby Bridge. No bridge along this highway is younger than fifty years meaning all are past their best before dates.
Camping at Kirk Creek Campground with no facilities beyond the booming surf 100 ft below and stars above obscured by no artificial light is bucolic indeed. A set of park benches serve as a perfect spot to watch the ocean sunset and later Venus shining a path across the water. The only sour note was the experience of meeting someone in a rig too long for this highway driving on my side of the road. Luckily I'd seen him across the canyon and was ready to pull out. Discovering that gasoline in the park was $3.10 a gallon was a sobering thought as well.
February 18, 2009
San Luis Obispo—Saint Louis, the Bishop
On Tuesday morning I drove up the coast to the totally forgettable Leo Carillo State Park. The return of rain made me decide the walk under the highway to the beach wasn't worth the effort. A park with no hook-ups even the promised Wi-Fi was shut down with the camp store. The place was quiet save for the couple who snuck in under cover of darkness and left before dawn the next day and the rude, ugly looking cuss who walked right up to my smoked glass windows and attempted to peer in on me. I'd have loved to have had my panic button in hand.
On Wednesday I continued my drive up the coastline stopping in Lompoc to get funds at the local Bank of America. The route north skirted Vandenberg Air Force Base and led through crenulated rock faces turned on their sides by seismic forces. I stopped at a rest are in a canyon for lunch. California Welcome and Tourist Centres continue to be impossible to find unless one knows exactly where they are located and in that case one probably doesn't need one. That in Santa Barbara near the Harbour which had a kiosk charging for parking took the cake. I don't believe California wants to welcome tourists.
The most striking feature of the hillside community of Morro Bay is the 576-ft sentinel rock offshore. Or it would be had the Army Core of engineers not built a paved roadway right up to a peregrine falcon sanctuary. The sandbar that is backed up behind it guards a substantial harbour which supports a thriving fishing port and fresh seafood restaurants. Unfortunately the triple towers of the local power generating station loom over the downtown area as well. Why there's a four-way stop at the town's busiest intersection or why two sections of The Embarcardero are divided by a sandy creek bed are matters for local politicians. Both must be in sections of town they don't have to drive. That break in the road forces anyone staying at Morro Dunes Park to make a mile-long detour to access a major tourist area that is otherwise a short stroll away. On the plus side being on a dead-end street makes the campground quiet and walking to the beach across the road safe. Everywhere in the park the sound of booming surf is evident. Two lads riding up and down the beach strip on 3-wheelers tugged by paragliding chutes seemed to be having a whale of a time.
At night frogs called from every puddle and the breaking waves shown white by starlight. The sand dunes are covered by blooming sedums and the gulls endlessly patrol the air while shorebirds investigate the water's edge. This seemed an idyllic place to rest up and wait out the rains.
Feb 14, 2009
I may pride myself on having the ability to live within my means; John Paul Getty's means had no limits. Wanting travertine marble to clad his Museum he bought 5 Italian Quarries and hired the men to carve the blocks with which the Centre is built. Even if you have no interest in art, architecture or gardening a visit to the Getty is worth it simply for the view. Today was another in which I made no attempt at photography—some things just have to be seen. The views of the Pacific, Los Angeles, and the Pacific coastline are truly panoramic. If it cost a billion dollars to build the Getty Centre there are single art works inside it that are worth 8 figures. The gardens outside are a living work of art. The mile long automated tramway that takes one up to the heights is a engineering marvel all by itself.
My day began with the thunder of planes taking off from LAX. Kind of hard for even the Pacific Ocean to compete with that. Upon leaving I found my way to Venice Beach but when I discovered the beach parking kiosk I decided it wasn't worth the cost. I've seem more than a few beaches and I doubted any self-respecting bodybuilder was out at 8:00 AM at 44º F. After a few miles of commercial strip that offered no ocean views I took the expressways to drive up to the Getty. After the Getty I drove up to Malibu and discovered that my chosen Park gave me an eagle's eye view of Dan Blocker Beach within sight and sound but not the spray of the surf.
Sunday morning I drove up to see another local icon in Simi Valley—The Ronald Regan Presidential Library. Not sure what a copy of the Magna Carta stored at Fort Knox for safe-keeping during World War II has to do with Reagan but there it is. The Library truly is a reflection of the man himself. There he is in his high school football uniform, pictured in his riding chaps, his saddles on display, his B-movie career though I didn't notice Bonzo. I gagged at a nearly life-sized Buddy-Buddy pic of he and Mulroney on the way to see Air Force One. Compared to a 747 a 707 looks tiny. One of its Pratt and Whitney Engines is on display along with the official motorcaide car, police escort vehicle, and two motorcycle outriders. The 707 cockpit looks cramped for a crew of four—the spare crew rear-ward would have been much more comfortable. The fax machine meets one on the way in. The Presidential suite and that of the First Lady come next. Two cryptographs and the 'football' are on the other side of the plane. A conference room for guests is followed by the spare crew quarters, the secret service and strategically behind them the press. One washroom forward and two back. The IBM Selectric typewriter strikes an anachronistic note. The trademark jelly beans are not omitted. The plane sits on pedestals on its landing gear—tires rated at 256 mph.
Along with all the kitsch inside are a mock-up of the oval office and signs of bragging rights as a diplomat. Outside in a quiet corner overlooking the valley is Reagan's final resting place and nearby a piece of the Berlin Wall, a ¾ sized replica of the White House Rose Garden and an F-14 Tomkat. A less cloudy, hazy day would have improved the view of Simi Valley.
For a working-class contrasting view I put in a call to the friend of a friend from the Reagan security desk—the one pay phone was out of order. The modest home on a quiet street had a substantial steel screen door and a decent backyard with 'victory garden' and fruit-laden orange tree. Inside a natural gas stove and laundry room in the garage—a thing that is possible where there are never freezing temperatures. Just how many Americans are saddled with a mortgage whose value is greater than that of their home I'd hate to contemplate. The ride back through Malibu Canyon's twisting narrow lanes in the dark made me thankful that traffic was light and the rain held off.
When I awoke to driving rain the next day and further learned of all the roads that were closed staying put seemed the prudent thing to do. Rather than catch up on my blogging I set to work at installing software on my computer.
Feb 14, 2009
Why there would be planes taking off from LA Airport at 1:00 AM I couldn't begin to guess but I can say that I did not appreciate the wakeup call. Not much of a Valentines Present somehow.
While I'm in a sour mood I'll also comment that reading the Coast News out of Encinitas I encountered a column not calculated to attract tourists—an illustrated ten most wanted list. I can assure you this was not a beauty contest.
Maybe a shot of Scotch will take my mind off my distemper.
