Portland! day two, gettin' there is wet and green

Waking up to cool damp fog and knowing we were not in a hurry, it was time for a couple of detours from highway 101. First, a drive through Sebastapol where this burst of fall color popped out of the fog. For a slow drive through postcard worthy green hills and pastures the roads west of Sebastapol can't be beat. We poked along the way to Bodega Bay stopping for surprise moss covered grave stones, grazing sheep, and patches of dew coated fennel.


In Bodega Bay we searched high and low for the church featured in The Birds but no luck. The town was sleepy and the water of the bay was dead calm. A short walk along the shore and a breakfast snack left us damp with sea mist. With one last apprehensive scan of the sky for gathering squabbles of gulls we drove the wacky, windy highway 1 north for a bit. Then, turning east through Guerneville we crossed the 101 again and entered wine country on the Alexander Valley road. Four miles up the road is the Jimtown Store where we stopped for lunch. The sandwiches there are tasty though a bit pricey, and it can get crowded at this popular stop. The wine tasters, schools of bicyclists in superhero spandex, and Sunday Riderz can be overwhelming but we came back for the sandwiches and scenery anyhow. (Our first time was back in 2002 for the Cotati Accordion festival because we're goofy like that. For that trip we hit up Penn Valley to visit with family and then drove all curvy-durvy to the Jelly Belly factory, Jimtown Store, the festival and more.)

From Jimtown we made a bee line for Humboldt on the 101. Now, I can blather on about the green and wet that we passed through but I think a string of pictures will do a better job. Welcomed by Sasquatch hisownself, we slopped around in the fecundity.




A bit north of Humboldt Redwoods State Park the sun was wiped out by storm clouds and we knew we were in for soak. No more pleasant mist damping our hats, this was a torrent. The windshield wipers struggled to cope with the kind of wet that makes Eureka notorious. With the small goal of finding a dry motel bed and at an achingly slow pace to stay on the road, we paddled into Eureka listening to Bollywood music on some radio station the scan function discovered. Dinner at a roadside diner, a hot shower, and dry clothes helped shake off the downpour. Sleep is always extra welcome when the water is pouring down and you have found your dry place to wait it out.

Portland! day one, gettin' there is half the fun

Aack! Things have been so busy, and I have neglected so many of our previous travels, but here's the beginning of one of my favorites. Late in 2008 we trekked to Portland, Oregon. A place we hope to visit again on the west coast leg of the Big Trip.

On our first visit to Portland we met with lots of swell people, some for the first time in person. Certainly, for this trip, gettin' there was half the fun. We took our time meandering up the California coast sticking mostly to highway 101, and our official starting point was San Luis Obispo. After spending the night with family we struck out northbound driving the long coastal valley past some of the richest agricultural land anywhere. The vineyards turned to vegetables and near Salinas, to endless rows of those giant edible thistles, artichokes. Naturally, we had to have a jump with the world's largest artichoke in Castroville. We were some distance from the acres of garlic near Gilroy but the onions still managed to perfume our path.
After a failed experiment with baking tiny cakes in orange peels on the car engine (they just didn't bake through... gotta stick to things that can be steamed over an hour or two or maybe tiny oranges) we had a quick road side lunch at In-N-Out (and NOT Margie's where the burgers were $10 and the service nonexistent). Then it was on to Santa Cruz to visit with St. Blaize and Neville, some of our favorite people. We had tea and a snack of fresh little tomatoes. This was our second visit to Santa Cruz and we feel at home there. It's near the top of our list of possible places to live for the next phase of our lives.St. Blaize and Neville took us on a tour of the neighborhood and community garden. Sigh... I hope we are not so broke after our trip that we can't search for a good place to land (are there any available near you Blaize?).

After our brief visit it was time to head further north. The fog rolled in and gave us a taste of the wet we'd be in for most of the trip.

We arrived in Burlingame by sundown, just it time to visit the Pez Museum before the proprietor closed up shop for the night. The variety is overwhelming, and includes vintage Pez vending machines featuring an illustrated Pez lady with lusty eyes and full lips. She seemed to suggest much more than freash breath, "Doppel PEZ fur 2 PEZ-BOX fullungen!" Our eyes glazed over all the candy colored kitsch and we realized we were starving. The proprietor had an excellent suggestion where to find a hot dinner in the neighborhood. Just around the corner they were serving up hot bowls of Vietnamese Pho. Our fondness for this dish is a subject I think I have well covered in previous posts. Maybe it was our hungry state or maybe it was the dreary cold weather, either way, that soup still sticks in the noggin as one of the best bowls we've had.

Back on the road we lost our way among the confusing one-way streets of San Francisco. Getting lost in the center of San Francisco at night in the middle of a street protest with nowhere to park and read the map, is not unlike Alice falling down the rabbit hole. With some dead reckoning and persistence we found our way across the Golden Gate. After a short stop on the north side of the bridge for some long exposure photos and humorous view of the cats and raccoons that hung around all buddy buddy, we picked a plain little motel in Petaluma for a night's rest. We passed out early knowing we had many miles of coast redwood forest to look forward to in the morning.

anecdote, Salton Sea and Bombay Beach

Way back in October 2007 we had a brief visit to the Salton Sea. We only visited a small part of the northeast shore and there is so much we missed. There wasn't time to visit Salvation Mountain near Niland, California or to travel to the western and southern shore of the lake. We were making our way home from Bisbee, Arizona by way of Interstate 8 and the green fields of the Imperial Valley. Bombay Beach was just off the road so we stopped to stretch our legs in the ever popular photo spot filled with salt-crusted, abandoned furniture, and derelict structures.
After uploading this photo mrs. a-go-go found on Flickr many portraits of the same chair from the previous two years. The chair seemed to be making the rounds to visit all the neighbors and see how they're holding up.

The Salton Sea and the developments on its shores are much maligned, but it's an extraordinary and surreal place. A number of structures on the Bombay Beach shore line have been left to shrivel as the sun and the salt whittle them down. It feels a little sad but the place has earned that ghost town charm of splintering dried out frames and scattered odd debris. I've heard tall tales about the stink of the lake, but that day there was just a hint of under-the-pier-damp smell. The horror stories are probably overblown unless it's bacteria bloom season. There are still a significant number of residents at Bombay Beach. Some of the houses are kept in a reasonably good state, others are suffering in spite of the efforts of the owners.
The late afternoon was warm and still. Looking up, the sky was a deep blue, but standing at the edge of the dead calm lake it was impossible to distinguish lake from sky in the distant sand colored haze.

Just before sundown we piled back in the car to continue on our way home. The raking light brought out the very best in the Chocolate Mountains to the East. They really did look edible. I checked the map and was delighted to learn such an appropriate name for the range. Then looking closer, I noticed that a large area in the Chocolate Mountains is an active aerial gunnery range for the Navy and Marines. That put to bed any notion of visiting there on future trips. Apparently, there is a rich gold deposit in the mountains and a little research hinted that gold mining rights to the mountains have been bought up in anticipation of the eventual closure of the gunnery range. Sorry to imagine the worst, but I can't help grimace at the likelihood that once the military is done making pot holes the mountains will be strip mined. It's a shame... the area has kept its beautiful desolate face in spite of the accidental salt lake and the ill fated resort development. I wonder if the mountains will still make me think of rumpled bon-bons after the gold is rooted out.

badwater and amargosa, Death Valley, part three

We headed back to the park road with renewed vigor after our lunch and nap. A short dirt road took us to the Devil's Golf Course where the dry lake salt crust is thick and jumbled. The day was not hot enough to hear the crust pop and crinkle. Under the right conditions if you listen you may sometimes hear the salt grind as it puckers and changes shape and new crystals shove others aside. The hard, brittle, and sharp salt hummocks made me think I was walking on jumbles of shattered and fused glass. Back on the main road mrs. a-go-go noticed a wide gravel alluvial fan with a good background. This is where we stopped to take the bunny mask photos, one of which graces the header of this blog. Yep, that really is an actual undoctored photo (except for the text).
Next, it was on to Badwater, the lowest spot (and sinking) in North America. The parking area and boardwalk here had been enlarged since my last visit. The salty mud and small ponds are sensitive to foot traffic and the boardwalk is an attempt to protect the few things that survive in the small patches of water. The true lowest spot is apparently some distance out into the slat flat and there is a sign placed in the rocks above the road showing sea level more than 200 feet above the parking lot. A short stroll takes one into the blinding white field where there are few other people wandering. The vast virtually flat space felt like standing on the concrete floor of the earth's basement. Perhaps it was just being below the ocean surface but something.... some THING.... lifted us into the air.It was time to head out the East side of the valley toward Death Valley Junction. We had some back tracking to do and we were running out of day, but on our way out we made time for a stop at Dante's View.
The narrow road to the vista takes you a long way off the road to Death Valley Junction but it is worth the detour. The panorama of the valley and high peaks on the far side is hard to beat and not to be missed.

Not long before sun down we arrived at the Amargosa Hotel and Opera House. We had reservations for an overnight stay and tickets for the one woman show by the inimitable Marta Becket. For more than thirty-five years Marta performed her unique ballet, pantomime, and story telling for whoever made their way to the tiny town for the weekend shows. The short recording of her show at the link above is from our visit. Her health was clearly faltering that evening and she sat and told stories with props at a small table on the stage. She needed some assistance just to take the stage and get to her chair so we knew she would not be attempting to entertain us with dance. The theater was close to full and I think the audience was particularly patient as they all knew she might not be doing her show too much longer. Her voice creaked and she had to think to remember some bits but her dry sense of humor came through. I recently checked in to see if she was still performing and sadly it seems she is not. At the opera house link above you will find the schedule for this season's shows but no notice of Marta's health. I was glad to find that someone, Sandy Scheller, is carrying on the tradition and appears to be performing Marta's material. I can't vouch for the performance but the hotel and opera house should still be worth a quirky visit. I only hope Marta is doing well in her old age and has retired from the stage gracefully.

The ceilings, walls, and doors of the theater have been painted by Marta over the years lived and performed there. As part of her story telling, Marta related that the decorations began when she decided she needed a permanent audience for the evenings when very few people came to the show. Many of the rooms at the Amargosa Hotel are decorated with Marta's paintings as well. Our room was circus themed. When we called for the reservation and mrs. a-go-go informed me of her room choice I dreaded that we'd be sleeping under the beady eyes and creepy smiles of clowns. Fortunately, circus theme in this case meant acrobats. Thank you Marta. It's a peculiar place and I recommend it to anyone who is really into something strange and quirky. Beware if you require nice carpet and up-to-date plumbing. Things are a little ragged around the place but it is unusual enough to be completely worth it.

In the morning we explored the worn old buildings of the small town and the stark cemetery before starting on our way home. Our return drive took us south on 127 to Shoshone and Baker. We saw many incomprehensibly wide, far away, and impossible to photograph things on that drive before turning on to grim interstate 15, but listen to this for a sense of what is really there.

dawn in a cornfield, Death Valley, part two

Up at dawn again. Seeing a pattern yet? We had a reservation for the show at the Amargosa Opera House that night so we planned to spend the day making our way across the valley. With our early bed time it was relatively easy to rouse ourselves for dawn over the Devil's Cornfield. There were so few other people up and about that we could stand in the road to eat breakfast and make Charlie's Angels style shadows across the cornfield. Cars were so few and far between that we could hear the faint tire noise two minutes before they passed us. In between cars, the silent morning chill and gold light filled the valley.

Next we headed down the road to Salt Creek for a hike. The creek is one of the few places in the valley that has flowing water nearly year round. There had been some rain so the water flow was higher than is typical, but it was still a small meandering burble. The morning was still ours and we saw only a couple of photographers out on the trail. The soil and plants around Salt Creek are sensitive to foot traffic so a boardwalk and small foot bridges are provided by the park service. There is no shortage of signs pleading with people to stay on the boardwalks but evidence of peoples' disregard is scattered at the edges of the creek. The thick salty mud holds foot prints for months if not years. In the early morning, in spite of the cold, there were small birds dashing from place to place in the low growing marsh plants. Salt Creek holds one of the few surviving populations of the Death Valley Pup Fish, a living relic from a time when the valley was an enormous lake. The water of the creek shrinks every summer to just a few stagnant pools of hot water. On our visit the overnight temperatures had been near freezing and we could see little activity in the water. The pup fish muddle through from icy cold to scalding hot, and salt concentrations that would kill any less hardy fish. We could see through the clear water lots of small oblong shapes littering the muddy bottom of the creek but no fish activity. As the sun got higher and things warmed up the shapes in the mud began to creep leaving faint trails. We still didn't spot any fish. We squinted at the shapes and wondered if these could be small sluggish cold fish. Nah... can't be. Those must be some kind of insect larva. We waited patiently and watched the water almost holding our breath. I figured that maybe the fish would only show themselves if we were still. We never did have a clear sighting but there were quick flashes of movement at the edges of the pools. We figured that these fast moving small phantoms must be the pup fish grabbing a quick meal.

After Salt Creek we took a short detour to the Harmony Borax Works. The sky had opened to a deep blue by then and the few clouds asking for their portrait kept mrs. a-go-go busy between photos of weathered adobe and folding chairs. Noon was almost on us, and it was time for lunch and a nap. The Furnace Creek visitor center offered bathrooms, natural history exhibits, and a quiet parking lot where we could recline the seats and sack out in the car after lunch. There were a few picnic benches but they were occupied so we ate in the car. After our meal we noticed a flurry of activity at one table on the far side of the parking lot. When the people had cleared out, a herd of opportunistic kangaroo rats quickly swept through to clean up any crumbs from the primate lunch.

After about a forty-five minute nap we were collecting our thoughts about what would be next when we were approached by a man with a very full gut. He asked if I could help him load his mow-ter-sicle in the back of his truck. What is it about us that every Tom, Dick, and Harry can tell from a mile away that we'll help if asked? Maybe it's the bunny masks. Anyhow, I wish he had found someone with more heft than me. His truck was up on too big tires and we struggled and struggled for a half hour. The ordeal took long enough that I was sure he wasn't stealing the bike. He explained that the bike was a new toy and he brought it out to the valley for his first ride but he was still afraid to ride in town.

In the next episode of our Death Valley adventure... Badwater and the Amargosa Opera House.

really good jerky, Death Valley, part one

After our January 2009 trip to Death Valley, it is now one of mrs. a-go-gos favorite places. The extremes of altitude between Telescope Peak and Badwater, the colors of the earth, and the visual distance add up to some of the most wonderful photography opportunities.

Our drive to the valley took us north on highway 395. About thirty miles from Olancha someone had placed signs advertising "really good jerky" at regular intervals. The repeated signs were effective. By the time we reached Olancha we had a hankerin' for that jerky. The price was a bit high but it was indeed really good jerky. The stuff was like crack. When the bag was empty, too soon, we had to dig in the snack supply for something to scratch the itch it left. The sky was thick with low clouds for all of our first day out, and the damp had been persistent enough to wet the desert. Things were smelling a little funny. When a little surface water sticks around in places that are bone dry for most of the year all the tiny organisms take full advantage right away. Swampy mossy smells are not what I expect in the desert.

At Olancha we turned East on highway 190 which would take us to Stovepipe wells where we planned to spend the night. It had been some time since I traveled 190 and when we stopped at an overlook I was perplexed. I thought we were looking down into Death Valley but it just didn't look right and I was sure we had more miles to go. It turns out we had to cross Panamint Valley first. I had completely forgotten about this part of the road. The view above is so typical of the Great Basin washboard that stretches across the middle of Nevada. I was reminded of another trip on highway 6 through Tonopah. That drive was an endless series of deja-vu views like this.

The overcast came as a blessing that kept the day cool and when there was an opening in the clouds we'd get a storybook sun beam. The possibility of rain and the forecast below freezing overnight temperatures kept us from trying to camp out, so we checked into the Stovepipe Wells Inn. It's a motel really just with higher prices as it's one of only a few places to stay in the Death Valley. We spent the late afternoon exploring the sand dune field near Stovepipe Wells. We took a slew of jumping pictures that mrs. a-go-go had planned for the soft sand. Walking in sand tired us out and soon we were ready to hike out and go have comfortable evening reading on our motel bed. On the way out we stumbled on a small mystery. There were two pairs of shoes left in the sand. By their appearance they had been deliberately left at least a day before. There was no other car parked along the road near the shoes so we crinkled our brows and looked around wondering what happened to these people. We decided that they couldn't find their shoes among the rolling dunes after taking them off for a barefoot, sand between the toes stroll. We tied the laces together and hung the shoes on the roadside didactic sign and hoped the owners would pass by there again.

Next up, more early morning shenanigans, but in a corn field this time.

not goin' far

Los Angeles is a big place and we haven't even scratched the surface after years for exploring close to home. Both mrs. a-go-go and I have a couple of generations of family roots right here in this Mediterranean climate. In fact we attended the same elementary school only two years apart. How did this town bring us back together through Bust magazine and an Internet date? Between the two of us we have more than seven decades of poking our way through Los Angeles, and we are still novices. It's love-hate like most people's feelings toward their local megalopolis. The variety of foods here is staggering, but so is the overwhelming number of people. From the mountains to the beach, the peculiar sights never stop, but so does the ever spreading ugly sprawl. With all this so close some of our best trips require the least packing.

Mass transit in Los Angeles has improved dramatically and it facilitates our day trips through the boiling mess of city. A favorite destination as part of any excursion downtown is the Bradbury Building at 3rd and Broadway. The restored central atrium with it's golden brown brick and tile, wild wrought iron, and glass ceiling steals some of the awe normally reserved for Gothic cathedral stained glass. Often our subway trips are driven by a food destination and the Grand Central Market next door to the Bradbury drags us back regularly for pupusas and tortas. The sawdust covered floor, the lunch time crush at the food counters, and the variety of produce and meats on display make it all feel like Los Angeles has outgrown a reputation for fluff.

Sometimes we stumble on bitchen stuff on our way somewhere mundane. With a keen eye mrs. a-go-go picks out the startling thing even at a dumpy Fosters Freeze. Her photo will stick in my head and I'll find it tacked to the icy slick taste of every vanilla malt to come.

Even trucking down Ripple St. next to the LA river to load up on stinky free mulch from the city green waste program can bring opportunity for surprise. The free mulch area is constantly stocked with new offerings; chairs, televisions, and cryptic messages on the wall.

Los Angeles, this big awful place and all the bits we've seen will take many more posts to cover. Stay tuned.

sand in my shoes and moderate sun

The a-go-gos love the beach, but we are not the sort to lay in the sun. We say, "good morning," to the ocean when we find ourselves there at dawn. We'll have breakfast on the cold damp beach and watch tiny crabs to kick the loose sand out their front doors. Early morning or not we don't linger when the sun is too bright. Overcast cool days are the ones to spend watching the waves.

For a Venice Beach ride we'll arrive when early-bird joggers and dedicated surfers are our only company, while the people who spent the night in their cars are still asleep. With so few people out we don't get the usual comments about our screwy lookin' bike helmets. Our ancestors come from the land that the sun forgot and we must work hard to maintain our pallor. We're usually home taking a nap by the time the sun worshipers are out. It's much easier to feel like you're the only one who knows about a place when there is no one else there. Arriving really early or going on cloudy, cool days makes the beach a new discovery. Sometimes the tide has been high enough overnight that yours are the first footprints. Cool days when the other primates don't want to be on the beach is when all the critters come out. Cormorants dive for fish close to shore and the kill deer stroll the lines of froth and sea weed.

Even when we visited friends in Maui for our honeymoon, we couldn't be bothered to sun bathe. I would be up early for a walk in the mornings, or we'd sit on the beach to wait for the sun to take its evening bath.
The sand makes for some fine jump pictures, and an early nap on a sand padded quilt is just that much better when you don't have to worry about sun burn. Sand dribble castles can stretch their ramparts across the beach when your construction efforts are not in the path of of the cell phone zombies and courting couples.

cows on the beach, Valley of Fire, part four

Our nap was delightful but the heat of the day was still on us. More hiking was out of the question so we thought finding the edge of Lake Mead and taking a dip might be worth a try. On a map the lake is just a couple of miles West of the park so we were on our way. We stumbled into some messy road work and ended up driving on gravel whoop-dee-dos for a bit. Following the map took us to Overton Beach. Hmm... no beach. There is a boat launch there that is now at least ten miles from the edge of Lake Mead. Drought indeed. Water still filters down from Moapa Valley to the north and there is active agriculture in the area but no lake. The recent lake bed was green with grass and cows munching their cud stared us down.

We continued on to the town of Overton for a cold soda and lingered for pictures of freight train cars on a siding and a big red rooster on the roof of a biker bar. That used up enough of the hot day that we returned to the park. Our last stop on the way back to camp was the cabins, a collection of small stone and adobe lodgings. A didactic sign explained that they had been built as part of an overnight rest stop along a stage coach route. Small with ceilings blackened by soot they were almost cozy. If we had not been joined by some cell phone hosts I could have finished my John Ford moment. Sitting in the dark interior looking out at the painfully bright red landscape and blue sky I very nearly saw Ethan Edwards pause, standing on the threshold weighing... stay or go?Back in camp we spent the evening reading, playing ukes, and listening to the echo of Say's Phoebe saying, "fee bee?"

Up early again on our last day, we packed our junk and went out for one more sun rise and one more chance to catch the clouds.