Road Trippin'

Breakfast!

2012-01-30T09:40:00.000-08:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve McCarthy

I’m not really a morning person. Yeah, these days I seem to get up early, but that’s just a function of age and habit. I’m not what you’d call awake before about 10AM. Thirty years of teaching and needing to be out of the house before 7AM to get ready for the little dears has made it tough to sleep in. This means I’m rarely awake enough to bother with breakfast. A cup of hot chocolate (I really hate coffee- I know, sacrilege in this Starbucks driven world- but then you know me, an iconoclast to the hilt) and a breakfast bar is about it. If Marianne is making bacon, well, naturally I’ll have some of that, but really, I’m just not a breakfast guy. Unless we’re on a Road Trip.

If it’s Road Trip Time, I’m a breakfast-o-holic. Our usual deal is to hit the road at O’Dark-Thirty, and about an hour or so down the road, pull in and get some eats. As a creature of habit, for me it’s always the same thing. Pancakes. Unless there’s Waffles. Then either sausage (only if it’s link sausage in the casing, don’t give me those patties!) or bacon, lots of maple syrup and butter and a cup of hot chocolate. I tell ya, nothing beats good flapjacks in setting up the day for a long drive. Ya got yer protein from the porky goodness, carbs from the pancakes, sugar from the syrup (hopefully but rarely is it REAL maple syrup) and maybe blueberries for some fruit. What more can you ask for?

Now every one has their own favorites to get the day going and I’m not about to try and break you of your favorite day starter. It is perhaps the most personal food choice you can make. Some people love eggs. Me, I’m not an egg fan. Put it down to my Mom making Christmas ornaments out of whole egg shells and me having to eat scrambled eggs every morning for what seemed like months. Still, lots of you love ‘em and your choices are endless. Hell, that greatest of all French cookbooks, Larousse Gastronomique lists some 250 or so different ways to do eggs, and that’s not including omelet variations! Eggs are a very personal choice and people are exceptionally particular about having them perfect and their way. I get that. Then there’s the SoCal invention, the Breakfast Burrito. Again, very personal choice as to what it should contain. A Talmudic Debate can arise just bringing up the topic.

The point of all this is to give you our Top Spots for Breakfast On the Road. These are the non-corporate, locally owned, mom and pop diners that once were the staple of Road Trip Life. These are the places that sustained generations of Fellow Travelers, both professional and recreational. There was an old saw about “Eat Where the Truck Drivers Eat.” Once I think that was true, but usually it meant that the food was cheap and plentiful, not necessarily good. Today, most truckers still prefer that (it’s coming out of their pocket and their profits after all) and the Mega Eateries know this and cater to it. It’s just not that good a guide any more. In unfamiliar territory, it is a good indicator if there are a lot of cars in the parking lot that look local. Locals know and support places that are good. Places that give good value and good food. So, in unfamiliar territory, let that be your guide.

This list is just the tip of the iceberg of course. It’s not definitive and best of all, it’s local. All of them are within an hour’s drive from Monrovia.

1) LeRoys. 523 W Huntington Dr, Monrovia, California (626) 357-5076 · leroysrestaurant.com. This place is on old Route 66 and is in our backyard. It’s a serious diner that is open only for breakfast and lunch. It’s almost always crowded, and prepare for a long wait on Saturday and Sunday mornings. It’s also terrific!!!! Pancakes that flop over the edge of a dinner plate, good bacon, good sausage and a great staff. It’s been an institution for decades here in town. In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m in a bit of a rush because I’m meeting my sister Sue and her husband Rog there for breakfast this morning!

2) Worker Bee Cafe 973 Linden Avenue, Carpinteria, CA. (805) 745-1828 Dear Constant Readers and you who have my book will have heard of this place. It’s one of our favorites and a must stop if we were headed north on 101. The couple who run it are wonderful. He cooks, she wait’s tables. He’ll come out to chat and the locals all give him guff and he gives it back. The waffles are quite good and again the place is crowded. The decor is wonderfully kitschy, filled with Bee Themed Stuff. As it should. Like all good diners, they also cater to families and will bring out a bucket of small toys for kids to fool with while they wait for the food. As with LeRoys, they only do breakfast and lunch.

3)Summit Inn Restaurant, 5970 Mariposa Rd, Hesperia, California, (760) 949-8688. This is another classic Route 66 Diner. One of the originals and one of the few real one’s left. Get there NOW because there are new owners and it seems a bit up in the air if they will keep it open. That would be tragic. This place is right at the top of Cajon Pass and is perfect if you are headed east. The staff are what you’d want. They call you “Hon” and serve up good food with a smile and some conversation. This place is open for dinner and serves exotica like buffalo and ostrich burgers. Seriously, make a stop there and SAVE THE SUMMIT!!!

4) Bun Boy 1890 West Main Street, Barstow, CA,(760) 256-8082. OK, Barstow is more than an hour away, but this place is another classic Route 66 spot. It’s pretty far off the interstate, but why the heck are you on the interstate in the first place? If you take Route 66 from Victorville, it’s just as you get into Barstow. There’s a huge parking lot from the days when the trucks rolled by and the food is great! Truly homemade everything, and all the funky decor that you’d expect.

So, there’s four places to start with. Please support your local diners so we won’t be reduced to McJackKing slop as our only choice. Try ‘em all, and if you have one to add to the list, let me know at steve@theacemagazine.com. Good Eating, and Good Road Trippin’ to ya!

Louis Mattar, Our New Hero!

2012-01-01T10:15:00.000-08:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve McCarthy

OK, Ladies, this one’s for you. Your husband buys you a new car! Your dream car! Then he spends the next seven years and something like $75,000 making a few “improvements. Raise your hands if this sounds at all familiar. Wow, there’s a Big Surprise. Look at all those hands in the air! Hmmmm, my wife, Marianne, is leading the charge. Uh, oh.

No, I didn’t spend $75k on the Mustang. (or the Blue Meanie, I think, I don't know, I don't keep track of that stuff, too scary!). I did add a few touches after the unfortunate Incident with the Camry That Crossed Our Bows Sideways on the I-5 in the OC. No, the King of All Tinkerers with the Wife’s Car, the Champion of Making Just a Few Improvements, the Sultan of Swaps is Louis Mattar. This guy is a Hero for all of us.

Yep, in 1947, he bought his wife a new Caddy. Over the next seven years, he made a few improvements. SEVENTY-FIVE THOUSAND 1950s DOLLARS worth of tweaks and swaps and fiddling. And yes, his wife loved it, shared in it and stayed married to him. Like I said, a Hero!

So what did he do? If you go to Balboa Park in San Diggy, hit the neat little car museum. Mattar lived in DayGo and instead of the Smithsonian, his wife’s Pride and Joy sits there. Ya see, this car is the Ultimate Road Trip Car. Mattar set records that will never be broken. From September 20^th to the 27^th of 1952, he and two other guys drove non-stop to New York. And Back. 6320 MILES WITHOUT STOPPING!!! Literally. In Kansas City, Camden, NJ, and Omaha, they drove onto small airports where a moving gas truck drove along side to fuel up the 230 gallon gas tank on the trailer they were towing.

Not satisfied with that, His second run in August of ’54 took him from Anchorage, Alaska to Mexico City, also non-stop, and 7,482 miles. That’s in a world without the Dreaded Interstate. Mostly a world of two lane blacktop, and not a few dirt roads, especially on the AlCan Highway and in Mexico.

No, lest you think that this was just a car towing a huge gas tank trailer, let me enlighten you about the rest of the modifications. The car can automatically change it’s own oil and refill the radiator. The tires can be automatically inflated as the car drives. In fact, using the catwalks added all around, two guys can change a tire while the car is moving at about 25 mph. Behind the rear seats is a vanity mirror. the arm rest folds down to either support an ironing board or a hot dog cooker. Under one rear seat is either a small washing machine, or, remove that and you have a potty. there is fresh water (30 gallons worth in the trailer, and 50 gallons in the trunk!) and a drinking fountain tap under one tail light. The radio antenna is replaced by a shower. The car has two TV’s and an in car telephone-1950’s, remember? This was really far out stuff then! The list goes on. The whole rig weighs in at 8500 pounds or so. And not a computer in sight!

Get yourself down to San Diego and check this thing out. Words and pictures hardly suffice to convey the whole story. Good Ol’ Youtube naturally has footage: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yT8azxnVAC4--it’ It’s a bit long, and at times a bit hokey, but still, it’s fascinating! In particular, watch ‘em change a tire on the run with no safety harnesses, no helmets, just doing it! Can you even imagine trying this in today’s world of hyper safety and the nanny state?

So, to usher in this Possibly Apocalyptic Year of 2012, I offer Louis Mattar as the second in our Road Trippin’ Pantheon of Immortals, right up there beside Horatio Nelson Jackson, the first Road Tripper. Let these two inspire you to Hit the Road! Who knows if you’ll have another chance?

To GPS or not GPS?

2011-11-28T09:42:00.000-08:00

Road Trippin'

with Steve McCarthy

To GPS or not GPS?

That is indeed a question. Is it nobler to bear the slings and arrows of a map or to arm oneself with something more modern? OK, enough of paraphrasing Hamlet. It's too easy. It IS coming on the season of gift giving bacchanalia, and tech toys are a staple. GPS has been around for a while, so many of the bugs are worked out. Or are they?

First, GPS, like every other bit of techno-wizardry is a TOOL! Nothing more,nothing less. If it can't do the job, no matter how glitzy and sexy it might be, why bother. Now anyone who knows me will tell you that I am more than a bit of a neo-luddite. I got a 'pooter when they began to address my needs. I still don't have a cell phone. I'm about as anti-tech-for-tech-sake as a guy can be in this ever technological age. Hell, I drive a TR3 ferchissake! I don't even have electronic ignition! So who better to give you the skinny on GPS?

OK, I bought one. The day before our massive 4600 mile road trip that you've been reading about for the past few months. I got a Garmin on the advice of several more tech literate friends. The nuvi 1450 was pretty highly rated on several websites, so, after hunting one down (took several stores to find just that one) I got one at Radio Shack. I did not get the one with lifetime maps, figuring that we'll use it mostly on road trips on back roads, they're not making any more of them, so who needs the updates. IF however, you need one because you regularly do deliveries, or are a chauffeur, you might think seriously about the extra hundred bucks or so that life time map upgrades will cost you. Think about your needs, then get the one that fits. Bragging rights are lame and expensive. This is not then a side by side comparison, it's just six months of living with the thing, using it on road trips and around town.

First, yes, it is a useful tool in many ways. Second, it does have serious limitations for Road Trippers. Let's address the positives first. Probably the number one feature that is helpful is hitting the "Home" button if you are in really unfamiliar territory and got yourself turned around. No matter how turned around you are, it will at least get you to major roads and you can reset from there. Second, IF you take the time to program in your route, it is easier than reading a map in a bouncing car. the Garmin has a feature that can call up the next several turnings so you can see what's next and what's next after that. Third, it gives you plenty of notice as to when you'll be turning, unlike some navigators I've driven with ("Hey, turn HERE!") and having that notice makes things a lit easier. By the way, Marianne is NOT one of those, she gives great directions in plenty of time. Usually. Like all people, myself included, she sometimes goofs. Rarely, but stuff sometimes happens. Next, it's pretty handy for finding restaurants and motels. We were really grateful for this on this summer's trip when when we were finally rolling into Grand Junction and needed some eats and a place to sleep. Between the GPS and the AAA guide, we were satisfied on both counts. Lastly, the extra bells and whistles are kinda fun. You're not limited to the one annoying voice that sounds so perturbed when you don't do what it wants you to do "reCALculating..." or the same icon that follows the road. Several are down loadable from the Garmin website as well as fun voices you can get form places like www.pigtones.com. I now have "Sean Connery" telling me that he was "just out walking my rat and got lost..." and randomly asking me if I expect him to talk. I also got Yoda and Clint Eastwood. The five inch touch screen is pretty easy to use (don't bother getting anything smaller, they are worthless!) and the constant orientation that follows the road is a good idea. The trip info is good and you can add a panel to the display that gives you a variety of info, such as direction of travel, elevation, time, speed (and local speed limit!), time and mile to destination, arrival time and others. These are customizable to your needs. Pretty cool. Another useful tool is the traffic link. Around LA, it will tell you in close to real time if there is bad traffic up ahead, and where it is. It's not infallible, but more useful than "Traffic on the fives" which never seem to address the problems where YOU happen to be. Especially if it involves the San Gabriel Valley. It's like we don't exist. but I digress. One of the most useful features is the one that not only tells you which lane to be in to make a freeway transition, but shows you a picture of the interchange. This is extremely helpful when navigating in unfamiliar territory. Like San Diego! Where'd all those extra freeways come from?

The so-so features are few. The trip info is useful in knowing how far you've gone but setting up your mileage and the "Eco Challenge" are pretty useless. Since the thing is not directly hooked into your car's computer, you have to set what you think is your average mileage and the price of gas. Since both of these things vary so much, it's only a mere approximation. The Eco Challenge also will track your driving habits on a rather arbitrary graph. Allegedly, it factors in your speed, braking and acceleration to give you a score. It seems to me that this score is heavily influenced by your speed and minimally by the other two. It has no way of knowing what gear you are in and how many revs you are turning. A blast up a mountain road at 40mph but in second gear at high revs will get you a better score than 55mph in fifth on the freeway. The other so-so thing is mounting it somewhere. California Law dictates that you can only mount them in either lower corner of the windshield. Not always the most useful place, especially if you are relying on a navigator. You both need to see it. Mounting on the dashboard is an impossibility in many cars, and on most, dangerous. It would seem that just above the glove box, slightly to the left of the passenger would be good. Just where the airbag will deploy, making the GPS a lethal missile. Not such a good idea that.

So, what are the down sides? The thing has way too many languages. Sure, Garmin is global, but do they really need Basque (and not Gaelic!) and Slovenian? Some are just annoying, like the British lady who always sounds inconvenienced when she is forced to recalculate because of your incompetence. The other bad thing is the Bad Traffic Avoidance function. Just turn it off. It seems to over react to any slow down, and wants to send you on the most round about way to get somewhere. Seriously, in testing this, it took me almost an hour longer to get to Monrovia from Long Beach to avoid a ten minute slow down. Naturally, the default is sending you down the Dreaded Interstate when ever possible. To set up a backroads drive, you have to set several via points to force it to take the route you want. If you take the time to set all this up, It does an OK job, but you still need a map and an idea of where you want to go. On more than one occasion, the poor thing was just overwhelmed and wanted us to go places we couldn't. "In 400 feet, turn right" which would have sent us over a cliff. Yeah, it's entertaining, but...

The WORST thing about GPS however is the tendency to send you down a road you really shouldn't be on. This probably doesn't apply to us Veteran Road Trippers as much, hell, we WANT to drive the weird twisty roads. But Justin and Madison Average in their minivan loaded with their 2.2 kids, the labrador, and the giant stroller probably shouldn't drive on some of these roads. Case in point. In heading south on the 101 from San Luis Obispo, the damn thing will want you to go over Hwy 154 and San Marcos Pass. this will cut the Gaviota Corner on the 101. Now I like 154. It's a pretty neat road, but not for Mr & Ms. Average. It's even worse for truck drivers. The guy who took his car-carrier rig over Angeles Crest and lost his brakes in La Canada, killing a couple of folks took that route on the advice of his GPS.

My point is you have to bloody well THINK. All the technojazzystuff in the world will not replace that most uncommon of all things, Common Sense. You really do need a map and a brain to Road Trip. You really need a brain and the ability to use it and think for yourself. Should you ask Santa for a GPS? Sure, they have their uses. Just don't turn off your grey matter. So, (delivered in a somewhat Scottish/Connery accent) "Drive your so called car to the route I've highlighted, God I miss the Aston Martin DB-5!"

Road Trippin'-The Massive Road Trip-Part Three

2011-10-25T11:35:00.000-07:00

It was getting late as we got into the car up on Tennessee Pass. I had really mixed emotions. The day so far had been a real roller coaster. Seeing the site where GGPa Ready bought it was a bit eerie, but at the same time, left me a bit flat, a bit sad, a bit pensive. We also still had a long haul to Green River, Utah for our next stop. Nothing for it then, but to press on.

The drive down Highway 24 (well, it’s up, as in north on the map, but downhill so you figger it out) is a great piece of road. Not a lot of traffic, great scenery and wonderful small towns. We were liking Colorado more and more. You could easily spend weeks exploring the back roads and little bergs that dot the map.

The weather was turning a bit foul as we neared I-70. We stopped to take a pee break and it was Marianne’s turn to drive. Bad luck for her. I-70 west is not your typical interstate. Yeah, it does bypass all the towns, but as a road, it’s pretty spectacular. Much of it follows the Colorado River (yes, that Colorado River) so they both twist and turn down a pretty narrow canyon. Then there’s the tunnels. Massive tunnels! Then the rain hit. HARD! Most of the way to Grand Junction was ugly. I have to give full props to Marianne, she handled it beautifully. Even passing semis that throw up rooster tails of spray, obliterating what little vision we had. As things leveled out, we were slammed with a couple of thunderstorms that made things even worse, but she pressed on, never freaked out (at least externally-she admitted that she was pretty tense for a lot of it) and pressed on regardless.

It was around 8:00PM that we rolled into Grand Junction, and using the handy dandy Triple A Guide and the now very handy dandy GPS, found a place to eat. WW Peppers was touted as a place favored by locals, it wasn’t a chain, it was right off the Interstate, it was late. We went. Sometimes, when it’s getting late, you’re tired and you just dive into a place, you get crap food. This was not the case. This place was really pretty good. Standard menu, lot’s of steaks, nice Wood and Ferns Decor that was right out of the 70s, but a friendly and efficient staff and tasty food made for a good stop. There are probably better places and I’m sure there are a lot worse ones, so we’d recommend it as a good, solid bet for food. By the time we were done with dinner, we were knackered. Green River was at least another hour or more away. Screw it! There was a Motel 6 down the street. Nuff said.

The next morning, we loaded up and headed off for US 50 (The Loneliest Road in America) and Ely, Nevada. Again, I-70 did not disappoint us! Into Utah we were treated with canyons and buttes and scenery that was really spectacular. Turns out not stopping in Green River was a good call. Not a lot there! We gassed up there and got some muffins and such for breakfast, thinking that we needed to make up some time headed back to the road.

Around Salina, UT, we headed north on US 50, then south on I-15 (yep the same I-15 that takes you to Lost Wages), then west again on US 50 towards Ely. this was indeed a lonely road. Nothing for miles and miles but miles and miles. This is alkali desert. It’s flat. The road has a few kinks but is mostly straight. I set the cruise control to 95 and just kept it pointed straight. This kind of driving makes you think. The historian in me couldn’t help but wonder at what it must have been like hauling a Conestoga Wagon over this to get to the Promised Land where fist sized gold nuggets were just sitting around to be picked up. Here we were, clipping along a 95 per hour, when on a good day, a wagon train might make 20 miles in a day!!!! Do the math. We could cover in an hour what might take them the better part of a week. Or more. They had to haul their own water for them AND their animals as there isn’t anything drinkable out there. And we DARE to whine about anything in our lives. puh!

Anyway, we hit Ely and headed for the train yard. Ah, ya knew there had to be something like that to take such a detour. Yep, the Nevada Northern Rail Road, aka “The Ghost Train.” This railroad was built to serve the Kennecot copper mine in the area and when operations were shut down, everyone simply put down their tools, closed the books, parked the equipment and locked up and left, leaving a treasure trove of railroad history. In 1984, it was reopened as a tourist railway, the old steam locomotive was fired up for the first time since 1964 and they haven’t looked back. Again it seems that the de facto theme of this trip was Time Travel.

This place is amazing and well worth the trip. Visitors are free to wander the yard and take pictures and they run a daily train up to the mine site and back. On weekends, they run the steam engine. Pretty normal for a tourist road. But Wait! This is one of the few places that (for a fee-a kinda hefty fee) YOU CAN DRIVE THE LOCOMOTIVE!!!!!! Yeah! Really! No, I didn’t. Still…

We did find a couple of nice t-shirts to help support them. I surprised Marianne with one that says “My Train of Thought Derailed….There Were No Survivors.” We ate some of the last of our salami and cheese and bread for lunch, then headed for Wells, Nevada, our next planned stop.

From Ely, we rocketed up to Bonneville and out on the Salt Flats. Yes, anyone can drive out there, but be careful. The salt will cake up under your car and eat it to pieces. One guy we talked to said his rental car company, when he said he was going to Bonneville told him that there would be a $300 charge if he brought the car back with any salt on it. One van we saw coming in off the salt had cakes of the stuff hanging off the wheel wells. The salt flats are neat though. And huge! REALLY HUGE! It’s not just the part you see that runs up to the mountain that Buckeroo Banzai ran through with his Over Thruster. It spreads out for miles and miles and miles! The part they use for racing is not even one-tenth of the area!

After being properly awed, we headed west on I-80, managed to resist the questionable delights of West Wendover, and blitzed past Wells. It was pretty early, Wells seemed to have nothing to recommend it, so we headed for Elko.

This is one of those object lessons on Road Trippin’ that is important. We didn’t make reservations at either Green River or Wells, figuring that we didn’t want to be locked into a specific schedule. If you recall, for Cameron and Durango, we’d done just that and as it turned out, that was a good call. NOT making reservations for these two nights was an equally good call.

Elko, Nevada is a neat town! It, Wendover, and Winnemucca were major stopping points at one time so there is plenty of motels and restaurants to choose from. We opted for the Motel 6 (again) and once we explored the town wished we hadn’t. There wasn’t anything wrong with the 6, it’s just that there were better options. Like the Thunderbird! This place is a classic and is pretty much near the center of town so all the cool stuff is in walking distance. Next time…

The real find was dinner. Good Ol’ St. Serendipity was watching out for us! The AAA guide showed a couple of Basque restaurants in town. OOOHHHH! Basque=LAMB! We picked one, punched it into the GPS and tried to find it. Trouble is, the main drag of Elko was being torn up, there were detours and we were getting hungry and impatient and all the GPS could do was “recalculate.” We also noticed that there were several Basque places! Elko it turns out is a center of Basque/Americans. Who knew! This was also cool because part of Marianne’s family was Basque! Then one caught our eye. The Star Hotel. While the others looked a bit empty, this place had cars parked all around it. On a Wednesday night. Always a good sign. We managed to park and walked in. WOW! The bar was packed, the Tour de France was on the TV over the bar and everyone was in great spirits. We must have looked lost and one guy told us we needed to get our name on the list and pointed the way. Cool. We were soon called and seated.

Now, I’m betting most of you have never eaten at a Basque place, so let me give you some of the skinny. ALL Basque places are Family Style. That means that you are seated at a long table with lots of other people. You get to talk with them. When they bring out the food, it’s like eating at home for Thanksgiving. Everyone gets the same sides, you only order your main course.

First came the Tub O’Soup. This vat of steamy vegetable soup (what ever is fresh and in season-this time it was carrots, cabbages, potatoes and such) is passed around and everyone ladles some into their bowl. If the tureen empties, they bring another. Then comes the Tub O’Salad. Same deal. Don’t dare and even think you’ll get “dressing on the side”. It’s not an option. Enjoy. Finally, came the main dish and the side dishes. I got the roasted lamb. Huge chunks of lamb, falling off the bone and roasted with red bell peppers. Marianne had the beef (lamb and her don’t get along too well). The platter (yes, I said platter) was piled high with this tender lamby goodness. Then came the platters of sides. Ya gotcher green beans with garlic, ya gotcher plate of spaghetti, ya gotcher kidney beans, garlicky roasted potatoes, and ya gotcher fresh baked bread. Ya need yer hand truck to wheel ya out of there when you’re done! The saddest part was that since we were on the road for two more days, we couldn’t doggy bag any of it! Oh, and yes, there was dessert. No, we didn’t. With wine and beer, this all came to under $50. For the two of us.

The next day dawned bright and clear, we hit the I-80 (yeah ok, more interstate, I know, how evil of me to embrace the dark side of Road Trippin’--but sometimes, yah don’t have a lot of choices) and turned north out of Winnemucca on US 95. This is a pretty neat road ( it’s also an example of how enlightened Nevada is and how repressive Oregon is--speed limit in Nevada=70; Oregon-yep 55!), and famous as the route of the fictional open road race depicted in the classic Tony Curtis movie “Johnny Dark.” Get a copy, it’s pretty neat. They special built the cars and they were the focus of a special place a Pebble Beach a while ago. Anyway, I digress. We were headed for Redmond, Oregon to see a cousin of Marianne’s. We spent a nice night there, then headed to Olympia for my dad’s 86^th birthday. It was nice to be able to have time with extant family after all the time we spent with bygone relations.

After a week in Olympia (where we managed a small road trip out to the coast at Westport, finding a roadside sausage stand where we filled up with all manner of brats, landjagers, and assorted other meat in tubular form) we headed back home. We naturally went US 101 and instead of our usual night in either Eureka or Crescent City, we opted for Orick. This is a wonderful wide spot in the road. There are several places that sell redwood carvings and I’ve always wanted to stop. So we did. No, we didn’t try and load a totem pole or eight foot tall bear in the car, but I did find a neat carved bowl with a turtle on it. Cute. We stayed at the Palm Motel. In the midst of the redwoods, the Palm Motel. This place is one of those original motels that used to fill the highways. It’s a bit tired. I had to use my shoulder to open the door, the place had settled so much. We had to but a towel under the door, just to keep out the draft from the two inch gap. It was great. They also had a cafe. We had the best burger of the whole trip. Surprisingly good food.

From there it was home. One shot, down 101 and for the first time, the radar detector was working over time. Seems the CHP is trying to singlehandedly balance the budget. Coming out of King City, I almost got nailed. Saw him in my mirror coming down the on ramp. Backed it down and got followed for a couple of miles until he got bored. Remember, just because the Chippies can use radar, doesn’t mean they do. Our boys still like to nail you Old School. So back it off, let a rabbit streak by to flush them out and watch your mirrors.

All in all, this was an epic trip. 4300 miles. Seven states. Great roads and even better scenery. Great food and so-so food, and above all, friendly people. We traveled not only back roads but back in time. We connected with family in the here and the then. THIS was what Road Trippin’ is supposed to be about.

Family Ties

2011-09-24T17:50:00.001-07:00

Road Trippin

with Steve McCarthy

Day Three of our Big Drive dawned and we slept. We’d earned it after getting up in the middle of the bloody night to see Monument Valley. Like I said before, it was worth it. The plan for the day was to hunt down family history. For me, this was the most rewarding day of the trip, but it was as least as long a day as the last one. It was also a day filled with great roads and fabulous scenery.

We found breakfast in durango at a little place called the Brickhouse Cafe & Coffee Bar. neat little place, we hit them just as they opened so we had to wait just a bit longer than we’d like, but the food was good. Except Marianne’s pancakes weren’t hot. UGH! Cold pancakes are not a good thing. The waitress DID fix it quickly so we’d still recommend it. Anyway, we did have a schedule to keep.

WHAT you ask? A schedule? Aren’t we the go with the flow Road Trippers? Well, yes. And no. Yasee the first steam train out of town left at 8:30 AM and we wanted to catch it up the road. So, tanked with gas and fed, we set off up US 550 parallel to the tracks to find a good photo spot. One place we were told about is called “Hernandez” that is an iconic spot. There’s an old water tower there that makes a great backdrop. That turned out to be a great suggestion! We found the place and got some pretty good shots. We paced the train as long as we could, then the routes diverged and we were off for the next highlight; Gunnison.

Our late(ish) start that morning meant we had to just just cruise through Silverton (terminus of the tourist road) and the other little towns. We were On a Mission and had no time to be distracted. Turned out to be a good idea. Gunnison was 170 miles on some fairly twisty roads. And the weather wasn’t really cooperative. Off and on thunder showers made passing a bit of an adventure at times. That and those dammed Suicide Lanes! Yeah, Colorado has ‘em too! The scenery in Colorado IS spectacular. Often you are driving above the tree line, so, unlike Washington, you’re not hemmed into a fir lined tunnel. Colorado may be one of the premier Road Trippin’ places on Urth!

Somewhere near lunch time we neared Gunnison and had to figure out where to start. See, my mom had given me a small photo of her dad taken in 1941 standing in front of the house he was born (in 1894) in. It was a pretty fancy one story brick house with rather distinctive concrete lintels over the windows. The only info we had was that it was supposed to have been an old school house. But where to start. Marianne, great navigatrix that she is, found in the AAA guide for Colorado (these books are really helpful! One of the perks-that and the free 200 mile towing-that makes an AAA card extremely useful) that there is a Pioneer Museum. The guide said that they had three school houses on the site! Where better to start I ask you?

We plugged the address into my new toy (a Garmin 1450 nuvi GPS-yeah, I know, the Neo-Luddite Society is gonna revoke my membership-more on the GPS in another column) and Hey Presto, There it was. A bit nervously, we walked in, hoping to find a docent who could help us. There were three of them. Very nice, very helpful. I took out the picture and they all said, “Oh, that’s the old school house!” No, it wasn’t one on at the museum, and they weren’t exactly sure which of two it might be. They gave us directions to both. In the meantime, I was telling them of our family history in Gunnison. They were jazzed! Then, good old St. Serendipity stepped in.

I was telling them about Great Grandma Jenny Sadoris (boy does she have a history!). Seems she was not only the local postmistress (first woman west of the Mississippi to be one!), delivered the mail wearing snowshoes, but she also wrote for the local newspaper, the News-Champion. “Why, we have a whole set of back issues here!” WOW! And wait, it gets better! “They’re in that building back there, help yourself to a look!”

Seriously, they have original copies of 100+ year old newspapers and just anybody can look at them? Seriously?

I was off like a shot. Found the stack of papers. Actually, each year was bound and dated, so with some reasonable care, they could be handled. Lessee now, what to look for? 1902! That was the year Great Grandpa Ready was killed in a train wreck! Out came the volume. Ah, hmmm, January. Carefully I leafed through the issues, trying my best to rediscover my talents as a researcher. Ya can’t read every article. Old newspapers are also set up differently from today’s . Seems that in this paper, local news items were just lumped together, no real headlines. So, I began scanning for anything “Ready”. BINGO!!!! Friday, January 31, 1902--”The funeral of Philip Ready who was killed last Friday morning (this was a weekly paper, by the way) by a run away train down Tennessee Pass…” I’d found it! AND, the short article said his funeral was at the local Catholic Church which meant he was buried locally! This was amazing!

We found out where the cemetery was (on the way out of town), poked around the museum a bit, then went searching for Grandpa Ready’s house. We tried to follow the vague directions and got nowhere. I tried a different plan. Post Office! Found it easily enough and walked up to the counter. “Hi, my Great Grand Mother was Post Mistress here in the late 1800s!” The people at the counter were amazed! Then I showed them the picture. “Oh, that’s the old school house!” Seems to be a pretty well known building. Then the lady gave us directions of the “it’s just past the Domino’s Pizza near where the highway splits off” variety. No, she didn’t know the street names. She worked in the Post Office and didn’t know street names! At least we were getting a general direction, and eliminated one of the possibilities put forth at the museum.

Next door was the new newspaper office though. That warranted a looksee. Sure enough, after what had by now become a standard introduction, the people in there (who were also jazzed) gave us exact directions. Off we went. Back down the highway, bear right, and sure enough, THAT had to be the place! All boarded up and looking pretty sad, but those window lintels were exactly right!

It gets better. The story in the newspaper office was that a child services agency called “Partners” now owned the property and had a grant to restore the old house. Turns out, their offices were in back and yep, they were open. Even more nervously elated, we walked in. “Hi, my grandfather was born in that house in 1894.”

You could hear the proverbial pin drop as jaws dropped around the office. They proceeded to give me some history of the place (seems it was build when there was a West and and East Gunnison, to show that West Gunnison was better than East Gunnison. The town’s First Brick Building! and later turned into a private residence, it was lived in until the 1970s. It’s been vacant since,) I then pulled out the photo. “I thought you’d like to see this, it was taken in 1941, that’s my grandfather. Have you got a scanner? you can make a copy.” You’d thought I’d given them the Hope Diamond! “Wow! Oh REALLY? Say, would you like to see inside?”

Oh, Man! One of the staff unlocked the padlock and with a flashlight, we went into the stygian darkness. It smelled of Old. That kind of mildewy, old pant, fustiness that long abandoned buildings have. I don’t believe in ghosts or any of that crappola. I didn’t feel any looming Presence. I DID feel a connection. Like a link with the past was restored. I felt more complete. sigh.

We realized that it was about 2:00 and the day was getting on and we had miles of more twistyies to go, so, having hit the local Sonic Burger (well, it’s better than McD’s!) we headed for the next step in this Journey of Family Discovery. Sure enough, right out of town was the graveyard. We turned in. Now what? I remembered that Sierra Madre’s old cemetery had listing of grave sites in a small building. There was a small chapel looking building. Why not. Sure enough, there was a book of grave sites. I opened it to the “R’s” and there was Phillip Ready AND a Mary Ann Ready. She was his sister. I wrote down the plot number and looked for a map. None. Ah, man! Well, we got in the car to drive around. There were section numbers on trees, but they didn’t seem to have any order. Again, St. Serendipity to the rescue. The maintenance barn was open and there were a couple of guys inside. We drove up, introduced ourselves and one of them said he’s show us where. “Most of the graves in that section aren’t marked,” he said. Damn! We followed him down the aisle, he looked around and “Hey, here it is!” It DID have a marker! There it was. Grandpa’s dates were wrong, but who cares. We found it! We paused a bit there, silently reflecting on this new found connection with our past, Mounted the Mustang and were off to Tennessee Pass, site of the train wreck that killed the man buried at our feet.

East out of town, we wound along US 50. Originally, we were going to stop in Salida, but because it was getting late, we bypassed that and headed north on US 24. This was the dreaded Tennessee Pass. One of the (if not THE) highest railroad line in the US. A nasty twisty bit of railroad that took a great deal of skill and maybe a modicum of luck to negotiate even in modern times. In 1902, air brakes were in their infancy. It was 6:30 on a January morning when, according to the Eagle County newspaper, one Philip Reddy (sic) took his train through the tunnel at the top of the pass. As he exited the tunnel, he “called for brakes” and there weren’t any. The brakemen walked across the tops of the ever accelerating train, trying to manually set the brakes. The cold January weather had frozen them solid. For seven miles, the train careened down hill, until two miles out of Pando, it hit an esse curve and derailed into a road cut. Great grandfather Ready was thrown out, landing in a tree, his rosary beads in his hands. He was alive, and taken to the railroad hospital in Salida but never regained consciousness.

Using Google Maps, I’d found the spot described. After driving past it, we realized our mistake, turned around and found it. There was a turnout at the side of the road. I parked, got out and clambered up to the top of the embankment. The long sweep of the esse curve was there, the road cut, them embankment. Hardly any trees today, but clearly this was The Spot. I took a few pictures, but both of us were mostly silent.

It’s times like this that we can realize just how tenuous our lives are. All the “What If’s” crowd round in your mind. Again, time swirls, wiblly wobbly. What If?

The Great Western States Trek-Part Deux or Let's Do the Time Warp Again!"

2011-08-29T08:25:00.000-07:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve McCarthy

The Great Western Trek--Part Deux

Where were we. Ah, yes, as the sun rose higher over Monument Valley, we inched our way along, stopping in wonder as the ever changing landscape awed us with the majesty of it all. This really is one of the most incredible places on earth. Since there was no where to stop for food, we’d brought along our own breakfast of blueberry muffins and other assorted goodies we finally headed towards the Utah town of Mexican Hat.

This little berg is on the San Juan River and looks to be a pretty good place to stay. Judging by the number of motels on the river, I’m betting it’s also a good place for fishing. We’d not tanked up the Mustang since Flagstaff and since Durango was another 150 or so miles, we bit the bullet and added some fuel at the only place in town that seemed open. The road through Mexican Hat (which, by the way gets its name from a neat rock formation that looks like a sombrero and is worth the trip on it’s own) US 160 is a great road. Good combination of twisty bits and open straights to give a good workout to car and driver. Be careful though, each time we’ve been through there, there’s been a local sheriff’s SUV parked near the river as you get into town. Yes, his radar was on, even at 7AM! No, we didn’t get tagged. Anyway, 160 takes you through Historic Bluff, Utah, which also is worth exploring, but we had our sites set on another target.

As you approach Cortez, CO (uh, remember the name of this little town!), you wind through some fairly flat land bordered by increasingly massive rock formations. You’ll miss going to Shiprock (a sight we took in on out last trip through here and definately worth seeing) and in particular, one massive monolith begins to dominate the landscape. This isn’t like the puny (by comparison) formations of Monument Valley, no, this sucker is BIG! The base is at some 6900 feet above sea level, but the peak is almost 9000 feet! This is also the site of the Mesa Verde (‘cause it’s a table top mountain and it’s covered with vegetation) Cliff Dwellings. this was were we were headed. One of the things we missed on our last tromp through the area were the various cliff dwellings. There’s four or five in this basic area. All are worth the trip, and Mesa Verde was right on the way, so…

This is another of those “Must See” places. Not that it’s easy. First, you have to get there. The road is good, but it’s inside a national park so the speed limit, the sharp elevation rise (at one over look, it’s like you’re flying in a small plane!) and it’s mostly hair pin turns. Not that we minded, but the rented motor home in front of us was having a hard time of it, sloshing water (hopefully, it wasn’t bright blue) from it’s overflow and wallowing like a whale in heat. It’s some twenty miles to the Visitor Center. There, if you are adventurous, you can get tickets for the ranger guided tours of the most spectacular dwellings. You’d better be in shape. We’re talking climbing 30 foot ladders to get in. We opted for the wimpy one. The park info sheet said it was only a 100 foot walk. What they weren’t clear on was that it’s 100’ STRAIGHT DOWN! The path (which is paved) winds down the canyon wall, making you want to hum “On the Trail” from Ferdy Groffe’s “Grand Canyon Suit,” you know, the bit that sounds like donkeys galumphing along? “Dum-ti-dum-ti dumpity-dum-ti-dum-ti dumpity…” We were “lucky.” We’d got there while the sun hadn’t yet started to shine directly into the canyon. It was “only” in the 80s (at about 10AM!) but the humidity that produced those great clouds earlier that morning was making us pay. Between that and the elevation, we were knackered by the time we got down there.

I have to say, it was worth it. This stone age village is set back into a natural declivity in the canyon wall. Over the centuries (around 1200AD) the people who dwelled there filled in the slice out of the canyon wall with walls of their own, creating cubical like structures and digging down into the floor of the cliff to make underground storage and living spaces. It was fascination. The Rangers there were exceptionally knowledgeable and helpful,, not at all stuffy or arrogant or officious. It was crowded (but not really over crowded) with families from all over the US, talking, laughing, and having an awe-inspired good time. What was really neat to me, was that as we climbed back UP that damn cliff face, the sounds of their voices gave the place life. It must have been like that 800 years ago. Families laughing, chatting, getting on with their lives. It was like being able to peek through the dusty mirror of the past, getting an all too brief glimpse of life in an era so totally remote from ours, yet, not so terribly different.

OK, pause to reflect on that nugget of philosophical nattering.

Gasping, puffing and panting, we reached the top and “civilization” and headed for the comfort of the museum. AIr conditioning IS one of the most important benefits of the modern world, and the museum has it in abundance. More importantly it has well thought out exhibits that explain what you’ve seen and the history of the place. I’ll not get into lecture mode, so you can relax. It is a fascinating story, visit (don’t just google it) and see it for yourself.

We had lunch there, then headed back DOWN that mountain and on through the base of the Rockies to Durango. WE got to our motel (the Day’s End Motel, a place that has seen better days and smelled a bit too much of cleaning solvent. Not sure if we really recommend it beyond the fact that it was the cheapest place in town. There are a lot better places in the center of town, they’re pretty pricey, but if you can swing it, do it) and turned on the TV to see what the weather had to offer. “In the top of today’s news, a tornado touched down an hour ago in Cortez…” Wait a second, Cortez, as in the place we went through a few hours before? A tornado? Man, that’s as close to one of those suckers as I EVER want to get! Yes fans, keeping an eye on weather conditions is kinds important.

Having showered (not that it mattered, as soon as we stepped out the we were dripping again) and changed, we headed downtown. Talk about timing! We finally found parking (don’t even THINK of using the Mickey D’s lot!) we wandered into the train station to learn that the train from Silverton was due in in an hour. OK, big deal you say. It IS a big deal! This is a railroad town, and not just any railroad town. This is the terminus of what is now the Durango and Silverton tourist railway. They run narrow gauge STEAM trains here. four or five a day. both ways! This was a major facility on the old Denver and Rio Grande RR. Narrow gauge means the tracks are only three feet apart, making it easier to negotiate the twists and turns on the way into the mining towns that were the raison d’etre for the rail road. The DR&G was also the rail road my great grandfather, Phillip Brian Ready worked for. It was while he was headed down Tennessee Pass that his brakes failed and he was killed.

We toured through the museum located in part of the round house, the air filled with coal smoke as a locomotive was being readied for the next day’s run. Again, this was a step back in time. They say that smells are triggers to the memory. They are even more. The smell of the coal smoke, the noises of the crews working one the equipment were the same smells and sounds my great grandfather would have heard. When the train pulled in, announcing it’s approach with tooting whistle and clanging bell, chuffing and panting away, pulling the same passenger cars that were in operation a century ago, time swirled around me, jumping back and forth from present to past tense like a poorly written student composition. Who needs The Doctor to make things all timey-wimey-wiggly-woggly?

The Great Western States Road Trip, Part I

2011-07-30T09:30:00.000-07:00

4300 miles. Eight days of driving. 215 gallons of gas (more or less). Across state borders nine times. Hot. Humid. Chilly. Dry. Thunderstorms. Missed a tornado by a couple of hours. Sea Level to 11,000+feet. Desert. Forest. Ocean. Canyons. Twisty mountain roads. Flat out straight deserted roads. Burgers to Basque food. Family history and current family. Funky motels of questionable provenance. Really nice places to stay. Dragging out of bed a 2:30 AM. Sleeping in until 7AM.

That about sums up this summer’s rather massive undertaking. No, we didn’t take the Blue Meanie, we took the Mustang. I think we should re-name it DDT for all the bugs we killed. About the only constant, other than Marianne, my wife and co-driver for life and all around good sport, was the fantastic scenery. Every day held a wonder filled plethora of scenic wonders. I can’t really pick a favorite place. It was all great. Even the sections of Dreaded Interstate were redeemed by vistas of vast interest.

Last month, I discussed how and why we planned this trip, focussing on two main features. A return to Monument Valley, and a search for family history revolving around my great grandfather, Philip Patrick Ready, killed in a 1902 train wreck. So, be prepared to follow our adventures for the next few columns.

The first leg was pretty uneventful. Pretty standard. We left a bit later than usual, having no need for a particularly long day in the saddle, only a touch over 500 miles, and not much in the way of stops. Breakfast in Barstow, as is our routine when heading east, then a quick nosh of lunch (again the usual fare, salami, cheese from our friends at California Wine and Cheese in Monrovia, and garlic french bread) in a rest stop just before Kingman. Finally in Kingman, we could abandon the Interstate for old Route 66. This is (as related a few times before) a nice drive, filled with all the nostalgia and few of the perils of the olden days.

We stopped in Seligman for a look around and visited a few Gifty Shoppies, in particular, Historic Seligman Sundries, an old converted trading post and soda fountain, complete with counter and stools. It’s filled with the stuff you’d expect. We had an interesting chat with the owners, Frank and Lynne about the place and just who they see these days. “Not enough Americans come by. Most of our visitors are French and stop in on a bus tour,” Frank said. “More Americans need to got out and see the country. This is a great country to get out and see, so much variety,” he added. Given that that’s what I’ve been preaching here for how many years now, I’d be tough to disagree.

From Seligman we went to Flagstaff and wandered a bit through town. In what has been the typical trend, the old part of Flagstaff has been nicely renovated with plenty of shops and eateries, all oriented to the tourist. Some are tacky as only an American tourist trap can be, some are very nice upscale spots that offer some fine examples of local art. It’s well worth a stop.

Out of Flagstaff we headed north to our first night’s stop, the Cameron Trading Post some fifty miles up US Highway 89. Cameron is in many ways, the gateway to Indian Country. The trading post was established in 1916, it has served both Hopi and Navajo as well as tourists from the earliest days of road travel. It’s also, as constant readers will recall, where there are great deals on turquoise, Marianne’s favorite jewelry. She managed to restrain herself and found a neat pair of earrings. The facilities there are mixed. The rooms are really nice, modern and comfortable,if a bit pricey at about $100/night. The restaurant was a bit of a disappointment. My burger was pretty dry and Marianne’s “Navajo Stew” was kinda bland. What we should have ordered is what they call a “Navajo Taco.” These looked very tasty and one would have fed us both!

Now you have to be asking yourself, how can a taco feed two? Well, when instead of a tortilla, you have a diner plate sized piece of fry bread (wet bread dough spread out and dropped into hot oil) covered with spiced ground beef, a mound of cheese and lettuce and enough guacamole to satisfy even the most ardent avocado aficionado, you get the picture. Several people around us raved about them. We just didn’t see them before we ordered. Now, at least you know what to get. The staff here are all either Navajo or Hopi and are truly wonderful and efficient.

The other great thing about Cameron’s is the canyon in their back yard. The place over looks the Little Colorado River Gorge, and while not as grand as it’s better known big brother, it’s still pretty neat and at sunset, looking off the balcony of your room, it’s spectacular. We hit the sack early because we planned a monster day for the next leg.

When we last related our travel through the area, we emphasized Monument Valley. And for good reason. I’m not a good enough story teller to give you in mere words what this place is like. I don’t think anyone, short of William Butler Yeats or Walt Whitman is. Maybe not even them. Our plan was to be there at sunrise, and hoped that the usual monsoonal moisture would give us great cloud formations. We weren’t disappointed.

To get there at dawn meant getting up a bit early. It’s almost 120 miles to Monument Valley from Cameron. We could have stayed closer, but Marianne wanted her turquoise fix, so we stayed at Cameron. Lessee now, sunrise was about 6AM, call it two hours of driving, another half hour to find just the right spot. We got up about 2:30, left about 3 and timed it perfectly. We managed to find the spot we’d been to before, maybe the second clump of roadside jewelry stands, set up the tripod, loaded the film and waited for Mother Nature to put on her show. It was Fan-Freakin-Tastic!

Dead quiet, the air was still and warm. The clouds from the previous day’s thunder storms still lingered, brooding, gathering their strength for the light, sound, and water show for later that afternoon. Gradually the sky lightened, changing hue from deep purple to lavender, revealing the ebony silhouettes of the massive volcanic rock formations that define the place. The clouds revealed themselves as textured rolling pillows, letting in gaps of pale light, slightly tinged with yellow. With growing anticipation, we klatched off a few pictures to test the waters. Getting measure of the place. Without warning, BLAM! The sun poked around one of the monoliths, sending out shafts of golden light, searing through the darkness. We scurried to catch this wonderment on film, using the camera’s timers to get as much depth of field as possible. We were torn between just wanting to stand and stare in awe and doing the job at hand, hoping for that perfect shot.

Satiated, we reluctantly packed up, and wanting to head up the road to get some new angles, we sped off into the growing light. A few miles further, more opportunities arose to catch the ever changing hues of black to maroon to red as the rising sun lent texture along with color to the scene that makes the place justifiably famous. We could have lingered all day, and sometime we will, but this trip was just starting, and the Mesa Verde Cliff Dwellings and Durango were still ahead of us.

Road Trip Planning

2011-06-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

Road Trippin’--Planning

with Steve McCarthy

I get asked on a regular basis, “How do you come up with these trips?” It’s not like you can go to AAA and ask for a triptych (their name for route instructions) that won’t follow the dreaded interstate. The AAA just isn’t set up that way. To be fair, it’s not what most people want from them. Typically, even if you want to get to some odd ball place, they’ll connect Interstates as much as possible. Google Maps will do the same. So, just how do we go about planning, and how much planning do we actually do? Aye, there’s the rub as the Bard was wont to say. How do you balance planning and St. Serendipity?

First,you start with the right attitude. Anal-retentive scheduling is out. Don’t commit yourself to a time frame. Having said that, understand that sometimes, a degree of scheduling/planning is needed. Take the trip we’re taking the middle of this month. Olympia, WA for my dad’s 86^th birthday (he’s doing great, thanks for asking). Now we’ve done this before. Lots. We’ve done the I-Yucky-Five, glorious Hwy 395, wonderful 101, all the standard ways. How can we make this one different?

St. Serendipity to the rescue. Constant Reader will remember that I’m a bit of a train nut. A Foamer in the lingo of trainspotters. It’s genetic. My Great Grand Father AND his father (on my mom’s side of the family) before him were railroaders. Great Gramps was an engineer on the old Denver and Rio Grande Narrow Gauge in Colorado. He was also killed in a train wreck. I have his railroad watch, the only thing that my grandfather had from his dad. OK, so that’s cool you say, what of it. As usual, there’s more.

Several years ago, an acquaintance on www.trainorders.com, a site for us Rail Geeks, upon hearing my Great Grand’s story, did some hunting. Sure enough, he found on the internet (where else?) the Eagle County, CO website, which had the story of the wreck (http://www.cogenweb.com/eagle/obits/r-obits.html) . What’s even better, it identified pretty much exactly where the wreck took place. How totally bitchin’! With this info, I typed it into good old Google Maps, and Hey Presto! there was Pando, CO. Using the write up that described how the conductor, who survived the wreck walked two miles to Pando to report the wreck, and further describing an embankment and road cut, I used the satellite feature, scrolled up two miles (there is a scale on the map!) and damn, there’s the tracks, there’s an embankment and a road cut, right at the end of an esse curve. This has to be the spot. Now here’s the real kicker. It’s just off US Highway 24! Damn, we can drive right there! But, even using the interstate, it’s a 14 hour drive. Not gonna be a day trip.

So, how we gonna do this? Shoot for direct? NAH! Of course not. If you’ve learned anything about us, you know direct just doesn’t cut it. Remember the Great Turquoise Trek of a few years ago? OOOH! Monument Valley! That’s on the way to Colorado. Mostly. Lessee, what else. Hey, how about a return to Chama? Hmmm, I says to meself, what else is there? Hey, Durango! There’s another tourist railroad there, we haven’t seen it...PERFECT! So now, you can see how things come together.

Back to good ol’ Google and again, hmmm, do we want to stay in Williams (again) ? Well, what else is there. Can we get closer to Monument Valley? Hey, The Cameron Trading Post! Home of the Great Turquoise Trove! They have a motel! If we get up at O’Dark-Thirty, we can get to Monument Valley at Sunrise! Imagine the photos we can take! OK, perfect so far. but wait, there is the inevitable fly in the ointment. It’s Mid-July when we’re doing this. Peak tourist season. We’re betting that both Cameron and Durango are pretty popular places in the summer. Each is an easy drive from the last place (eight hours from Monrovia-Cameron, 5 hours further to Durango, giving us plenty of time to see other stuff on the way to Durango, stuff like the Mesa Verde cliff dwellings?) so are ideal as far as timing, but, what about rooms? Hmmm, maybe some pre-planning is needed. Not hard to do these days. I called Cameron (using the number on their website) spoke to a very nice young lady, and Bob’s yer Uncle, reservations for the night. Same with a motel in Durango. The other benefit of preplanning is that in the Wonderful World of WWWdotEverything, you can find out just what a fleabag/palace your proposed resting place is. Maybe. Sometimes, reviews need to be taken with a grain of salt. Lone, excessively negative reviews are often someone with an axe to grind. OK, the place wasn’t up to their lofty standards. So the place wasn’t a five star experience. Some of the neatest places we’ve stayed have been way low on some lists. Learn to read between the lines.

OK, so we have two stops planned. A third stop also appeared as a possibility. Marianne has a cousin she rarely sees in Redmond, OR. It’s on the way. Hey, how about a night there? OK, that’s a good idea, even if Redmond is a short hop to Oly. Now comes the hard part though.

First, what else do we want to see? Hmm, we go right by Bonneville. That has to be a stop, even if it’s just to look at the salt flats. No racing that time of year, but hey, it’s BONNEVILLE! A Holy Shrine to Speed! Anything else? OOO! In Ely, NV, there’s another neat railroad. That becomes a possibility. Now, planning and schedules raise their ugly heads. At this point, a lot is going to depend on how the day goes. We have essentials (Pando-the raison d’etre for the trip, Cameron and Durango--because they’re more or less on the way, Redmond-family) planned. Anything else is gravy. They come under the heading of “it would be nice.”

From here on, the planning has to be more flexible. That’s why you take some good maps (morre on that later). GPS is not gonna help you off the main routes! It’s also not a substitute for common sense. Remember, it was that poor truck driver’s GPS that told him that the best way from Palmdale to LA was over Angeles Crest. His brakes failed and two people died when he hit that book store in La Canada. As a guide, using Good Ol’Google, we picked Green Valley, UT, and Wells, NV as places to stop. Why? The driving time is doable, if a bit long (By the way, google REALLY over estimates drive times. They’re figuring drive time for the guy in the mini van who tucks his ironed pink polo shirt into his ironed khaki shorts. Us Road Trippers drive a bit more, uh, briskly, shall we say, especially on the twisty bits) and are large enough to have a selection of motels. The need for reservations is pretty low, so although we have a “plan,” if we get tired early, or a get burst of energy, or just want to stay somewhere else, we can.

The other neat thing about Google Maps is their adjustability. They will always give you the most direct route. But, you can use your mouse to drag the route to a different road. This gives you a lot of flexibility in planning, and it still gives you a ballpark idea of how long it might take to meander.

Now I have to tell you that Google Maps is not infallible. This is particularly true with back roads. It’s tough to tell if the road is paved and not all of their mapping has been done with the little spy car with the camera on it. It’s important then to have access to some good maps. It used to be Thomas Bros. but since they got bought out, many of the neat back roads disappeared. AAA maps also lack the detail drivers like us need. Right now, the best map books are by Benchmark. Naturally, Autobooks carries some of them and can get others. These are REALLY detailed! They can also save plenty of grief because they’ll tell ya if a road is closed seasonally. If you do any winter road trips, that is essential info! The main problem with them is twofold. First, they are big! That makes them a bit tough to use in a small car. Second, they aren’t spiral bound, so you can’t flip them back, making them even bigger and even harder to use in a small car. Still, they are good and worth the $25 or so that they cost.

So, planning is important. Over planning is the road to disaster. Don’t try for split second timing, and don’t be afraid to take a road that looks better than what you’d originally thought of. Get reservations if you need to but make absolutely sure you understand the motel’s cancellation policy! Some will ding you for the entire night’s stay if you cancel late! That may mean the same day you were to arrive! It’s a bit draconian, but hey, read the fine print!

Wish us luck! We’ll of course chronicle our 4000 mile odyssey so stay tuned, the next few columns should be pretty interesting. And just so you don’t think we’re totally crazy, we’re wimping out and taking the ‘Stang. The Blue Meanie in Arizona in July? Not gonna happen.

MY New Hero!

2011-05-14T12:47:00.001-07:00

Horatio Nelson Jackson is my hero! When I tell you his story, he’ll be your hero too. Ya see, Nelson, along with a former bicycle racer named Sewell Crocker and a bulldog named Bud made the first cross country Road Trip by Automobile. In 1903. In 1903 there was something like 150 miles of paved road in America. TOTAL. There was no Route 66, no Lincoln Highway, no Mickey D’s, no road signs, no road maps, no Holiday Inn, and yep, no gas stations. And best of all, he did it on a $spur of the moment bet for $50 (which he never collected on). THEN he went out and bought his first car! If Horatio Nelson Jackson isn’t your hero, you are reading the wrong column!

So what brought on this deification of H.N. Jackson? Blame it on my eldest daughter. Brianna works in a library where she came across this video, “Horatio’s Drive.” First broadcast in October of 2003 by PBS, this Ken Burns documentary (yes, THAT Ken Burns, he of “The Civil War,” “Baseball” and the inventor of the “Ken Burns Effect”-that way of panning around a still photo to give it some movement) is, as all of his other works a fascinating tale of adventure and daring do.

It is also quite sweet. Jackson wrote daily to his wife back in New England and the family saved ALL of the letters, as well as his photos. The car, a 1903 Winton, is enshrined in the Smithsonian. Everyday, Jackson not only told of the daily occurrences, he also continually expressed his love for his wife and an unfailing optimism (“The worst is surely behind us” is in almost every letter, despite ever increasingly daunting mishaps) in the face of what would be to the most of us, insurmountable problems.

Little things like having to fix tires as an almost daily ritual, finding a smithy to re-fabricated suspension bits (and here I thought I was pretty good, bringing the Blue Meanie home from Hollister with a completely broken rear leaf spring!), gettoing NO factory support until almost halfway across the country, as well as fighting floods, rains, dust, and a route that was virtually unchanged from when the Conastoga Wagons crossed the country only a few decades prior to Jackson’s trip. Positively Homeric!

As a route, they planned an odd one. Not wanting to chance a late snowstorm in Donner Pass (and no doubt, the legend of the party that gave that pass in the Sierras it’s name was still in people’s memories) as well as the dust of the Nevada desert, they opted for an odd northerly route from San Francisco , winding up to Alturas and eastern Oregon, Idaho, and Wyoming before hitting Nebraska and supposedly smooth sailing following the tracks of the Transcontinental Railroad.

They left Frisco on May 25^th, having made a bet that a car couldn’t make it to New York in three months time. They headed for Oroville, the end of the rail line. "We never noticed," Jackson wrote, "as our cooking utensils jolted off one by one. When we discovered our loss, we could not afford to turn back to seek them." And that was on the GOOD road!

His first letter home reads;
“My darling Swipes. (his nickname for his wife-Ed) We leave in the morning for Oroville... the last railway point we will have until we strike Ontario, [Oregon]. When we get there the worst will be over.

I can run the car as well as Crocker & have rather surprised him... We take 2 hours on and 2 off at the wheel. He is a mighty good man.

I am fine... and the only trouble is I miss you so.

Nelson”

They had also acquired a bulldog named “Bud” who road the entire way with them, wearing goggles.

By June 4^th, they had made it to Lakeview, OR. The local paper recounted the excitement of the town as the first car anyone had ever seen rolled into town:

“The way the streets of Lakeview were lined with people Tuesday afternoon, one would think a circus was coming to town, or a 4th of July procession was about to pass. While it was neither, the people's curiosity had been aroused from a report that an automobile was coming this way, and that if they wished to see it pass it was necessary to have a seat in the front row, otherwise it might go through at the rate of 90 miles an hour, and would be out of sight before they could run a block.

“It drove in sight at just 4 o'clock and the crowds surged forward to get a first look at a real live auto, a machine that nine-tenths of the people of Lake county had never seen. The machine drove up in front of the Hotel Lakeview and stopped.

“The Chauffeur inquired for a blacksmith shop, having had a mishap coming over the rough roads.”

By June 20^th, they had reached Wyoming and got lost. July 2^nd saw them still in Wyoming, and ten days later, they were in Omaha, Nebraska. Often, they traded meals and a place to sleep for a ride in the Winton. On one occasion, lost, they asked directions of a young woman. Whe sent them the wrong way so they’d go by her family’s farm so they could see their first car! They almost lost Bud in Chicago, as he “had taken it into his head to see the city.” Having found Bud, they left Chicago, reached Buffalo, NY by July 21^st and New York City on the 26^th. Sixty-three days, twelve hours, thirty minutes.

From the New York Herald:

“Dr. H. Nelson Jackson and Sewall K. Crocker, his chauffeur, finished the first transcontinental automobile trip at half-past four o'clock yesterday morning.

“On their arrival, the mud besmirched and travel stained vehicle which had borne them so faithfully and sturdily over fifty-six hundred miles of roads between the Pacific and the Atlantic was housed in a garage in West 58th Street. All day yesterday it was visited by admiring automobilists, and curious passersby peeped in upon it. In honor of its achievement it was decorated with tiny flags and draped with national standards.

“The thick coating of mud gave evidence that it had been somewhere and that somewhere a long way off. A broken mud guard and a sprung front axle alone attested the hard knocks it had had on its long journey.”

When you consider that the unofficial record for Brock Yates’ “Cannon Ball Baker, Sea to Shining Sea Memorial Trophy Dash” was something under 24 HOURS, the automobile (and the roads) has come a long way in 100 years.

Autobooks has copies of the DVD and the companion book on order, but they are also available at PBS.org. Look for “Horatio’s Drive.” The narration is by Tom Hanks and is a must for any REAL Road Tripper!
(photos and quotes from http://www.pbs.org/horatio/)

The Most Beautiful Drive in the World

2011-04-10T15:37:00.000-07:00

Ok, that’s a pretty bold statement. One open to an awful lot of personal interpretation. Still, I’ve found it. Bar none, THE most beautiful drive on the planet. Now, I guess I have to be fair and admit I haven’t driven every road worthy of a great drive. I’m guessing that back east (meaning anywhere the wrong side of the Sierra Nevadas) there are some neat roads. I know that Yurp has some great drives as well. Still, I’d put this drive up against any, anywhere.

303 mi Cayucos - King City

1. Head southeast on S Ocean Ave toward 12th St 1.0 mi.

2. Take the ramp onto CA-1 S 1.1 mi

3. Turn left at Old Creek Rd 9.1 mi

4. Turn right at CA-46 E/Green Valley Rd 5.9 mi

5. Turn left at Vineyard Dr 4.5 mi

6. Turn right to stay on Vineyard Dr 2.7 mi

7. Turn right to stay on Vineyard Dr 1.8 mi

8. Turn left at Adelaida Rd 2.5 mi

9. Turn right at Chimney Rock Rd 5.8 mi

10. Turn left at Godfrey Rd/Nacimiento Lake Dr 7.6 mi

11. Turn right to stay on Nacimiento Lake Dr 1.7 mi

12. Turn left at Interlake Rd 20.4 mi

13. Continue onto Lockwood-Jolon Rd 2.3 mi

14. Turn right at Lockwood San Lucas Rd 11.8 mi

15. Turn right at Paris Valley Rd 8.9 mi

16. South 101

Skip #17 and 18.

19. Exit Bradley Rd

20. Continue on Bradley Rd 1.7 mi

21. Turn left at Hare Canyon Rd 6.4 mi

22. Turn left at Indian Valley Rd. 11.2 mi

23. Turn right to stay on Indian Valley Rd 1.8 mi

24. Continue onto Peach Tree Rd 13.7 mi

25. Continue onto CA-198 W 364 ft

26. Turn right at CA-25 N/Peach Tree Rd 60.1 mi

27. Turn left at Union Rd 4.8 mi

28. Turn left at CA-156 W/San Juan Rd 4.2 mi

29. Turn right at The Alameda 0.2 mi

30. Continue onto 3rd St 0.2 mi

213 mi – about 6 hours 7 mins

Much of this, I’ve written about before, but we just got back from a 3 day, 1000 mile trip with a few other crazies and this was the first half of Day Two. We left about 9AM from The Dolphin Inn in Cayucos and for about four hours, we were in awe. This drive has everything you could want. Long sweepers, tight twisties, and everything in between. The scenery is everything from moss covered oaks to open ranch land to vineyards to shear cliffs. Many of the roads have no center line. Some bits are a tad rough, some, nicely repaved. It took the best part of a tank of gas in the TR so make sure you fill up in Cayucos because you won’t find many places to stop along the way. Actually, you won’t want to stop.

We did this in late March, maybe a bit early for the best wild flowers, but the hills and the fields, and the meadows were so green, I was thinking we were back in Ireland. After mid-May, it all starts to brown, and by June, you have a whole different beauty. The gentle hills turn a golden tan, very reminiscent of the beach on a summer day, covered with the forms of lovely ladies baking in the sun.

The center piece of this drive is THE most beautiful road in the world, California State Highway 25. this stretches through a valley that runs north/south just east of Paso Robles, ending at the northern end in Hollister. You know Hollister, right? Scene of the biker takeover on about 1948 or so that inspired the movie
The Wild Ones with Marlon Brando. Some of this drive skirts the infamous San Andreas Fault, which lends a further bit of drama to the landscape. One the weekends and in the summer, motorcyclists are out in force. Trust the bikers to know where the good roads are.

What fascinates me about this drive, are all the other roads that branch off. You could spend several days just exploring the area and never get tired of what you see. Sometimes, St. Serendipity also plays her hand. We had been on the road almost 4 hours, and were only a dozen miles from Hollister, but we both HAD to pee! Up comes a cross roads (I hesitate to call it a town) called Paicines. It’s a post office in a country store/restaurant. You walk in and clearly, this is where the local ranch hands and farm workers spend Saturday night. There is a bar at the back, a couple of worn pool tables and the aroma of fresh tortillas, tamales, and salsa fill the air. This place is GREAT! Well worth the stop, even though you’re so close to Hollister.

Now, I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. If ANYONE can get Wanker, Pillock, and Prat from Top Gear over here, give them the use of some proper Sports Cars, ca 1960 or so, I’m telling you, they would weep with the sheer joy of this drive. We’d also hear no more of their holier-than-thou-anti-everything-but-England crap.

The Return of an Old Friend

2011-03-11T09:16:00.000-08:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve Mccarthy

It’s been a year. almost exactly. The clutch blew and in the way of all things mechanical and aged, that led to attacking other issues which meant I may as well do some more. but now, in spite of too damn much rain, dwindling funds, and at times, ennui, The Blue Meanie, car of choice for all these road trips I’ve been nattering on about all these years, rides again! WHEW!

OK, let’s tell the whole story. I was just out of high school and going to PCC. My first car. a (gulp, I really hate to admit this) was an NSU Prinz that I’d bought from a neighbor for $150. It ran. Back in 1968, you could by a running $50 car, so the Prinz was quite the catch. It saw me through high school and one engine build, but was both unreliable (dates frequently had to help push start it, rarely opting for a second opportunity at such joy) and dying. Time for an up grade.

So, I prowled the used car lots of Pasadena, looking for just the right car. Tried out an MGTF but my dad (who was financing the Big Purchase) didn’t like it when the passenger’s door flew open under a hard left. He also thought that $1500 was WAY too much to pay for a 1954 car. It was an XK!40 with perfect leather and burgundy paint. He also wasn’t about to go for either of the SS100s the same lot had for something like $1200 each. DAMN! At least it wasn’t as bad as a buddy of mine whose dad thought that three grand was too much for a 1955 car. That one was a 300SL. Actually, both dad’s parsimony probably saved our lives. Can you imagine turning an 18 year old loose in an XK 140 or a Gullwing? We’d have killed ourselves. No doubt about it.

Finally, I spotted it. A metallic blue TR3 on the lot in front of Peter Satori’s. They wanted a grand AND they’d take the Prinz as a $100 trade in! I may be the only guy to ever get the best of Pete the Cheat! Of course, I had no idea that the funny knock-knock noise at 3000 rpm was a rod bearing. This was MY baby!

We did the deal and brought it home. My brother and sister were JAZZED! My mom sat in the car ONCE, saw that she could touch the ground while sitting in the car and loudly declared “Susan, Scott (my younger siblings) you are NOT going to ride in that thing!”

I got to learn a lot about cars from the TR. How do do a tune up, How to change the oil. That Lucas is indeed the Prince of Darkness. To be fair, since Triumph was smarter than MG, I never had to deal with an SU fuel pump, or even a wet distributor. TR’s have it mounted nice and high, while MG has the distributor down low, where it’s most likely to get splashed. I got to learn that a top and side curtains are pretty worthless, acting more like a funnel into your lap. I got to learn the joys of an open car. The only thing like it is a motorcycle, and those fall over. I learned how not to rebuild an engine when that rod bearing finally went. I made some life ling friends. I dated my wife in that car in the late 70s and she married me anyway, despite the problems and inconveniences.

All through out this, the Blue Meanie (by the way, I got the car at just about the same time the movie Yellow Submarine came out, the TR needed a name and…) was the one inconsistent constant in my life. By the time Marianne announce that she was pregnant with our first, it was time for the Meanie to rest a bit. Money was short. REAL short and a leaking freeze plug up on Angeles Crest cause over heating that seized things up pretty good, so the TR sat. For about 18 years.

Three things led to the lazarisification of my baby. The approaching millennia got me thinking that maybe it was about time. The kids were now older and less in need of constant attention. Lastly, Phil Deushane, one of the first people I met because of the TR died of cancer. He had been my mentor in all things TR related. He worked at BAP/Geon and eventually, through him, so did I. He’d amassed a trove of TR parts that his mom asked me if maybe, I might just want. So, I dragooned my daughters and some friends of theirs to pull it out from the encroaching ivy at the side of the driveway.

Off came the body from the frame. Out came the drill and a thousand paint stripper wheels. Home Depot had a nifty portable sand blaster and off came thirty years of crusted oil, dirt grime and not a little rust. All the time, I kept repeating the mantra I had adopted; “What Would Phil Do?” He was beyond meticulous. Phil was anal. He put the hyphen in anal-retentive. For too many years, I’d done things with the “close enough for government work” attitude. No More I vowed. Mind you, I still have to fight that, but it’s better than it was.

I got myself a mig welder from Cheap Chinese Tools (aka Harbor Freight) and learned to weld after a fashion. Nothing structural mind you, but good enough to weld up patches in the swiss cheese floor boards. I used my last set of REAL Vanderwell bearings to rebuild the motor, fixed all the niggeliing little crap that had never been fixed, only tolerated and at the end of August in 1999, drove it up to a Car Night in Monrovia. DAMN but it was FUN!

I learned a few more new things about driving a tiny English sports car in the new millennium. It gets really cold at night in an open car! Everything smells and makes a lot of noise. And worse, DAMN, SUVs are HUGE!!!!! Those foul beasts, driven by diminutive soccer moms with NO IDEA what the mirrors are for scared that crap out of me! Still, it was so great to have the Auld Crate back on the road.

We hit some car shows (JEEZE, some of you hot rod guys can be REAL snobs!), and learned about something called the No-Frills-Iron-Bottom-Motoring-Tour. By that time, we’d become regulars at Car Night, and were chomping at the bit. I chronicled some of out Iron Bottom adventures in this column. In fact, this column is a direct result of those experiences and contacts. We even drove it up to Olympia, WA for my dad’s 80^th birthday. THAT was an adventure! 3000 plus miles up 101 and back.

So, now, the Blue Meanie is back on the road. New clutch (a rebuilt version of the 365 Daytona Ferrari clutch that can chirp the tires in 3^rd!), new rack and pinion steering, new kustom body work over what was supposed to be a rear seat, and new rattle can paint. The head rest and fin are still in the future, but now, it’s time to drive! End of March we have an epic three day, 1000 mile jaunt up the central coast with a few other like minded crazies, emulating the late, lamented Iron Bottom.

We’ll let you know how that worked out.

2011-02-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve McCarthy

I’m saddened, a little bit pissed off, and glowing with the knowledge that Karma does indeed get the evil doers in the end. This is not how I envisioned this month’s column’s start. I was going to wax nostalgic about a great burger joint, only to find out it’s gone. That’s what makes me sad. It was called the “Top Hat” and had sat on a corner in Ventura near the mission for decades. One of the last real burger joints. A crumby, run done shack that catered to both the homeless and the well off. A must stop at place when Main St. was Highway 101 that made really great burgers.

I’m pissed off because of the way the way this gem of Americana met it’s end. Good old Gordon Gecko Greed, coupled with what stinks to high heavens as Civic Malfeasance. Yasee, there is this developer. he owned the lot that was mostly for parking, but the corner of which was occupied by the Top Hat. He, in the long standing tradition of Johnny Rocco from Key Largo, wanted “More.” He wanted to “develop” the lot into something more lucrative. Some kind of trendy loft condo thing. He was gonna tear down the little stand and the city was OK with this, seeing a way to dip into the community redevelopment agency funds to the benefit of all. All meaning the developer and the council.

The community was outraged and people mounted a campaign to save the Top Hat. Last I had heard, they were successful. Huzzah. Not so fast. In maneuvers made in the stereotypical smoke filled back rooms of government (this was related to me by several people in Ventura), the health department got involved and shut down a burger joint that had been serving good food for decades with nobody getting ill. Hmmmm. Something smells foul alright and it ain’t tainted burgers.

That was a couple of years ago. The stand was shut up and the lot dug up and fenced off. Here’s the capper. In digging up the lot for the condos, they found NATIVE AMERICAN REMAINS!!!! HEEHEEHEE! Yep, seems they stumbled upon some kind of burial ground and we all know how touchy people are about those! The project is shut down for the foreseeable future and Mr. Developer is eating his investment. See, Karma WILL get you if you don’t watch out.

So, despite this tale of civic woe, I still want to recommend Ventura as a neat place to visit. We in LA usually think of the town as San Bypass Ventura, the place with the railroad bridge over the freeway on the way to much nicer Santa Barbara. Before the freeway zipped you through town, it was the place you cursed as you logged though the traffic on Main, limping through a town that had little to offer except congested traffic. I’ll tell ya, you’ve missed something by not stopping.

First, obviously is the Mission. This is a nice example of one of the smaller ones and has a great tour. Second, get off 101 at Main and cruise through town. At the south (well really east) end of town are some great motels from the Grand Era of Motels. Then, there is the Main Street Restaurant & Steakhouse. Great breakfast place favored by locals and a good place for a steak.

When you hit Old Town, you’ve reached the heart of the city and you’ll find a mixed bag of trendy and drab. Ventura is in a state of transition. Several thrift stores catering to the homeless who aren’t upscale enough to make it to Santa Barbara sit cheek to jowl with fine dining, chi chi boutiques, and art galleries. The whole transition is stalled right now, another victim of the crappy economy, and there are a lot of empty store fronts. We even came across a bonus! The law office of Erle Stanley Gardner is at the corner of Main and Ventura. There is a plaque there honoring the creator of the most famous lawyer ever.

Another place to try is the Busy Bee Cafe. Now I have to say, we warily tried this place on the recommendation of our dear editor here at ACE, Will Owen. Given his apparent lack of taste in the way he sometimes “edits” this column, I wasn’t too sure. Marianne had the patty melt (one of Will’s favs) and I had the bacon cheddar burger. OK, Will, you were right! The place is really good. It’s a touristy retro-diner but it has great food!

For dinner, we found a secret place. It’s not on Main or anywhere near it. You have to go across 101 and down Seaward Blvd. This is one of those serendipity things we discovered a few weeks previously on the way back from Carpinteria. Down at the end of seaward are a few motels and about five eateries. We hit the Seaward Fish and Chips with the whole lot of us. This was proper F&C. Just greasy enough, tasty white fish, and generous portions. The six of us split two of the combos and were stuffed. About fifty bucks fed the whole fam-damily. They also have a neat hook. The place is lined with dollar bills tacked to the walls, a tradition started by a friend of the owner when he took the place over some 10 years ago. The waitress said there were about 1500 of them. Yes, we left our mark as well. Now, we have to try all the others. I’m thinking about a week in one of the motels and a different place each night. There’s a burger joint, a pizza place and a more traditional (and possibly higher class) Italian joint to choose from.

So, yeah, stop in Ventura, despite the civic skullduggery, it has a lot to offer, and it’s about a half a tank of gas away!

Carpinteria-A Flash Back to a REAL Beachin' Town

2011-01-11T11:13:00.001-08:00

In keeping with our New Year’s theme of more closely examining some of the neater towns along some of the routes I’ve been nattering on about over the past few years, let’s take a look at one of Marianne and my favorites: Carpinteria.

It’s just up the 101, or, take the 5 to the 126 to the 150 in Santa Paula, up to Ojai, continue on the 150 just south of Ojai, then a right on the 192 and a left on Linden. It’s a really pretty drive and one of the first I detailed. Another great way to get there is Amtrak! Yeah, take the train and relax!

This is how beach towns are supposed to be. Although it’s growing up the hillsides, there are still lemon (wrong climate for oranges) and avocado groves galore that keep the agricultural ambience alive. Downtown Carpinteria is full of neat shops and eateries, the beach is one of the best in the world, and there are decent places to stay. You can even camp in the state park, if you are more adventurous and hardy than I am!

We used to do this when I was a lad. A couple of families in our neighborhood would trek on up, station wagons loaded with gear (no trailers for US, mind you!) and set up a couple of huge canvas tents. Then, for a glorious week, we kids would run free, the moms would sit in the sun, and the dad’s would go back to LA during the week to work, then back up on Thursday night. We’d (we’ll the moms) would cook on the Coleman stove or over the campfire, one of the dads was an accomplished classical guitar player and he’d play while we sang all the usual campfire songs. Once us kids were “asleep”, the folks would all head over to PeeWee and Irene’s Country Western Bar and Grill and whoop it up into the wee hours.

On of the great things about Carpinteria is how little it’s changed from those halcyon days of golden youth. It’s still the world’s safest beach, you can walk a good half mile or so out into the surf before the water gets chest high, and kids can walk the town unguarded by wary adults, convinced that Danger lurks on every corner. Like all towns, some things have changed. The huge hardware store that supplied up with firewood and Coleman stove/lantern fuel is closed up, and most of the shops have become more tourist oriented. Still, the key elements are still there.

First has to be The Spot. This burger stand opened in 1950 (damn, that makes it as old as I am!), and despite a small addition of a covered patio, is the same place, serving the same burgers with just the right amount of grease to make them taste great in the salt air. the menu is more expanded, there’s fish tacos, and even some veggie associated slop to cater to modern tastes, but get the bacon cheese burger. The bacon is REAL. Thick and smokey, it adds that extra layer of taste essential to a good feed. Kids still hang out there, coy girls and blustery boys, all learning the opening moves of the American Mating Ritual.

Our next favorite is Tony’s Italian food. They’ve been in the “new” place for decades now, but they still make a proper pizza. All the toppings you could hope for and a well done thin crust. Yeah, thick crust has become the norm these days, but there is a nostalgic blast from a nice, crunchy pizza pie.

The best place for breakfast is the Worker Bee Cafe. This is literally a mom and pop diner. Bob’s on the grill and Janet waits the tables. She’s a bubbly motherly type and he’s a crusty old fart who will come out of the back and razz the regulars and even casual visitors as the mood hits. The waffles and pancakes are thick and tasty.

Now there are other places to eat in town. There is an organic bakery that offers fabulous breads if a picnic up the road or on the beach strikes your fancy, there are good Mexican and Thai places as well. Enough restaurants to give you a different taste every day if you stayed a week. Discover your own favorites.

One of our mandatory stops in town is Robetaille’s Candy Shop. This is a diabetic’s nightmare (although the DO have sugarless candies there that aren’t too bad), you could drop into a coma just waling in. They make their own fudges and peanut brittle and all manner of chocolate goodies. The really cool thing is that they stock all the favorites from your own kiddom. Yep, those wax tubes with the sugar water, chocolate rocks, sour balls, the whole gamut of unwholesome goodness. They even have a cooler that stocks real glass bottled sodas! Yep, Coke and Pepsi, Bubble Up, Nehi (grape and orange), all the old, long gone favorites. The best thing about this place is it’s obviously giving the finger to political/gastronomic correctness. They have bubble gum cigars and candy cigarettes! I’m really surprised the Health Nazis haven’t shut them down!

Antique shops with a wide variety and clothing boutiques round out the town, all on one street, plus a few side streets. There is a good local history museum and library and a yearly avocado festival. It seldom gets too hot and, rarely gets too cold. The dress code is flip flops and shorts and tee shirts. The pace is laid back and friendly. I’m sure, beneath this 1950s veneer, the town has the usual problems and intrigues. What place doesn’t? Who cares. Visit and linger and enjoy one of the last unspoiled little California beach towns.

Going SLO for the New Year

2010-12-10T10:12:00.000-08:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve McCarthy

Happy New Year! Let’s start the new year SLO. No, I didn’t say “SLOW”, I said SLO, as in San Luis Obispo. This year, I’m planning on focussing more on specific towns as destinations. Yeah, I know, Road Trips are supposed to be about the journey, not the destination, but eventually, you do arrive somewhere and having a better idea of what cool stuff is in a town that you stop in, especially if the town is worth more attention than a place to eat and a place to sleep. So, in addition to more great roads, expect more details on some great places to visit.

Marianne and I got mid-week itchy feet a bit back (actually in November, such is the reality of deadlines and production necessities!) and it was mid-week (usually the best time for a road trip, fewer RV’s,) and we were enjoying one of our normal late fall light Santa Ana wind days. As constant readers know, we are ALWAYS up for a cruise up the coast, and that ALWAYS means 101. This time, we had an actual destination in mind, San Luis Obispo.

For all the driving we’ve done around the Central Coast, I have to admit that SLO has always been a “drive through” or “drive around” city, which is a real shame. It’s got a great mission, wonderfully restored historic district, and great food. The surrounding area has fabulous wineries and the scenery is maybe the best in the world. What else can you want.

On top of this, the weather turned out to be absolutely FANTASTIC! Really! WE did our usual west on the 210, through La Canada, then out the 118, getting off in Moorpark (ever notice what “Moorpark” spelled backwards is?), then the 118 to Saticoy, then the 126 to Ventura. This avoids the Dreaded Valley. We burst into Ventura to an amazing sight. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS WAS VISIBLE!!!! Not just barely discernible through the haze, but sharply, distinctly defined as if you could reach out and touch them. A few high clouds and a freeway’s worth of jet contrails (damn it gets busy up there in the less-friendly-than-they-used-to-be skies-TSA Pat downers must have been REALLY, uh, satisfied that day?) gave an added definition to the scene. Often, we’ll drive inland through some twisty roads, but that day, we wanted as much of the coast as we could get. It was just amazing.

SLO is only a couple of hundred miles away, so in about three hours and maybe half a tank of gas (depending) you’re there. So what is there? We arrived at lunch time and were ready for food. Exit the 101 at Marsh Street (signs tell you that this is the exit for the “Historic District”) and head into town. Marsh becomes a one way street away from the freeway and you can find public parking lots with meters (bummer, 2 hours for a buck and a quarter, bit tough to eat, stroll AND see the mission in only two hours, so-don’t tell anyone, it’s not really legal-re-feed the meter when you’ve done with lunch for a reset of your 2 hours) and walk over to Higuera St. This is the main drag. Lots of places to choose from SLO is a college town (Cal Poly SLO) and there are a lot of bars/restaurants that cater to this crowd. Funny, when I was in college, no one I knew could afford to hang out in places with $12 burgers and drink $10 shots. The glory of excess student loan money? Ah Well, durn whippersnappers!

We decided on the Buffalo Pub and Grill. One of the reasons we picked this one was as we were perusing the bill of fare outside, a couple of patrons were leaving and said, “Eat here, it’s great.” Unsolicited testimony from strangers is always a good sign. Never ignore it! Great choice! We managed to split one of their huge burgers (with apple wood smoked bacon and blue cheese) and fries, along with a pint of Guinness each and we were stuffed!

Having fed ourselves and re-fed the meter, we walked the town. SLO has done a great job of restoring it’s old town. In many ways, its a cross between Pasadena’s Old Town and Monrovia’s. It’s a mix of small, independent businesses and, at the far end, newer chain stores (Barnes and Noble, GAP, and others of that ilk) in mostly newer buildings built to fit the old town look.

In addition, right smack dab in the middle of it all is the Mission. San Luis Obispo’s example is one of the prettier one’s, and a lot has been spent on creating a nice park around it. it is well worth the time to poke around.

As we were about to leave town, walking back to the car, we scored a bonus. McCarthy’s Irish Pub at Nipomo and Marsh. One of the Iron Clad Rules of Travel is to never, EVER pass up a place that has your name on it. Having walked off the pint we had with lunch, we downed one in this cozy, dark Namesake Bar that occupies a strangely incongruous Spanish Mission Style building. I’m betting it was once a Mexican eatery, but in California, we should be used to odd juxtapositions.

Sated and relaxed, we set off back down the coast, got off in Pismo Beach to find gas, decided to take a brief jaunt along Foxen Canyon Road to the 154, over the San Marcos Pass and WOW! Smack dab into the most glorious sunset either of us can remember. I’m serious! Coming down the hill, we were treated to a panorama of Santa Barbara, the channel and the islands and a horizon that went on forever. If you looked just right, I SWEAR you could see Hawaii!

As the sun was just starting it’s long slow daily dive into the Pacific, I knew there was one place we had to stop, and preyed that the timing would be right. Not racing, but not lollygagging about, we headed south, past the slowing of Ortega Hill and Summerland, Past Carpinteria, and dove off the freeway to the Old 101 at Seacliff. this is a great stretch of the Old Road, lined on one side by the tracks of the old SP Coast Route and on the other by beach houses jammed cheek to jowl, daring the Pacific to do it’s worst at high tide, and often paying for that dare. This was the kind of day that made that gamble worth it.

We stopped just shy of the entrance to Emma Wood State Beach and OH MY GOD! We spent at least an hour staring and taking 114 pictures with the little digital camera and staring and staring. There was a smattering of cars parked with us, the occupants doing the same as the poor lost dead souls up on the highway sped by, seemingly oblivious, too pre-occupied with Getting Somewhere to stop and marvel. The surf beat it’s steady beat, shore birds played tag with the waves, and one of Nature’s Daily Miracles played out a perfect coda for a perfect day.

2010-11-03T11:12:00.000-07:00

Wow, It's been a bit. Been busy.

OK, it’s nearing December and time to start thinking about making a list and checking it twice. I hope you’ve not been too naughty, nor too nice! That wouldn’t be much fun now, would it? Since the election noise has finally subsided, we can finally get down to serious business: Holiday Shopping! To that end, I’ve got a few ideas for all you intrepid Road Trippers out there.

I cruised the shelves of our favorite bookstore (gosh, what might THAT be?) and came up with some gems. Tina has stocked a whole bunch of goodies but these were standouts to me. First, I’m going to indulge in some shameless self promotion. Road Trippin’ ($22.95) by me is not a bad book! It’s a compilation of a lot of these columns, all cleaned up with purty pictures and more consistent directions. In addition are some of my columns that dealt with my outlook on Road Trips. If you haven’t picked up a copy for you and several for friends, you should. Who doesn’t need the allure of the open road during the dark days of winter? I also want to thank those who have bought a copy. I really appreciate your support. It makes me feel like I’ve actually made an impression and that I’m not writing to a blank wall! So enough of ME, what else is there?

Route 66 is the obvious area of Road Trips that EVERYONE does. And it seems that everyone writes about it too. Autobooks has most of these if they are in print. There seem to be three categories of Route 66 books. The first is the all encompassing Ode to the Mother Road. these wax nostalgic about the alleged good old days and how “wonderful” travel was back then. they also ignore the fact that travel back then was downright dangerous! Two thousand plus miles of two lane highway in a car with drum brakes and nominal radiators? Seriously? It was a pretty grueling trek. Still, these are good books and give us a look (albeit rosy tinted) at an important part of our history.

The second type focusses on all the weird and funky stuff on 66, extant or vanished. Again, these books play on the nostalgia for the Mother Road. And again, they give us a terrific look at American Culture and the lives of everyday people. These two types of books focus not on the Great Leaders and Big Issues, but on what the everyday people who really make up this nation, and how they lived and traveled. Their hopes and dreams, successes and failures.

The third type is the useful guide book. Of these, we looked carefully at two. Finding the End of the Mother Road-Route 66 in Los Angeles County, by Scott R. Piotrwski ($19.95) and EZ66-Route 66 Guide for Travelers, by Jerry McClanahan ($15.95). Get them both. There that was easy! Why? You had to ask. Each of these books are meant to be used in a car. They are spiral bound for easy reference and of a convenient size. Piotrwski’s book on LA county has more detail on the wonders of Route 66 in our own back yard. The maps and directions are easy to follow and accurate. Most of the focus is on what is still here and how to find these gems that are buried in the vastness of our urban sprawl.

McClanahan’s book takes on the whole enchilada. It does not have really detailed information, but makes up for that in the sheer abundance of great stuff. Each town along 66 is detailed, in order, giving you an idea of what is there, or in too many sad cases, what WAS there. One of the more amusing features is the Giant Alert. Every one of those HUGE advertising statues (like the giant guy holding tires, or the giant boot, or the giant doughnut) is chronicled and you are alerted to their presence. Pretty cool idea. another great feature about this book is that you can use it front to back (if you are traveling from Chicago to LA) or for us going eastward, simply flip the book back to front and it’s equally useful! What a GENIUS idea!

Marianne and I had a hard time picking which was the better book. The Finding the End of the Mother Road is terrific for it’s detail, but is limited to LA country. The EZ66 guide may not have the narrative, but has all the detail anyone needs to make a real trek of discovery. I seriously recommend both PLUS at least one form the other two categories.

Another book that caught my eye is more unusual. Constant readers will know how much I love Highway 395. It’s maybe the last of the “real” highways. Pretty much all two lanes and it still goes through the center of every town, including Carson City, NV, right past the state capitol building. I was delighted (and a bit disappointed, I want to do a 395 book myself-who needs the competition?) to find U/S. Route 395-Travel America’s “Three Flags Highway” in a Classic 1969 Porsche 912, by Michael Newlon ($24.95). In his often amusing narrative, Newton describes his epic 1300 mile journey in his beloved 912, describing his joys and tribulations and giving the reader a great sense of what is out there. He also has plenty of tips about preparing for such a journey in an older car. The book is loaded with pictures of his little white chariot at a huge variety of neat and often funky places along the way. My only problem is that he seems to over-emphasize that he did all of the “at legal cruising speed.” Really? You never gave in to the temptation to open it up somewhere between Wagon Tire and Alturas? Well, OK, his book is about cruising, not racing. I was going to insert a dig about it only being a 912 and something about how legal speed limits are about all it will do, but I won’t. Seriously, get this book. It may help you decide that taking an epic journey in your Auld Crate is not only doable, but highly advisable.

The last book is maybe the ‘Must Have” book for any true Road Tripper. The Lincoln Highway-The Great American Road Trip, by Michael Wallis with photography from Pulitzer Prize winning Michael S. Williamson ($39.95). Route 66 gets all the press. First the hit song by Bobby Troup, then the TV series that seldom featured that highway, plus the 50s nostalgia craze and great marketing have all propelled Route 66 into the public conscience as The Road. Now I LOVE Route 66. It does embody much of what our culture is all about. but it’s not the only highway, and in fact, was not the first transcontinental road. That honor falls to the Lincoln Highway.

The Lincoln Highway, begun in 1913 connected two of the most iconic and polar opposite sights in America. the Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate Bridge. That’s right, New York to Frisco. The Big Apple to the Big Kiwi with a Lime Cranberry Sauce and Shaved Cumquat or what ever Friscoians call them selves. This road goes right smackdab through the center of America. The Heartland. What Both-Coasters call sneeringly, “Fly Over States.” Thirteen States (is that a coincidence or was it planned?) and 3,389 miles. New York, Chicago, Omaha, Cheyenne, Salt Lake City, Reno, San Francisco. And what must be hundreds of little wide spots in the road that make up the Real America.

Much of the western half parallels the first Transcontinental Railroad and there is more of the Lincoln Highway intact than there is of Route 66! This is a journey that all serious Road Tripper MUST take!

This coffee table book has it all. A great mix of new and historic photos, postcards, shots of the weird and funky, the iconic and mundane fill this book. It’s gone to the top of my Christmas List. Santa, are you reading Ace? Can we send a copy to the north Pole?

So, some goodies for under the tree. Treat yourself or someone else, these are essential for any Roadt Trippin’ library.

Dunsmuir to Eureka to St. Helena

2010-09-07T10:19:00.000-07:00

Road Trippin’
with Steve McCarthy

OK, so we got to Dunsmuir and poked around at some great sights along the way. Now we need to get on with the next two days of our NoCal backroads trek. From dunsmuir, we’ll be trotting across more pine covered forests towards the coast. For us SoCal folks, all those pine trees give us a whole new perspective on the Golden State. I mean yeah, we have trees here. At least a few are left from the various rounds of fires, but up there, they have TREES! this section of the lower Cascades is actually a rain forest. What’s that you say? “Rain Forest? Isn’t that like jungle? In, like, BRAZIL?” Well, yes and no. Yasee, not all rain forests are equatorial jungles.
This is a Forest, and yes indeedy do, it rains here. A LOT! That’s a hint to be prepared. Especially if you drive an open car. Expect rain even in the summer. In the winter, it snows. And since we’re talking some really minor backroads, you can’t drive them in the winter. They just flat close the roads down, rather than spend the bucks to keep them open. there’s no one up there to keep them open for!
That should give you pause. If not enough people use these roads to bother to plow them in the winter, do many people use those roads the rest of the year? That would be NO! So, a bit of extra care in your driving and extra care in your preparing the Auld Crate are in order. And cell phone service? What’s that? I also hope you packed a picnic lunch because there may not be many places that actually sell food here. Unless you brought your fishing pole.
So, after wandering around such great places as Big Bar and burnt Ranch, you will reach the next night’s lodgings in Eureka. This is a neat town. It started life as a seaport for the logging industry and still performs that function today. Check out the Fort Humboldt State Historic Park & Logging Museum 3431 Fort Avenue Eureka, CA 95503-3828 (707) 445-6567. It’s got great exhibits and plenty of old equipment. It’s amazing to think of guys cutting down redwood trees as big around as your house with giant handsaws and axes! Again, I put this drive together in shorter legs so you could have time to poke around a bit.
The next treat is dinner! Actually, what I said about lunch? forget it. Don’t eat all day. You’ll need the appetite. The Samoa Cook House, is across the bridge (head north on 101 from the motel and look for Hwy 225 to Samoa--Ya can’t miss it! I’m sure the people at the motel can tell you haw to get there as well.) in the tiny town of Samoa. this place is Legendary! In fact, constant readers will remember a while back when I held a poll on best roads, on of the questions was about favorite places to eat. This was on several lists. From their website (samoacookhouse.net): “Breakfast, served family style, can include eggs, french toast, pancakes, sausages, biscuits & gravy, hash browns, coffee and orange juice. Lunch and Dinner, served family style, include entrée, soup, salad, bread, vegetable, potato, coffee, tea and dessert.” And LOTS of it! This was an actual cook house for miners up until the 1970’s and has stuck to it’s basic format of Fill the Hungry Bellies of Hard Working People. It is also worth looking at the museum on the premises. Eureka is also a neat town to explore, so walk off dinner by strolling the streets. Find the Carson Mansion at 143 M St. this place is spectacular!
So, still sated from dinner, it’s time to head back to St. Helena, or indeed home to SoCal. The rest of the trip should be familiar. It parallels Hwy 101 and takes you through the Avenue of the Giants. This side trip is not to be missed. neither are the funky tourist places along the way. Trees of Mystery, Confusion Hill, the Drive Through Tree, all of it is worth the stop. Experience how simple being a tourist used to be. Set aside your jaded 21st Century outlook, suspend disbelief and just enjoy. I recommend going back to St. Helena for the night. It will allow you time to poke around more, as well as hit some of the great wineries in the area. So, enjoy October! In November, I plan to suggest some reading material to put on your Christmas Wish List. Books that I THINK we can find at a particular store in Burbank!

The exact directions can be had by buying a copy of the October issue of ACE from autobooks-aerobooks.com. There is a link at the top of this page!

Road Trippin' in NoCal

2010-08-06T10:05:00.000-07:00

Road Trippin’

with Steve McCarthy

I’d like to give you some details about what can be found between the Napa Valley and Dunsmuir. First, believe it our not, prepare for lunch. We really didn’t spot any good lunch joints along the way, so this is a good trip for a picnic. Or, you can wait until you get to Portola and find food there. There’s lots of choices from pizza to burgers to cafes that should fill the bill. The great thing about the Napa Valley is (aside from the wine) the food. There are any number of foody places to stock up on cheese, bread, and salami. the Safeway in St. Helena actually has a pretty decent selection, so stock up (you really might want to have enough for three lunches!) and find a wide spot in the road, throw out the blanket and enjoy!

NOW we can talk about breakfast. Under an hour up the road is a little town called Middletown. Not much of a place, and (surprise!) it’s halfway between Calistoga and Clearlake. On the left is a great little joint called “Beulah’s”. No kidding! This place is great! Tiny, friendly and really good pancakes! The bacon is also generous (four slices, four THICK slices!) and very tasty. The prices are better than reasonable as well.

One of the reasons I broke this trip into fairly small chunks is that there are a number of places to stop and poke around. In Portola, as I mentioned last month) is the Western Pacific RR Museum. The Western Pacific was a smaller competitor to the Southern Pacific and Union Pacific. It had it’s own route through the Sierras along the Feather River (as opposed to Donner Pass-part of the original Transcontinental Railroad, built by the Central Pacific-and then owned by the SP) and some pretty spectacular scenery of it’s own. The museum is a tribute to this lesser know railroad and has a great collection of equipment. The really cool thing is that for $150, you can actually run a real, full size locomotive! For more information, you can check their website at www.wplives.org. How can you pass up this kind of opportunity!

On the second day of the trip, I hope you didn’t eat all that salami and cheese. Eat breakfast in Portola and plan on a picnic at Mt. Lassen. This is the highlight of day two. It is well worth the $10/car fee to drive through. There is a very good visitor’s center at the lower park entrance and there are tables and chairs to have you lunch. I can’t really recommend the cafe there, it looked pretty average. The displays and history of the park however, are wonderful. It’s a good idea to get a map and get familiar with what there is to see. The variety of volcanic sites is fascinating! Be warned however, just up the road from the center are vents in the mountainside that spew sulfur laden steam. PEE-YOU! Drive slow through this part of the park (the speed limit is 35 mph and the rangers DO patrol!) and stop at the various points of interest. You also need to know that the road through the park is closed in the winter. They do get a bit of snow up there! The summit is around 8000’ so be advised of that as well.

Once you get down the backside, you will continue on Hwy 89 pretty much all the way to Dunsmuir. While the scenery is gorgeous (lots of rolling meadowlands and pine trees) there are not a lot of places to stop. The drive is pretty easy, once you get out of the mountains. One of the great sights on 89 is Mt. Shasta. As you near Dunsmuir and I-5, that old volcano looms above the road right in front of you. All alone, it just thrusts up to the sky and dominates everything. If it ever goes Mt. St. Helens, we are not only in a world of hurt, we’ll lose one of the most magnificent sights in California.

Dunsmuir is one of our favorite little towns. It’s a town created by the railroad. It was a major yard on the arduous climb up and around Mt. Shasta, but changes in both the railroad and our driving habits are killing the place. The downtown area is full of great buildings, too many of which are vacant. Poke around a bit, it is a place well worth exploring. We found a great little restaurant called “Sengthongs” that serves up a combination of Vietnamese, northern Thai, and Laotian food that is really, really good! It’s a bit on the pricey side perhaps, but well worth it. the portions are big and the selection is unusual. The husband of the chef also looks like Chuck Forward’s long lost brother!

For a place to stay, there is only one choice for us. The Cave Springs Motel. We stumbled across this place about 20 years ago and have made it our mandatory place to stay. There are two parts to this place, the standard motel type rooms, built I’d say in the 60s are nice and clean and comfortable. The other accommodations are little cabins, built in 1923 and are wonderful. Sparse, no, downright Spartan, but wonderful! The owners have made a concerted effort to preserve these gems and the experience is just like travel was WAAAAY back. there is a lean to shed/carport that will fit your Model T (or perhaps a TR3) and not much else. These clapboard cozy cabins overlook the Sacramento River out the back, and you are advised to open both front and back doors to get the benefit of the breeze to cool them down. By the way, in the summer, it can get HOT in Dunsmuir! The breeze off the river is refreshing to say the least! Inside, you will find an old iron framed bed with REAL bed springs, a small kitchen with a two burner gas “stove” that you have to light with a match. No oven. There is a sink and on the back porch is a “modern” refrigerator! No room inside for one! It’s easy to get to the kitchen, by the way, because the floor slopes quite noticeably towards the cliff overlooking the river. They even include cookware and plates and utensils and a mandatory cast iron skillet. Each cabin also has a pair of those old metal “motel chairs” on the front porch and a BBQ grill and picnic table out front. The last real upgrade these places have seen was when they decided to add that new fangled thing called “Electricity.” The wiring is all exposed and the switches date from the 30s. In addition to all this luxury, the motel offers a pool and hot tub as well as a bocce ball court and horseshoes! Talk about “Old School” recreation. It may sound like I’m making fun of the place, but believe me, I’m not. The place is a wonderful throw back and is worth staying at. Everything is wonderfully relaxed. So much so that, other people staying there will say “hello” and strike up a conversation. When’s the last time that happened at the Holiday Inn? It made me feel like I was staying at “Ollie Hopnoodle’s Haven Of Bliss” from the old Jean Shepard story, complete with swarms of mosquitos in the evening. The rates are also VERY reasonable. Under $60/night. They also have weekly rates if you are up for some trout fishing.

So, those are some of the gory details of the St. Helena-Dunsmuir leg of this trip. Next month, we’ll take you over the hill to the coast and Eureka. Be prepared for more mountain roads and bring a BIG appetite for the Samoa Cookhouse. Till then, keep Hitting the Road!

Road Trip Music

2010-07-17T12:21:00.001-07:00

“Son, you’re gonna drive me to drinkin’ if you don’t stop drivin’ that

Hot Rod Lincoln!”

Clearly, the greatest road trip song of all time. But even as great as Charlie Ryan’s (who sadly passed away this past February at the age of 92) anthem to the hot rod is, you can’t listen to it more than five of six times on a road trip without the danger of rebellion from the shotgun seat. So what other songs are essential on a road trip? Is, in fact, music even a necessary component to a road trip? If you drive a TR3 with Brooklands windscreens that make it impossible to hear (like we do), I’m guessing no. If your idea of a road trip involves anything that is red, Italian, and has 12 cylinders, you’ve got all the music you need from the tailpipes. If the V8 rumble and blower whine make you shout to be heard, probably not. But still, in most instances, music and road trip generally go together like Guinness and mussels in cream sauce.

Now it used to be, before the advent of satellite radio, that half the fun of a road trip was finding a radio station. Any radio station! In the bad ol’ days of AM only radio, when there were three whole stations that were deemed acceptable to teens in LA (quick, for 50 points and a free trip to Pacoima, NAME THOSE STATIONS!) if you were off in the boonies, you might be able to catch a skip off the ionosphere (or what ever sphere it is, science isn’t my strong suit) and pick up Wolfman Jack, broadcasting from his secret lair somewhere around (so it was rumored) Waco, Texas. If you were unlucky, you got Grand Ol’ Opry. I got the opportunity to demonstrate this lost art to my daughter as we were driving her newly acquired ’62 Mercury Comet home from Hemet. We were cresting the Beaumont Pass and trying the radio. It only took 5 minutes for the tubes (Yes, TUBES!) to warm up, then with that old familiar: “WEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWEEEEUUUUUUUOOOOO” we managed to pick up something. A traffic report. For Salt Lake City! Needless to say, my daughter was impressed! But now we have multiple disc CD players, or iPods that can carry all the music of the Western World. What do you load in for that multi-day, cross country trek?

Obviously, personal tastes play the most important role, but still, music that is maybe a bit out of your comfort zone can enhance a road trip in ways unimaginable. Time of day is also a factor. So is weather. So is the road. So is the car. The only types not allowed in my cars are Disco and Hip hop/Rap. I’m boycotting K-EARTH now that they’ve started to play the BeeGees as “Oldies.” Puh! Overall though, the more eclectic your play list, the better the experience. So here’s some of our favorites. Its far from a complete list. That would take enough space to fill several books, and ACE won’t devote an entire issue to one topic.

For just plain cruisin’, even if its a day long drive, proper Rock and Roll is just the ticket. After all, that’s how we all got started. Whether it was up and down Colorado in Pasadena or Whittier Blvd, or where ever, we all cruised to Rock and Roll. Windows down, arm hanging out, Just Cruisin’. Some of the best collections can be had from a local DJ everyone around here knows as LeRoy, the Milkman. You’ve probably seen and heard him at various car shows around SoCal. He puts together some amazing CDs. My favorite is called LeRoy’s Car Tunes. It’s got almost every great car song ever, including of course, “Hot Rod Lincoln.” There’s “Little Deuce Coupe.” “409,” “Mustang Sally,” and “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Pretty much what HAS to be there is there (I can’t figure out why “Dead Man’s Curve: is missing, though), but he’s included other, more obscure stuff as well: “Pink Cadillac,” “Rocket 88,” and “Bucket T,” for starters. My next favorite of his is “Surf Tunes.” A whole CD of the greatest surfer music ever. “Miserlou,” “Wipe Out,” “Telstar Surf!” It doesn’t get much better than that! He also has several Doo-Wop CDs available, nice for the late night cruise, when you want to dial things back a bit on a warm summer night.

My next Rock and Roll selection is a truly varied compilation. I bought it at the Rose Bowl Swap meet, but I’ve seen the guy at other events. Its a four CD set put out by Invicta Music, Ltd., up in Quebec, Canada (of all places!). Who, knows, these may not yet be “Oldies” up there in the Great White North! Anyway, this set has 103 songs. Its at least three hours of music. Volume One begins with Willie Nelson and “On the road Again”, proceeds through Freddy Fender (“Before the Next Tear Drop Falls”), Creedence (Bad Moon Rising”), and The Diamonds (“Little Darlin’”), before hitting Duane Eddy, Jan and Dean, and Three Dog Night. It just gets better with Volume Two. Janis Joplin and “Bobby McGee” gives way to “Sixteen Tons” and Tennessee Ernie Ford. Bo Diddley, WAR, Chuck Berry and the Eagles also show up. Three and Four are equally as mixed up. Meatloaf, The Troggs, The Boss, Foghat, and the Vogues mix it up with Howlin’ Wolf, the Doobie Brothers, and ZZ Top. Whew, makes me tired just listing the stuff. I have to tell you too, all the cuts on these CDs aren’t in my comfort zone. Neil Diamond and Glen Campbell usually get bypassed, but that’s just me.

Now so far, we’ve stayed in an area that I’m betting is safe for most of you. Good Ol’ Rock and Roll. Let’s push the boundaries. Late at night, on a long lonely road, maybe with enough rain to need the wipers on real slow, try Jazz. Smooth, Cool, Jazz. Dave Brubeck, Wes Montgomery, Antonio Carlos Jobin. Spice it up a bit if you are really adventurous with some John Coltrain, or Miles Davis. There is something about 2 AM, an Open Road, and Jazz.

OK, now let’s REALLY push the limits. Let’s go all out beyond what most people can deal with. It may surprise you. Opera. Yes, Opera. That-Thing-Foreigners-Do-Until-Your-Head-Hurts. In the words of Luciano Paverotti, “Controlled Screaming.” I’m telling you, there is nothing like flying down a back road with that same Paverotti belting “Vin-cher-a, Vin-cher-AA, vin-CHHEERR--ah!” at the end of “Nesun Dorma” or carving up Highway One in the fog with Maria Callas doing the Mad Scene from “Lucia di Lammermoor.” Its bloody MAGIC! Vocal Classical a bit too much for you? Fine, try some instrumental stuff. Mozart symphonies are great stuff. Not too heavy, actually hum-able, yet very satisfying. I’d suggest Ravel’s “Bolero,” but that’s not driving music, that’s parking music!

The last genre I advise you to look into for variety is traditional Irish Music. Not “When Irish Eyes are Smiling,” or “Danny Boy,” but the REAL stuff. Try the Chieftains, especially their early albums. Its easy to tell which ones they are, they’re numbered. As in “Chieftains 1”, “Chieftains 2,” and so on. Numbers 4, 5 and 8 are my personal favorites. Other groups like Dervish, Bothy Band, or Planxty are good bets. I’m telling ya, a good fast, hard reel has just the right rhythm for slamming up a mountain road.

Since a good sound system seems necessary for a good ride, find some good music to play on it. That’s the beauty of modern technology, you can burn your own mixes at the ‘puter. Van Morrison, Simon and Garfunkle, the Doors, some Motown. Throw in Cat Stevens and the Beatles and the Stones with Mozart and Puccini, a touch of Cannonball Adderly, a soupcon of Charlie Parker and you’ve got the right idea. Mix it up, and keep people guessing as they try to figure you out. And like they say, if its too loud, YOU’RE too old!

Route 66, The TV Show

2010-07-07T09:08:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d make a bit of a departure at this point, and do more of a review than a road trip. I found myself a Christmas present at Autobooks a couple of years ago. Its an obvious choice for something for me to review: Volume One, Season One of the ultimate Road Trip Show--Yes folks, the TV series “ROUTE 66.” I saw it and of course had to have it. Since it’s the ultimate Road Trip Show, maybe it will give you the feeling of how it was “back then.”

This is one of those shows that a lot of people refer to, but I’m betting probably never saw. At best, it’s been so long that the reality of the show has faded. To the best of my knowledge, it’s never been picked up as a retro-rerun. TV Land, Nick-at Night, et. al. are too busy showing garbage from the 1970s and 80s (but what can we expect when K-EARTH is now playing--shudder--disco as “oldies!”) to pay attention to the really great TV that was available in the 50s and 60s. “Route 66” is one of those forgotten gems.

The premise, to remind everyone, is that Tod Stiles ( played by a very freckle faced Martin Milner, later of “Adam-12” fame) is the educated, privileged guy who had to leave Yale after his father died, leaving him penniless. The only thing he has left is his 1961 Corvette (actually, in the first episode, possibly the pilot, the car is a ’60) and a need to roam. His odd-couple buddy is Buz Murdock (George Maharis), a tough guy from Hell’s Kitchen who was raised in an orphanage. Together they roam the country, working odd jobs, getting their kicks, and along the way, changing people’s lives. The show also show cased a number of future stars such as Suzanne Pleshette, Leslie Nielson, Lee Marvin, Harvey Korman, Jack Lord, DeForest Kelly (!!) and Joey Heatherton, several getting the “Introducing” tag in the credits. There were some well known people as well, such as E.G. Marshall and Jack Warden. The cast lists were really impressive.

Now to be honest, I was a whole ten years old when the first season aired--1960 (OK, go ahead do the math), and don’t really remember much of the show. I doubt that my folks watched the show that much, and back then, only the insanely rich had more than one TV. It was probably shown later than my bed time anyway. I do remember seeing a few episodes later on, but I can’t say I really have much more than a vague memory of it. Seeing the first few episodes were a revelation. Its hard to remember when TV drama was so, well, Dramatic. This feeling is enhanced by the fact that each episode has a Title, shown in the opening credits. Titles like “The Lance of Straw,” or “Man on the Monkey Board” seem a bit over the top today, but they give us the feel that each show is its own play. The three central characters are the same (Tod, Buzz, and the Road), and (unusual for the day) there is a continuity from one week to the next, following up on previous adventures. Each show, however, stands alone in its own right. Shot in glorious, high contrast black and white, the show had tons of close-ups on faces that showed Character, and acting that was done by performers who started on the live stage, rather than in commercials. The feel is more like “Twilight Zone” or “Combat.” This is not a show spotlighting the light hearted hi-jinx of two dudes having a great old time, which is what we’d see today. Each episode is alive with situations that require our two heros to show far more maturity than would be expected in today’s Life-Lite society. Sure, they’re attracted to some pretty girls, but not in the openly sexual way of today’s shows. They really are young gentlemen. Of course, the TV codes of the day insured that kind of respectful yearning.

There is also the theme and musical score by Nelson Riddle. The title track is of course famous (it is not however the song “Get Your Kicks on Route 66”), and its meant to have the feel of wheels (knock-off wire wheels, in this case--gotta be one of the few ‘Vettes with that option!) spinning down the road, the feel of wanderlust. Which is of course the whole premise of the show.

The real stars to me are the settings. This show was shot almost entirely on location. It’s a postcard from the past that shows an America of small towns and big dreams. It’s a less crowded America that still has a pre-Vietnam War enthusiasm. Although most of the road shots seem like they are done on minor back roads, in reality, this is pre-interstate America. Main roads could be just two lanes of blacktop. Although the shots are generally composed so the real names of the towns are obscured, some locations aren’t too hard to figure out. Bourbon Street in New Orleans, shrimp boats in the gulf, Grant’s Pass in Oregon. All these places figure in the plot and form the backdrop for the drama. It’s as if the show’s creator, Sydney Silliphant scouted the location and wrote the story to fit.

Now about this time, you may have noticed that Louisiana and Oregon aren’t on Route 66. Yeah. In fact, about the only time they are actually on Route 66 is in the third episode. The “Mother Road” was more of a metaphor for the wide expanse of the country. Each region of the US was still distinct in 1960, the commercial homogenization of America was only in its infancy, and the Highway connected far flung places that were rarely visited. It reminds me of the trips from LA to Sacramento up old Highway 99 to see my grandparents. There was distance between towns. Each town was distinct. The highway was the main street back then so we’d look for landmarks along the way that told us how far we’d come. “Water, Wealth. Contentment, Health” proclaimed the arching sign entering Modesto. The smell of olives in Lindsay, the Big Orange stands, Burma Shave signs with the punch line missing. My dad convinced that truck drivers knew the “good” places to eat. My sister, brother and I wedged firmly into our spots (well, nests) with favorite toys in reach to keep us busy. Who needed seat belts or airbags? They had to physically extract us and then rebury us at each potty stop. The hours long road games, like the geography game. (name a town, country, physical place anywhere in the world, no street names. The next person has to start theirs with the last letter of the last place, no repeats. Think that’s easy? Wait till some joker says, “Essex”). These treks ended when we crept past an accident in the tule fog. Christmas presents were scattered around an overturned 1955 Buick.

The show has this feeling of searching, of striving, of needing answers to life that perhaps are not really there. This is years before hippies and “do your own thing.” These are two guys who were too young for WWII or Korea, but will be too old for Vietnam. They are button-down collar and dress slacks, not James Dean jeans and t-shirt guys. They are rebels of the heart, not of fashion. They are not Brando (“What are you rebelling against?”--”I don’t know, what have you got?”) guys, they are searchers. They are knights errant on a powder blue steed, tilting at life’s windmills, but keeping to a code of honor that is their own.

Get yourself a copy and go back in time. You’ll be ready to seek out those back roads and long shuttered main streets and try to peel back the layers of plastic and fast food that hide the America of our youth. After all, a bit of maudlin, nostalgic yearning is good for you,

Nowhere-A rough draft of a story I wrote a long time ago.

2010-06-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

Excuse the typos. I just redid this story after lying dormant for decades.

Nowhere
by
Stephen McCarthy

Given the opportunity, I normally avoid these things like a colonoscopy. I’m mean, they are both a pain in the ass, right? At least a colonsocopy has a valid purpose and some benefit can ensue. A full on random, roadside Vehicle “Safety” Check? No way. Not if you’re driving a 1960 Triumph TR3 with a full race cam, Weber carbs, headers, loud exhaust and Brooklands windscreens. All that Go Fast Stuff has been banned for a decade. Illegal as all Hell to get. If, however, it’s on an old car, a really old car, it means that a) you got the car and the Go Fast Stuff long before the Committee for Public Road Safety was created, b) it came on the car in the first place, or c) are gonna have to lie through your teeth to keep your pride and joy. Lucky for me, choices a and b apply. But still, it’s a pain in the ass and is bound to ruin a perfectly great day for a drive. Not that that’s allowed anymore.
No, since the CPRS took control of all things automotive, it may not be technically illegal to “just go for a drive” but they wield the Great Club Of Morality, and such activity is “frowned upon.” To be engaged in a frivolous activity is tantamount to heresy in this new world order, and although not directly punishable, your life can be made, well, difficult.
So, there I was. Humph. Ever notice how all the best stories start that way? Usually, stories that are not, well, exactly truthful? I swear though, this is all true. Really. I guess it would be good to start at the beginning, to give you a sense of the whole affair. It was May. The rains had stopped a week earlier and there was that special crispness in the air. Not the crispness of Autumn that is a harbinger of Winter, no the crispness of New Life. New flowers, newly mown grass, Love. A prefect day for a drive.
Just after dawn, I rolled the TR out of the garage. Undoing the dzus fasteners, I tilted the bonnet up, propped it and checked the oil, water, and brake fluid. Next the tires, including the spare, followed by the lights. Although I’d done this just a few days ago, as I prepped the Auld Crate for the anticipated drive, I did it again. If pre-flighting an airplane is a good idea, why not a car? Especially an old car. There was enough of a chill in the early morning air to make me grateful for the Nomex driving suit and the leather gloves. The goggles, helmet, and face scarf would also be needed. At least for a few hours. Later that day, layers could be peeled off as the day warmed up. I put the hood down, checking to see that the fasteners locked into place, opened the door and squeezed into the seat. I made sure the gearbox was in neutral, pulled out the choke, turned the key and pushed the starter button. The motor cranked over and I pumped the gas. It coughed to life, protesting the cold, early awakening, spitting back through the carbs a bit, then settled down to that well remembered burbly, rumbly lope. The oil pressure jumped up to its accustomed 75 psi, the amp gauge showed a charge, and it would be a bit before the water temp gauge budged. The gas gauge of course showed close to empty. The night before, I’d primed things and had added just a gallon to the tank. I’d have to endure a trip to the California State Gasoline Dispensing Facility, but that was no surprise. I’d saved gas coupons all winter and had the wad of cash necessary to fill the tank. I’d have to fill again for the return leg of the drive.
As the engine warmed up, I buckled up the shoulder harness and lap belt, adjusted my goggles, and settled my butt into the seat. In with the clutch, over and back for reverse, ease the clutch out and back down the driveway. Into the quiet dawn, streetlights still glowing, first gear, we burbled slowly up the street. Shift to second, nice and easy. Even so, a neighbor’s car alarm split the air, having been frightened by the rumble of a Real Car, its screams of distress doomed to be ignored. Plenty of time to stretch things out though. Now was for the warm up. Just like an athlete, the TR needed to get the juices flowing before doing any hard work.
Luckily, the CSGDF was close to home. Even luckier, it was one of only four that was open this early. Most were limited in their hours of operation, and none were open all night. Another lost nicety of civilized life- the All Night Gas Station. I rolled to a stop at the pump and to robotically controlled dispensing arm tried vainly to find the government mandated standard filler neck. No such luck. The TR demanded personalized attention. Having beeped and buzzed in confusion, the robot arm retracted, and as usual, damn near took my head off. Damn thing would never learn. The flashing red gyrating beacon brought out the usual pimply faced, androgynous teen, hair slopped over one eye, and surly of nature, having been pried away from facebook.
“You need help?”
“Yeah, the filler is in the middle of the deck lid. You have to guide the arm into it.”
I’d had to install a dry break filler to make the TR compatible with the new technology, but had hid it under the over sized Moon filler cap.
“You have to open the cap. Yeah, that’s the release there. No, there. That’s right, now just guide it in and fill ‘er up.”
“Fill it? Really?” Momentarily, the youth was drawn out of his self absorbed petulance. not many filled a tank of gas these days. Not at twenty bucks a gallon! Fifteen of which were taxes. Fourteen gallons, two hundred and eighty dollars and half my ration coupons later, and I was off.
The sun was now up, highlighting the Gabriel Mountains (the “San” had been dropped last year. Too religious) and fulfilling the promise of a glorious day. I turned on to the “freeway” (still called free, but there was a scanner that registered your car, which on ramp you took, then which you exited, then sent you a bill) and headed for The Crest Highway (yes, Angeles had been dropped as well). I’d planned the trip to hit The Crest before the driving limit would close it. Roads like The Crest were now deemed dangerous and special sensors and gates limited access. After so many cars, the gates closed. No one knew what the limit was. Most of us thought it was a random number, generated by a frustrated, soulless bureaucrat, knowingly exercising his random bit of Power over a hated world.
Up the mountain, I gave the TR her head, setting up my driving line with care, letting her drift a bit in the corners, then powering out. No heavy braking, just a nice, smooth assault on the laws of physics and gravity. As we flogged up the hill, all my senses were assailed by Nature. The Yellowbroom and Sage were in heavy bloom and their heady, floral scent filled the mountain air. The wind rushed by, battering my face with stinging sharpness. The vibrations of the road massaged my buttocks and back. The mountain side was a riot of color: yellow mustard, gray-green oaks, purple lupines. The light and shadows dappled the roadway, and the rising sun flashed blindingly one moment, then hidden by the mountainside, plunged us into darkness. A quick slide, ice! A flick of opposite lock. Catch her, hold her, power out, WHEW. Gotta watch those dark patches. Even in May, Ice hides in the shadows, ready to trap the unwary.
I was making good time, all alone on the mountain, mostly second and third gear stuff, left, left, right, slide a bit, hold it, then left again. I was becoming one with the car. The TR had become an extension of my body. linked through the steering wheel, the accelerator, the brakes and the seat of my pants. The ultimate interface of Man and Machine. So engrossed was I in this rapture, that I was taken aback by the flashing single headlight in my mirrors. Crotch Rocket! Somebody to play with! Another Road Warrior out to tilt at the mountain. This was the twisty bit, so, by stepping it up, tossing the Auld Crate into the turns, some hard braking and harder acceleration, I could keep my opponent at bay. Four contact patches of rubber will hold the road better than two every time. He was fully laid over, just touching his knees to the tarmac as we swept around the curves. We were definitely Hauling the Mail! All too soon, the road straightened out and I pointed him by. He dialed up the wick and was past in a flash, giving me a brief wave. A noble gesture to a worthy adversary.
I turned off the Crest to the Forest Highway, on my way towards Palmdale. It’s forty miles to Palmdale, and I try to do it in forty minutes. Usually forty-five. Aw shit! I forgot to start the stop watch! Yasee, those sensors that count cars? They also record exactly which car is on The Crest and HOW LONG IT TAKES THEM TO DRIVE IT! Yep, they have an ETA on you IF you are gong the legal speed. According to CPRS, those forty twisty, ever so dangerous and deadly miles must never under any circumstances be driven in anything under One Hour, Thirty Minutes. If you trip the sensor in anything less, you get a nasty letter and an even nastier fine. No appeal. Do it twice, you lose your license. I’d gotten one. Gulp! Now the secret to beating the system is to treat The Crest like a rally stage. Race along, have fun, then stop and wait out the time. The brainiacs in the CPRS think that they can remotely rule the road, “forcing” us to keep to “safe and sane” speeds this way. What they don’t know is that driving like this in not to get somewhere fast, it’s about enjoying the drive and the challenge. The real giggle is that a car/bike friendly entrepreneur opened a cafe on the backside of the mountain. We haul ass, have fun, then take that forty-five minutes we earned to have breakfast. After waffles and bacon, we trundle nice and easy past the sensor, perfectly “legal.” The key is to have a stop watch so you know how much time to kill. This is important because the Parks Service is hooked into this system. Spend TOO LONG, and you get a bill for accessing the “Public Lands!” You’ve only got just so much leeway, hence the stop watch. Uggh. I’ll have to guesstimate and err on the side of getting the Park Service bill. It’s cheaper and they don’t pull your license!
All this was flashing through my brain as I hooked up a glorious, perfectly controlled four wheel drift around a long left hand sweeper, just that hint of opposite lock tires, JUST on the brink of squealing in protest, ready to really open her up at the exit. And there he was, a quarter of a mile up the road. Cones in the road, lights flashing, waving me down. CRAP! Hell and damnation! The gynormous yellow signs screamed “VEHICLE SAFETY INSPECTION!” “ALL VEHICLES STOP!” “HAVE ALL DOCUMENTS READY!”
I shut things down in a hurry, adrenaline rushing through my body, my face burning with fear. Luckily, I wasn’t totally on the edge, so could maintain a bit of vehicular decorum. No lock up, no sudden moves, and thankfully, he didn’t have a radar gun on me. WHEW!
I sedately rumbled up to the CPRS Inspector, his silver trimmed black uniform eerily reminiscent of a dark time in history. He at least didn’t have a red arm band! I shut the engine off, and the sudden silence was unnerving. The Inspector slowly approached, the morning sun glinting off his mirrored sunglasses, exercising that ages old ploy of cops and bureaucrats everywhere. “Make ‘Em Wait for You.”
“HMMrumDIrummruRUM.”
“Hold it a sec, sir, I can’t hear you.”
“HMMRUMDIRUMMRURUM!!”
“Ear plugs! I’ve got ear plug in my ears. Let me get them out.”
I pulled up my goggles, and undid the chin strap of my helmet. I took the helmet off and prised out the ear plugs.
“Sorry about that, sir. I have to where them. safety regulations.”
That line always gets them. Inspectors live for people who obey Safety Regulations.
“That is certainly all right sir. May I now see your documentation for this, this Vehicle.”
The distain he had for the TR was dripping from his turned down mouth. His eyes glinted with expectant rapture. He had a live one! He could just feel the violations!
I started to undo the belts and open the door.
“Please Stay In The Car, SIR!”
They hate it when they can’t stare down at you. Especially if you’re a five foot six inch Inspector.
“Sir, my wallet is in my hip pocket and I can’t get to it unless I get out of the car.”
I was firm, yet polite. I got slowly out of the car. Round one to me. Barely.
“Sir, you should always have your documentation at the ready.”
Round two to The Inspector.
I got out my wallet and removed my driving license, then unlocked the glove box for the inch thick binder of Official Vehicle Documentation. this had everything. I mean Everything! Insurance (full coverage), thirty six separate waivers and exemptions, the whole nine yards. The CPRS figures that if they require reams of documentation, no one will bother to own an old car. HAH!
“It’s all there sir.”
“Let’s see,” he was certain there had to be an omission, “where’s the smog inspection certificate for this month?”
He had opened with a major attack, lunging for the heart straight off.
“Here is the Smog Inspection Waiver for cars, uh Vehicles over fifty years old,” I deftly parried.
“Ah, I see,” he hated to admit defeat this early in the match, “How about the secondary road tax certificate?”
“Page sixty four, in triplicate, as required.”
This guy was tough, he knew all the weird ones. The ones almost everyone let slide. I knew better. I had a friend who worked for the CPRS and now, having seen the light of reason, counseled old car guys on everything necessary.
Having lovingly gone through every page of the documentation, like a VoPo on the east side of Checkpoint Charlie, he turned his attention to the Triumph. His mouth ticked up on one side in a self satisfied smirk, his hands practically washed themselves like a melodrama villain. Laser beams of light hit my eyes, having bounced off his shades. How do they do that? They’re like a weapon those glasses. He began a slow walk around the car, ruefully shaking his head at the insanity of anyone idiotic enough to own,let alone drive such an obvious Death Trap. His first actual test was with the standard ride height block. It is inserted under the car at specific locations to see if a car is dangerously low to the ground. This is really why I got out of the car. My extra 200 pounds might just make the car too low. Round Three to me!
This guy checked everything. Lights, horn (that made him jump, no polite toot comes out of those giant Lucas Windtone horns! A proper HONK, in harmony no less), turn signals, third brake light (I mounted one to the top of the roll bar), you name it, he tested it. He also seemed to deflate visibly as the TR passed every test. then he finally spotted the Booklands windscreens. He lit up like Times Square used to do on New Year’s Eve.
“THAT’S NOT A LEGAL WINDSHIELD!” He was giddy with delight. A Major Violation.
“No, sir, it is well within the legal definition.”
“Those things are TOO SMALL!”
“No, sir,” I countered, “the Vehicle Code states quite clearly that al that is required is a quote- Adequate Windshield mad of approved safety glass. You can see the approved symbol on each, and I assure you, they are legal.”
“We’ll see about that! Supplemental Committee for Public Road Safety Regulation 356.75 states that the tops of all windshields be no less than .82 meters from the floorboards of a vehicle.”
I was sunk. I’ve never measured the damn things. He went to his Inspection Trailer for a tape measure. I noticed that the windscreens were raked back a bit as was customary. I quickly tilted them upright and prayed. I don’t know if he saw me adjust things, but the scowl on his face was not friendly. He unrolled the tape and stuck it down to the floor boards. Using a straight edge, he leveled off the top of the screen.
“Damn,” he muttered. His steely demeanor was about to crack. His shoulders visibly sagged.
“Eighty Nine Centimeters!”
I tired not to grin.
“Ok, I guess you passed. I’ll sign your Certificate of Compliance.”
Softly I asked him, “Please also include a date and time stamp. In time as well. We don’t want to upset the Parks Service, now do we?”
He glared at me.
He filled out the necessary paper work and handed me my copy. He looked the car over again, and as he did, his feature softened.
“This is an old TR3, isn’t it? My Grandfather had one. But that was before.”
“Really, pretty cool.”
“I remember it and the ride he gave me. Would you mind if I...sat in it?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
He opened the cut down door and settled into the bucket seat, feeling its sides grip him firmly. He reached up and held the steering wheel gently, his right hand falling to caress the shift knob. He sighed a bit, then struggled to get out. Always a challenge, even for me. I got in and did up my belts. I was about to put in the ear plugs when he asked me softly,” Where ya headed?”
“Nowhere.”
“WHAT? Nowhere?”
The outrage had returned. No one went “Nowhere!” Everything had a specific purpose or destination. The very idea of driving for the sheer joy of driving was completely Alien to him. It shocked him to his very core.
“Nowhere?” He asked again, a bit more softly, almost wistfully.
He slowly removed his reflective sunglasses, revealing melancholy brown eyes. The eyes of a Basset Hound. A sad Basset Hound. He took a deep breath and asked the question he never would have asked an hour ago, in a soft, human voice, filling with the possibilities of a whole new reality.
“Hey, buddy, how do I get to Nowhere?”

2010-06-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

Dedication

All of this would never have been as much fun without my co-driver-for-life, Marianne. She is the best of sports. Freezing, broiling, soaking, and holding it in when there just isn’t a place to stop. Not many women would put up with this with her enthusiasm and good humor for these thirty years plus. Gra mo chroi mo Mari!

Road Trippin' an Introduction

Hi, I'm Steve and I'm a Road Tripper. I've even written a book, called curiously enough, Road Trippin'. So, what is a Road Trip, anyway? A question of almost Talmudic proportions. Well then, let's talk Road Trips. Not the "Load-the-Kids-in-the-Mini-Van-Turn-on-the-DVD-and-Rush-to-Some-Far-Off-Theme-Park-Eating-Fast-Food-All-the-Way-on-the-Interstate-with-the-Cruise-Control-On-and-Yakking-on-Cell-Phone-Road-Trips;” trips that sadly confirm John Steinbeck's prediction: "soon, we will be able to drive coast to coast and never see anything." No, real Road Trips. Road Trips on back roads. Road Trips eating at Mom and Pop diners. Road Trips of odd souvenir stands and picnic lunches. Road Trips of spectacular scenery where the journey itself is the reward, and to top it off, you have to do it in a Real Car. In my case, its a 1960 Triumph TR3 with racing windscreens, no top, loud exhaust, stiff suspension, and at times in the past, questionable reliability. Your vehicle may differ. Oh Yeah, let's make the Road Trip a LONG one. At least a couple of hundred miles in a day. Now that’s what Road Trips are about!

And, that's what this blog is about. I'm a bit new to the whole blogging thing, I'm more than a bit of a neo-luddite so if I violate any blog etiquette, or step on any toes, I'm sorry. Mostly. If you have an interest in Road Trips, and especially in my book, please feel free to visit our website for more information on the book, our fine art photography, and a listing of stores carrying Road Trippin' as well as Art Fairs and events were we will be appearing.

http://www.mccarthypix.com

Thanks for stopping by, Have Fun and Be Safe!