The Great Western States Road Trip, Part I

       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

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!

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

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

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. 

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

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.