Left Coast Cowboys

One of the highlights of the trip, the unscheduled stop at San Antonio de Padua, the one Mission that still looks much as it did in Padre days, thanks to its isolation.

Call me an unrepentant English Literature Major, but I always like to have a theme to my roadtrips. I strive for some contextual symmetry, a narrative line, a hero’s journey. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I’m not sure it did this time. But I always hope a trip sends me back home with a slightly different perspective. Or, at the least, exposure to something new. I do believe this trip accomplished that objective. But then, if you travel right, a trip always accomplishes that.

The germ that became this roadtrip started with a whim to see the swallows return to Mission San Juan Capistrano on the traditional St. Joseph’s festival day. Looking at the map, I noted, that on the way back, we’d be passing close to the Crystal Cathedral of televangelist Dr. Robert Schuller and Hour of Power fame. That gave the trip a vaguely religious flavor. Adding the Getty Museum to the itinerary fit right in, as you could say we’d be worshipping at the Altar of Art. At that point, I started calling the excursion, “The Get Religion Roadtrip” or the “Come to Jesus Tour”. Buck Owens’ Crystal Palace could be shoehorned into the theme if you look at Buck Owens as one of the founding Saints of Modern Country Music (and I do). But a stay at the Hotel Bel Air and the drive down through the Great Central Valley just didn’t really work into the program, although they were things we didn’t want to miss. The Nixon Library, which was a last minute addition, didn’t seem fit in anywhere.

We had our perceptions of Richard Nixon realigned at the Birthplace and Museum. It's heavy on the accomplishments, light on the scandals, but the man did preside over a lot of powerful history and did play an active role.

An unscheduled discovery, the beautiful Mission San Antonio de Padua, the most authentic of all the Missions in my book, tipped the balance toward the religious elements. But I’m still not sure this was really a themed trip. However, if we focus on what we learned or rediscovered, “JACKPOT”. Here are some of the highlights and our advice for anyone thinking of following our tire tracks:

We tried to keep an open mind at Dr. Robert Schuller's Crystal Cathedral.

*If you are in Northern California heading to Southern California, at least once, you have to take a route down through the Central Valley. Yes, I know the Coastal Route is spectacular and filled with sights, I’ve done it many times. (At least from Mendocino to the Hearst Castle and from LA down to San Diego. For some reason I always have missed the chunk between San Luis Obispo and LA.) But back to the Central Valley, it doesn’t have a wealth of what you’d call sights, but it’s something to see in and of itself: a massive agricultural bowl ringed with mountains that looks, when you are driving I-5, like you are in an ancient dried inland seabed. With the vast majority of our food coming from there, and the residents paying a high price for that bounty in terms of pollution and other byproducts of agribusiness, it’s almost something you have an obligation to see. Bonus: if you get off the freeway in any small town, it’s amazing how friendly and nice the residents are in a “Howdy Partner” Western kind of way. As an Eastern transplant, used to the steely-eyed suspicion of small town New England, I’m still amazed, more than 20 years later, at the frontier friendliness of the rural West.

*Do your research, but be open to having your mind changed. Or at least to looking at things in different ways. I included the Crystal Cathedral as an architectural point of interest. I wasn’t planning to comment on the politics and religion of Dr. Robert Schuller. However his appalling artwork did earn my censure and I quickly looked up his website to see if he was spending an equal amount on relief efforts and charities. Maybe he is. I couldn’t find any evidence and I was ready to condemn him for wasting money on self-aggrandizement. But I drew myself back and looked at him through the lens of history. Many of the great cathedrals of Europe were built and filled with priceless artwork as the villagers around them suffered grinding poverty. The builders believed that glorifying God was more important in the long run than handing out crusts of bread. Agree or disagree, Robert Schuller is following a tradition that dates from the end of the Dark Ages. We just left it at that. (Although we felt completely comfortable mocking his excruciatingly bad statues. At least the Medieval, Renaissance and Baroque eras gave us Chartres, Michelangelo and Caravaggio.)

Storyteller/performer Jacque Nunez was a highlight at Capistrano. But in general, the Native side of the story at the Missions is always worth seeking out.

*See the Missions. See every one you can. They are all different. I have a vague goal to hit all of them and so far, I’ve counted down a pitiful seven out of the twenty one. Really sad when you consider that four that I haven’t seen — San Rafael, San Jose, Santa Clara and Santa Cruz — are right on my doorstep. The Missions, to me, are the best introduction to California history as Spain, Native Americans, Americans, Gold Rush immigrants and others all seemed to leave their marks on the Missions.

*LA Freeways are just as scary as you’ve heard. Don’t attempt them without a GPS. Ours helpfully told us which lane to get in for the inevitable point where your freeway merges and diverges into one or maybe three new freeways. We’d still be circling LA without our unit. Tune it to the British female voice (we call her Emily). Her calm and slightly snooty tone keeps you more centered than you would normally be in the situation.

*The Crystal Palace is definitely worth a trip from anywhere around LA, for the food, for the music and for the Buck Owens and other Country memorabilia. The Filet Mignon was one of the best I’ve ever had. The biscuits and Squaw Bread were fantastic. If you can’t hit a night with a headliner, Buck Owens’ son Buddy Allen and the remainder of the Buckaroos do a bang up job.

Unexpected bonus at Capistrano: completely recreated kitchen gardens of the Padres. I'm totally ripping this off for Sonoma.

*Talk to people. Some of the memorable characters who added to our understanding of the places we saw: the gentleman at the Frosty King Drive-In in Buttonwillow who took time out, when he saw our maps and guidebooks, to tell us about the history, geology and points of interest in the area. Juan at the Capistrano Trading Post (across from the Mission) who told us where we could REALLY see the swallows. (Under the I-5 overpass down by the creek.) Also Franki, an artist and docent who was a wealth of information about Mission San Antonio de Padua.

*Have a travel playlist. As I mentioned in this post, ours was full of Buck Owens (natch) and those influenced by him. As well as any songs that originated from or captured the spirit of The Central Valley, LA or Southern Coastal California. Get the music right and you’re in the right frame of mind to experience the place.

Even though the LA Times reporter who interviewed me wrote that the swallows didn't return, they were there. And we certainly saw them all the way up the Central Valley. Here one of the little guys sits on the cross above Father Serra at Mission Capistrano. (Photo copyright MOM.)

*Pick a good traveling companion. One who’s attuned to experiencing the trip “between the sights”, one who is ready to take that unscheduled turn off and one who can roll with the punches when things don’t go according to plan. Mom filled the bill nicely. She was fascinated by the Central Valley scenery and indulged my desire to pull over to the side of I-5 and photograph every tumbleweed, oil derrick and orange grove. She encouraged the 22 mile detour to San Antonio de Padua which turned out to be the highlight of our trip even though it had to pre-empt the Steinbeck Center. And she’s still laughing over the horrible roach-infested motel we were originally booked into in San Clemente. (That adventure here.) There WAS that ugly scene over the chicken fried steak, but we’ll allow her one slip up.

The Big Moral? Just get out there. Go somewhere. Do a little research, but be prepared to find your preconceptions are wrong. Talk to people. Take detours. Expect and embrace the unexpected.

And get the music right.

NOTE: Here’s the link to the LA Times story where I’m interviewed as a Swallows Pilgrim. The reporter couldn’t find any swallows, but she obviously didn’t ask over at the gift shop, follow the Indians or drive back up the Central Valley. That’s where the swallows were.

The last day of our roadtrip started with a near fight. See Mom was born during the Depression, she knows the value of a dollar and she doesn’t waste food. So I indulged her when she carted the remains of her chicken fried steak out of Buck Owens’ Crystal Palace. I figured there was plenty of time to talk her out of taking it in the car. But Saturday morning when she brought it out of the motel refrigerator and started loading it into Old Paint, a confrontation was necessary. Suffice it to say, the chicken fried steak was left in Bakersfield, but for the hours long drive back up to San Francisco, it kept being mentioned.

Mom: “Are you hungry?”
Me: “A little.”
Mom: “Sure would be nice if we had that chicken fried steak now. . .”

Our route home led back up I-5, but the itinerary was loose. We’d traveled down I-5 and we thought we’d go up it a bit, then figure out where to veer off. At some point, we decided we’d swing by the Steinbeck Center in Salinas and headed off that way. That led us into very interesting territory, land I thought looked more like the High Plains of Texas — complete with tumbleweeds and oil derricks. The Prius, Old Paint, performed like a champ as we cruised out of Bakersfield with Buck Owens tunes cranked up.

Surprisingly (at least to us) a lot of the lower Central Valley is big oil country. These are the Lost Hills oil fields owned by Chevron.

I found this area strangely beautiful with miles of plains and large mountains in the distance. But then I'm a big fan of the High Plains country of Texas.

A giant tumbleweed threatens Mom and Old Paint.

Closer in to the mountains and we entered wine country.

Then, as we veered off I-5 and headed toward Salinas, Serendipity took over. Which is often the best part of a roadtrip. That point where your plans go a bit askew and you wind up seeing something you didn’t plan on, but in the end makes the trip.

The exact spot where the Rebel Without a Cause entered immortality.

Our first brush with Serendipity was the point where Route 41 met Route 46. Suddenly, a sign informed us that we were at the James Dean Memorial Intersection, the exact spot where Dean entered immortality. There is only a small plaque, the monument is in the town of Chalone in front of the Post Office. But the intersection is enough. It’s as eerie as the famous crossroads of Highway 61 and Highway 40 in Mississippi where Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul to the Devil. You can feel, even in the daytime, that a tragedy took place here.

The Eagles said it best: "James Dean. James Dean. You were too fast to live. Too young to die. Bye Bye.

From that point, the Serendipity just kept happening. In fact we were giddy with it. So when we saw a small historical marker telling us the Mission of San Antonio de Padua was 22 miles off on a side road, we said, “What the heck”. I have a vague goal of eventually seeing all the historic original Missions of California. Since I’d been able to check off Mission San Juan Capistrano off my list, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be interesting to get a two-fer.”

After a short while, it seemed as if maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. We drove out for miles into seemingly nowhere. Then we passed a sign saying we were entering Fort Hunter Liggett, which we later found out is the largest US Army Reserve Command post with over 165,000 acres. All we knew at the time was that there were a lot of tanks  and rifle ranges pointing at the road and we observed to each other hopefully that maybe on Saturday they wouldn’t be shooting. More miles into rifle ranges and we finally came to the base gate where a friendly  MP let us in the gate. Of course, I hedged our bets by identifying Mom as the widow of a decorated veteran of two wars. (Turns out, if you have a piece of picture ID and a valid insurance card, they let you in.) So you drive on and on for six more miles and there, in the middle of a wide open field of oaks is the third Mission founded by Father Junipero Serra, this one started in 1771.

Want the real Mission experience? San Antonio de Padua looks and feels much the same as it would have back in the 1700s.

This is Franki. She's an artist in her own right (see her website at http://rakusculptures.com) and she mans the information desk at San Antonio. She's a wealth of information about the Mission.

For my money, if you can visit only one California Mission, this is the one. Why? Because at Mission San Antonio de Padua, you’ll get the closest to the real experience of what it was like for the early California Padres. While most California Missions are now in the middle of built up towns, you can’t see anything but fields and oaks from St. Antonio. If there are few visitors and no cars, you can imagine you are back in Alta California. Add to that an incredible museum which covers both the Padres’ experience and that of the local Salinas Indians, as well as beautifully intact buildings, the wine-making rooms, original grapevines and fruit trees planted by the Padres, and this is a very special experience. Even better, the Mission is conducting some innovative programs such as retreats, including an Artists Retreat, where you room in the Mission and recharge in their unique spiritual environment. (I couldn’t help thinking this would be a brilliant place for a Yoga retreat. Quick, someone plan it.) Find out more at the website.

The center bell was the first one cast in California. The olive tree to the right was planted by the original Padres. Mission San Antonio is full of such treasures.

The exhibits are heavy on the Native experience. And apparently, this was one of the few Missions where the Indians actually had a positive experience. Which is always a big plus in my book.

Although Mission Capistrano was the first Mission to produce wine and olives, San Antonio was right behind them. Surprisingly, this olive press from the 1700s isn't much different form the first wine press Andy and I used at Two Terrier Vineyards.

The original burnt brick arches are still standing. And the countryside is pretty much unchanged from Padre days.

With the day waning and having spent so much time at the wonderful Mission San Antonio de Padua, we hit the road for San Francisco. We took a quick turn through Salinas, both to pay homage to John Steinbeck and to James Dean who appeared in the movie version of East of Eden. Lovely town and worth a visit on our next roadtrip. As the thunderclouds rolled in and the rain pelted down, we rolled into San Francisco.

We only had time for a drive-by in Steinbeck's home town. But it looks to be worth a return visit.

It’ll take us several days and several posts to process all we saw, so expect more about our roadtrip. But we’re calling this a huge success. We saw everything we expected and wonderful things that we did not. And even if Mom didn’t quite “get” Buck Owens and even if that chicken fried steak had to stay in Bakersfield, she was a willing and able participant in a truly epic roadtrip.

Thanks, Mom, for flying Wing Man.

(For anyone who doesn’t get the reference, the title of this post refers to the song “The Return of the Grievous Angel by Gram Parsons, the rocker who was greatly influenced by Buck Owens and introduced his music to the Rolling Stones and other rock musicians who incorporated his guitar licks. See my post on Gram Parsons here.)

More pictures from this day’s adventures here.

Today, we left San Juan Capistrano and headed up toward Northern California to the right. I mean WAY to the Right. Since our motel was actually in San Clemente, and we had eaten dinner at Richard Nixon’s favorite restaurant, we thought we should swing by the Nixon Presidential Library and Birthplace. But on the way we’d be passing the Crystal Cathedral of Dr. Robert Schuller of televangelist fame, so we thought we’d stop in. Why? Because if a preacher starts giving sermons in a drive-in, parlays it into a world-wide empire of ministries, universities and television broadcasts, then finally builds a giant cathedral made entirely out of glass, well, you’ve just got to swing by and see it.

Now, I’m not normally someone who makes fun of others’ religious beliefs. But I feel perfectly free to make fun of excruciatingly bad art. And Dr. Robert Schuller has commissioned and installed some of the WORST attempts at art ever to be foisted on a public space. Chief among them are some of the scariest Jesuses ever seen. Just look:

This one is called "The Smiling Jesus". More like the Serial Killer Jesus.

This one is "Suffer the Little Children". But it really looks as if this sneering Jesus will make the children suffer.

Here's Jesus taking the stones meant for some tart draped in a curtain.

Then there is "Jesus: The Chrysalis Stage". Love the hand bursting out of the crystal. Which could also make this "The Carrie Christ".

But the scariest has to be this "Robotic Terminator Baby Jesus".

Then there are the restrooms in the Cathedral. Marble, chandeliers, gold fixtures, Thomas Kinkade paintings and piped in choir music. Gives “Religious Movement” a whole new meaning.

Schuller's empire reflected in glass. The university buildings and the bell tower reflected in the side of the cathedral.

Clearly, I wasn’t going to be able to control my snark and I started to worry that the red jacketed guides would figure out that a possible Liberal was prowling the property. Then I went inside the cathedral to snap a few pics. The guides were running up to every visitor and cheerily asking where they were from and if they wanted a tour. When I mistakenly told the chirpy guides I was from San Francisco, there was a long pause. And no offer of a tour. That’s when I decided to grab Mom, who was still marveling over the bathrooms, and get out of there before Security was called.

Next stop: The Nixon Presidential Library and Birthplace. I have to say, although I hadn’t expected much, it was worth the trip.  As you may know, these Presidential Libraries are usually funded and organized by wealthy donors and friends of said President rather than scholars, so

Nikita Khrushev points his finger as he did at Nixon during the "Kitchen Debates". I thought a better moment was when he pounded his shoe on the table at the UN.

they have an agenda. The Nixon Library is no exception. It’s light on the scandals — such as Checkers, his Red-baiting and Watergate — and heavy on relations with China, ending the Viet Nam war and the heyday of the NASA program. But that agenda seems to have worked. By the time I left, I actually had some respect for Richard Nixon. Although the unsung hero of that administration turns out to have been Pat Nixon who comes off as a consummate diplomat and incredible woman.

Here’s what I thought were the highlights:

The Hall of Leaders features life-sized statues of all the world leaders Nixon dealt with. So you can wander among them and marvel how tall Charles De Gaulle was, how much Mao looks like a giant toad and what a tiny little fireplug Khrushev was. Then you can go to this touch screen and find the details on Nixon’s dealings with each leader and some of his thoughts on them. Biggest surprise: Nixon was surprisingly impressed by Khrushev and even, in the end, fond of him.

Also on the don’t miss list: the vintage gun Elvis brought Nixon when he showed up at the White House, stoned out of his mind, to ask if he could be Ninja in the War on Drugs.

Surpisingly, Nixon’s tape recorder — YES, that tape recorder — is on display. Also a sign says that a special exhibit all about Watergate is underway and soon to open. They claim you’ll be able to hear audio from the actual tapes that brought about his downfall. I would suggest they include the ones with all the swearing.

Buck's place is fabulous! A shrine to the creator of the Bakersfield sound.

Armed with a surprising new-found respect for Richard Nixon, we figured we’d better get out of there before we found ourselves voting Republican. So we lit out for Bakersfield to pay homage to the great Buck Owens. (My tribute to Buck in this post.)

Here’s where, I have to admit, I didn’t think Mom would get with the program. She’s not the Country music fan that I am and she had no idea what The Bakersfield Sound was. But by the time we hit the city limits I had her singing along with Merle Haggard:

I turned 21 in prison

Doing life without parole

No one could steer me right

But Mama tried.

Mama tried to teach me better

But her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame

‘Cause Mama tried.

(There’s a whole new twist to that song when a 76 year old mother sings it.)

We threw our bags in the Crystal Palace Best Western and headed for Buck Owens’ Crystal Palace. The Palace is great even though I didn’t see anything that was crystal. It’s equal parts honky-tonk, steak house and country music museum. Mom and I tucked into steaks, beers, biscuits, squaw bread, mashed potatoes and green beans while the live band played on stage and guys and gals in cowboy hats line danced. The band? It was Buck Owens’ son, who wisely stayed with Country’s greatest hits — heavy on the Buck Owens tunes. Even better, a large screen showed

You can see Buck's great Nudie Suits and his custom Nudie Mobile is hung over the bar!

Loads of Buck's guitars are on display.

Mom ordered the most ENORMOUS chicken fried steak. And she's convinced she's going to carry the leftovers in a doggie back all the way up the Central Valley and back to San Francisco!

 old footage of Buck’s performances on stage and on the old Buck Owens Ranchhouse musical variety show. After a great meal and good music, we headed to the gift shop to stock up on Buck Owens CDs, DVDs, commemorative guitar picks and fridge magnets. All in all good night out!

And tomorrow? Other than driving home, it’s unscheduled. We’ll see what strikes our fancy as we roll up the I-5.

Lately, I’ve discovered a great cable channel called RFD-TV, which bills itself as “Rural America’s Most Important Network”. I guess so. It features a whole raft of horse programs such as live coverage of rodeos and the great Parelli Natural Horsemanship (kind of a “do it yourself Horse Whispering”). I find myself fascinated by the Louisiana Ag Report (which has nothing I can take away to farming in Sonoma, but is still oddly compelling). Andy is partial to The Successful Farming Machinery Show. I should mention one of the great draws of RFD-TV: twice a day they rerun the old Hee-Haw show. I should come clean and admit that we mostly watch RFD-TV at about 3AM when we can’t sleep. And for some odd reason, it airs on San Francisco cable, but not in the Sonoma area. However, we don’t have TV in Sonoma, so that’s a moot point.

Since RFD-TV doesn’t broadcast in Sonoma, well, I guess I’ll have to do it. So here’s the Ag Report from our small corner of paradise:

John the Baptist continues to help us clear out the Chaparral that is choking out one of our seasonal creeks. He’s discovered what he’s calling “The History of Beer”, everything from Mickey’s Big Mouth cans to pre-WWII bottles. Apparently when our boundary road was unpaved (which wasn’t that long ago) this was the town dump.

Yes, this is a permitted burn. Not very ecological of us, I know, but having an outdoor bonfire occasionally is one of the perks of country living.

Two Terrier Vineyards’ former status as the town dump makes for some interesting juxtapositions. Like this pile of rusted springs from a few old dumped mattresses. John found it next to a Wood Rat’s Nest.

The rat's nest (right) was neater. According to John, the rats build multi-roomed condos with pantries, bathrooms and composting areas.

This rock will eventually replenish the driveway. For now, the pile lets Lucy play Queen of the Hill.

After a brief absence, the coyotes have returned and they're leaving calling cards -- right outside the barn.

On a sad note, the Fava Beans are flourishing, but at too high a cost. I thought I had a clever plan to foil the foxes who were digging up my planted beans and munching on them. I put some netting over the raised beds (they are currently slipping right under or climbing over the deer fencing.) But I found that this little bird had gotten tangled in the netting and died. The nets are up now.

I'll share my Fava Beans with foxes if it keeps the birds safe. Last harvest season, the foxes were pretty good about just taking an acceptable amount. So we'll have what the Soviets used to call "peaceful co-existence".

So there’s the Sonoma Ag Report, just like RFD-TV would have done it. Now on to Hee-Haw…

Better yet, how about some vintage Buck Owens singing Truck Drivin’ Man:

My recent post on Buck Owens just highlighted an issue I’m having with my blog readers. I Twittered about that Buck Owens post and the Tweet connected automatically to my Facebook page. Almost immediately dozens of readers showed up — most from metropolitan areas — and, according to my Secret Squirrel traffic detecting software, stayed on that post long enough to read the whole thing. But nobody commented. Hey, I know this was a tough one. Yeah, you are all City Sophisticates and you don’t want to admit that you’ve ever listened to Country Music. Let alone that you actually watched Hee-Haw when you were kids. And, admit it, you LIKED IT.

Okay, okay, I get it. You are all deep undercover when it comes to Cowboy and Country Music. You have to pull the covers over your head and pretend that I’m not TALKING TO YOU. But I still need to address a major problem here. Why do so many of you come to my site, spend enough time to read two or three posts, then send your comments to me via Twitter, Facebook, Flickr or private email? Listen, there’s a feature in the comments section that lets you comment anonymously. Or you can do what one of my creative British friends does. Create a fake identity and comment as that person. He’s assumed the identity of the arrogant popinjay from Wife Swap and posts obnoxious comments as Stephen Fowler. I know who he is, again through my Secret Squirrel Blog Visitor Detecting Software, but I’ll never tell. Your secret identity is safe with me.

This is Gladys at the wonderful Martha & Brothers Roastery. They have an intravenous caffeine drip set up for me. Help fund it with your comments.

What I’m saying here is that I only get readership credit for people who actually comment HERE. And at my current Google AdSense earnings of about $3.25 a month, well, that’s not even going to keep me in Mochas. And God knows, I need lots of caffeine to keep up this punishing blogging schedule.

So if you like the stuff I throw out here. And let’s face it, where else can you go online and read about Giant Sequoias on Monday, Faberge eggs on Tuesday and Buck Owens on Wednesday. It really takes a lot of thought to be this random and off the wall. So let’s hear it, folks. Let’s really hear it. If you liked the post, or didn’t like the post, or even just showed up, give me a little Comment Luv here.

Remember (and I just can’t help myself from rerunning this picture whenever possible):

ON THE INTERWEBS, NO ONE KNOWS YOU’RE A DOG!

You can be whoever you want to be. So go ahead and assume the identity of Anna Nicole Smith or Gary Glitter. And comment, comment, comment!