Left Coast Cowboys

My Skywatch post. See more skies from around the world at the Skywatch site: http://skyley.blogspot.com/

Once I get behind the wheel of Old Paint, it seems it’s hard for me to take my foot off the gas. So I’m already thinking about what my next roadtrip will be. Several things are going to govern the choice of my next destination:

1) The economy. After the blow-out at the Hotel Bel Air, I probably should concentrate on a trip where maybe I can camp or stay in a Motel 6.  That might preclude Andy. Too much business travel has left him unequipped for KOA.

2) Time. We’re coming up on planting time and, before you know it, I’ll be back at harvest time. Long-time readers will remember what happened then. Because we’d planted five different varietals that all had their own ripening schedules, I ended up living at the ranch with two terriers for more than six weeks. Andy was starting to sound like one of those suspicious husbands who vaguely puts off friends with the old, “Uh, she’s on a long trip.” Some people were ready to examine his Range Rover for bloodstains. 

3) Commitment to California. After more than twenty years of living in this state, I’m embarrassed at the number of areas I HAVEN’T seen. The Year 2009 will be The Year of Traveling Californian.

So then, using the above criteria, my top choices for roadtrips are:

1) The Santa Barbara wine country. Somehow, I never seem to get to this part of the coast. I’ve been down to Hearst Castle and up from San Diego as far as LA. But Santa Barbara always seems to get skipped. Added Bonus: FOUR Missions to check off my list. Those would be San Luis Obispo, Santa Inez, La Purísima Concepción and Santa Barbara. I’m not sure how practical it would be to drag Andy to more than one Mission. He doesn’t share this obsession to see all of them. We’ll see. I may have to leave him at a winery or two while I get in touch with my inner Padre.

2) Lassen Volcano Park. Did you know we had loads of volcanos here and not just of the extinct variety? I’ve heard of it, but, as I’m embarrassed to say, I’ve never been further north in California than Mendocino, so I haven’t seen them with my own eyes. Apparently even further north, we have lava beds.

3) Yosemite. I’ve been there, once twenty years ago for a weekend and I did a quick drive-through with my niece as we ended our cross-country roadtrip. Time to give this place the time and attention it deserves.

4) Channel Islands. Did you know we have a herd of wild buffalo? Apparently a movie company once let loose a few for a movie shoot, then left them to their own devices. I want to see them. Apparently, the sea life is fascinating around there. Andy, as a diver, will love it. Me, I’ll stick above the waves with the buffalo.

5) Joshua Tree National Park. Somehow I always missed this, even when I went down to Palm Springs. Plus there’s the morbid desire to see where Gram Parsons’ manager performed that botched cremation on the the singer.

Anyone else got any good suggestions? Because my window of opportunity is closing fast. Not too many months from now and my only roadtrip option will be heading up from the barn to the wine processing area with two yapping terriers.

NOTE: The photo at the top of the post is actually of the road leading into Texas’s Palo Duro Canyon taken during a cross-country roadtrip two years ago. It’s my entry to Skywatch. See more fabulous pictures of the sky posted by participants around the world at the site: http://skyley.blogspot.com/

Day Two of our roadtrip was a day of wild extremes, one near disaster, a fast save and a quick sidetrip down a different historical path than the one we’d planned. But that’s the thing about roadtrips. You better plan that something will not go according to plan.

We started the day surrounded with the trappings of wealth. First at the Hotel Bel-Air, then at the Getty, which is nothing if not the greatest modern example of the kind of monument you can build as your legacy if you have billions. But I shouldn’t be harsh with old John Paul Getty. The Getty Museum is truly amazing. It would be worth visiting even if you didn’t go in the door and look at a single work of art. That’s coming from a person who once went through the Louvre, room by room, floor by floor, on a mission to look at every single piece of art in it. It took me eight hours. I didn’t even stop for lunch. I’ve mellowed since then.

I could have spent the entire time in the gardens and grounds. But Mom needed a Van Gogh fix.

Now I have a routine with art museums. I figure out what kind of art or experience I can ONLY have in that particular museum, then look just at a selected few of those works. So I hear the Getty has a great collection of Renaissance and Baroque art. Wouldn’t really know. I didn’t even check in those galleries on my way to see the “Painting After 1800″ galleries. Mom can’t pass up an Impressionist painting. The Getty has lots, so that’s where we spent most of our painting viewing time.

See this fantastic ground cover. Guess what. They're ONIONS. Yup, The Getty is doing some great stuff with drought-tolerant gardens.

What I was really there to see was the Photography Gallery. I’ve been to two museums recently that promised me a treasure trove of prints from early great photographers. Both times, I’ve arrived to find the galleries closed or the bulk of the collection “on tour”. So the Getty was promising me what sounded like the most incredible collection, especially of the early photographers like Fox Talbot, the first photographer to use negatives, and the pioneers such as Atget, Matthew Brady, Ansel Adams, Stieglitz and Steichen. Well, maybe the Getty has these in the collection. Maybe they don’t. The sign said all that whole gallery was “closed for rennovations”. I’m starting to believe that NO museum has a collection of early photography. They just advertise it, then, in a giant shell game, keep making excuses about “tours”, “renovations” and “temporarily closed”. But I’m on to them. Some museum better show me those photographs and fast! I’m ready to blow the whistle.

The Getty is perched on a hill with great views of all of LA. Well, that is, if you could see LA through the smog.

With the photography bait and switch, I was done with the galleries and we spent the rest of our time out in the gardens, which are truly fantastic in an innovative, drought-tolerant, eco sort of way. Many of the gardens have sculptures in them and all of them are beautiful. There is even an incredible cactus garden that, unfortunately, you can only see and not touch. I spent a good hour running down staircases that seemed to lead to it, only to double back on themselves or dead-end like an Escher drawing. Finally, I found a docent who explained to me that the cactus gardens are meant to be viewed from above, “like an installation or a natural sculpture”. Fine. But some of us like to reach out and touch the Chollas.

That was the Good. The Bad, well, I’d warned Mom that after the Hotel Bel-Air, it would be all downmarket. But like Alan Greenspan and Hank Paulsen, I didn’t know how down the market would be.

Right across from the Mission, this place has the BEST Indian jewelry and souvenirs. And Juan behind the counter can tell you all about where Nixon hung out.

I’d booked in for the next two nights at a charming looking little place (at least on the Internet) called the Capistrano Seaside Inn. It was billed as a 1930s beach hideaway frequented by movie stars in the day. Well, the day was a long, long time ago. And I don’t think the rooms have been cleaned since then. That beach view? Well, you can kind of see it. That’s when the trains aren’t rolling by just across the road and blowing their horns so loudly the windows rattle. It didn’t even help to find out the train was The Atcheson, Topeka and the Santa Fe (Judy Garland fans, stand up.) Old movie associations will only take you so far, even with my mother.

The Old Adobe Restaurant has preserved Nixon's favorite table. The fajitas were great. No one could tell me if Nixon ate them with ketchup.

Shaken, we dropped our suitcases and headed back to San Juan Capistrano for dinner and a quick look around. That’s where we ran into Richard Nixon. Sort of. I thought San Clemente was his stomping ground. But all the shopkeepers had Richard Nixon stories. And when we found out his favorite restaurant was just around the corner, we had to book.

Now, I knew that Richard Nixon was a man who put ketchup on his cottage cheese, so I wasn’t expecting fine dining. But the Old Adobe Restaurant was a hoot. Part of it is the old town jail, which I thought must have given Nixon a frisson with his fajitas. They’ve even preserved his favorite table and chairs.

Thought it was funny that these buckaroos were outside the Wells Fargo. They said they were going to rob it. Then admitted they were preparing for the parade tomorrow. When I asked who they were representing, they said "The Drunks of San Juan".

Fortified with a Margarita, a Pacifico and a steak fajita, I tackled the manager of the Capistrano Seaside Inn, got my reservations cancelled and booked into the Best Western down the road. After all, there must be a special place in Hell for people who take their 76 year old mothers to hotels where they might get hepatitis from the towels.

As we finally snuggled into clean sheets in a spotlessly clean room, we congratulated ourselves on how narrowly we’d escaped. Just like Nixon with that handy pardon.

Miscellanea

More pictures of Day Two here. And NO, I didn’t post any pictures of the Hotel From Hell. Just use your imagination. Besides, I didn’t want to stay in the room any longer than I had to.

When you first enter the Getty, you may think, like I did, that you are seeing a bust of Richard Nixon. It’s not. It’s J. Paul Getty. But I’m telling you, Nixon is everywhere down here.

A reporter from the Los Angeles Times contacted me wanting an interview about our “pilgrimage to the Mission.” Seriously, we’re meeting at the Junipero Serra statue. I’ll be the one wearing a red carnation in my lapel.

The first leg on our roadtrip to see the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano involved driving down the length of California’s Central Valley. You probably don’t know the Central Valley, even if you’ve travelled to California. Maybe not even if you live in California. The Central Valley is the Rodney Dangerfield of California. People sight-see down the Pacific Coast. Or they rush over to see the Sierra Nevadas and other mountain ranges that mark California’s eastern border. But it seems no one really goes to the Central Valley unless they are growing produce or transporting produce. Well, someone has to be going to the Central Valley, since it’s experiencing the fastest population growth of any part of California. But just try and find a guidebook that covers the sights in this area that’s as large as Tennessee. I tell ya. No respect.

That big long green spot surrounded by mountains. That's the Central Valley. Think of an area the size of Tennessee.

Having been down the coast and visited the mountains, Mom and I decided that, on this trip, we’d correct that oversight and give the Central Valley a little tourist love. We’re glad we did. You don’t really need a tourist guidebook for the Central Valley. The thing is just to see it, traverse it and marvel at how huge it is and how many billions of tons of stuff is grown here.

Let me just run some stats by you:

• The Central Valley is one of the world’s most productive agricultural regions. On less than 1 percent of the total farmland in the United States, the Central Valley produces 8 percent of the nation’s agricultural output by value.
• Its agricultural productivity relies on irrigation from both surface water diversions and groundwater pumping from wells. About one-sixth of the irrigated land in the U.S. is in the Central Valley.
• Virtually all non-tropical crops are grown in the Central Valley, which is the primary source for a number of food products throughout the United States, including tomatoes, almonds, grapes, cotton, apricots, and asparagus.
• Four of the top five counties in agricultural sales in the U.S. are in the Central Valley.

That’s not even talking about the Natural Gas and oil fields out here. But let’s get back to that water. The upper part of the Central Valley, the Sacramento Valley, gets about 20 inches of rain a year. The lower part, the San Joaquin, is very dry, even desert in some places. So who’s watering all those crops and how?

We were just asking ourselves that when we stumbled over the California Aqueduct.

To show how huge this canal is, note the large barn to the right. Now get your head around the fact that this aqueduct runs 443 miles, the length of the Central Valley.

We Northern Californians are always complaining that Southern California steals all our water. Well, this is how it’s done. With The Mother of All Canals. And they’re proud of it. They even have a rest stop museum devoted to telling the story.

At Pyramid Lake (made from OUR water) a helpful, interactive diorama explains (with a breathlessly enthusiastic canned narration) the wonders of diverting it.

There is loads of our water in Pyramid Lake. And Angelinos are also getting hydroelectric power from our it.

After leaving our water to run underground in pipes to Los Angeles, we travelled upward into the San Gabriel Mountains and the Los Padres National Forest (which didn’t seem to have any trees in it bigger than sagebrush). Then through the Sepulveda Pass and, next thing you know, we’re cruising the Santa Monica Freeway, turning onto Sunset Boulevard and heading into the famous Hotel Bel-Air.

This is the luxury leg of our tour. Believe me, it’s going to go downmarket fast from here. But anyway, despite the fact that the Hotel Bel-Air is supposed to be where all the multi-million dollar deals are made and all the stars go for romantic get-aways, we were there for the gardens. The Hotel Bel-Air sits on 12 acres of beautifully manicured acres. So as soon as we could after checking in, we grabbed our cameras and headed out to photograph the spring flowers, the swan lake and the herb garden.

Just as I set up my tripod and focussed in on a Hydrangea, a harsh German voice called out, “Vee haf to interrupt dis photoing.” (Apparently, the Hotel Bel-Air is such a luxury hotel, with such an incredible level of efficiency in service that only German staff will do.) And Herman the German barked out, “Dere are guests who do NOT vant to be photographed.” Then he saw my room key dangling from my wrist. “Oh, you are a guest here?”

Let me digress and tell you that the worst thing you can assume about a Northern Californian is that we are typical starstruck tourists. We see Hollywood stars all the time in San Francisco. We’re not impressed. In fact, more often than not, we’re annoyed. Julia Roberts once tried to cut in line in front of me at my local coffee shop. The nerve. I haven’t paid a dime for one of her movies since.  I wait for them to hit cable.

Luckily Mom, who has a habit of starting long friendly conversations with complete strangers, started telling Herman about her bad knees. That saved me from blurting out what I was going to say:

“Listen, Hans! I know your clientele thinks they are excruciatingly famous and fascinating. But I’m here for the flowers. And I’m wondering where you got the water for all these out-of-season flowers and water features. Just like AIG is being called to task for misusing bailout money, you water-stealing Angelinos are going to have to answer for that Aqueduct.”

But, again, confrontation averted. Thanks, Mom.

Then we spent a very pleasant evening in the Piano Bar, finishing dinner with a chocolate mousse with Creme Anglais. Which was probably more calories than all of female Hollywood had eaten this week.

But I bet they’d all watered their lawns lavishly. Or had the staff do it.

To end, a few scenes from today’s adventure:

There are mostly truckstops and fast food on I-5 through the Central Valley. But you can also find great farmstands like this.

Jose steered us to the best fresh and dried fruits. You can even buy his products at www.usaproduce.net

Here's Old Paint in front of the Frosty King in Buttonwillow, Gateway to California Cotton Country (according to the signs). Great taquitos and hotdogs!

The Hotel Bel-Air is so discreet, it's hidden behind acres of lush gardens -- nurtured with our Northern California water!

And it's so luxurious, this is how they package the cable for DSL access.

For more pictures and more details on Day One of the “Get Religion Tour”, click here.