The deserts were becoming uncomfortably hot, and in accordance with out trip policy — go where the weather is likely to be nice — we headed for the ocean. We spent the night in a state park campground right on the beach north of San Diego. Next day was Sunday and I visited the UU fellowship I'd belonged to, back when I lived in this area. It had changed — new buildings built, old buildings remodeled, new minister, new faces. I chatted with the few people I could find who remembered me from back then.
The weather was gorgeous, bright and sunny with winds from the east. But by late afternoon we noticed smoke blowing in the air, and a phone call from a friend prompted us to listen to the news on the radio. Two wildfires had broken out and were growing, but they were so far away (dozens of miles to the east) that I wasn't worried and went to bed.
By next morning, the situation was very different. The air was thick with smoke, nearly blotting out the sun. Now the news said that new fires were burning, one of them just miles from us, and the strong easterly winds were blowing it in our direction! Yikes! Surely, though, we would be safe at the beach? Maybe not — the news said that the fire might be unstoppable until it reached the ocean. Then came the order to evacuate. We wasted no time in packing up and leaving. The campground, full the night before, was quickly emptying. We got on the road and headed north, away from the fires. We were fortunate that the freeway, Interstate 5, was moving smoothly, and by afternoon we were far from San Diego county and all the fires burning there.
We spent the night at a state park campground in Huntington Beach, in the Los Angeles area. We spoke with others in the campground and it turned out that they, too, were refugees from the San Diego area. That location worked fine for a day, but then the air became smoky again, this time from new fires in Orange and LA counties (more than a dozen altogether). We weren't afraid of the fires, but we didn't want to breathe smoky air — very bad for the lungs — so once again we traveled north, stopping for the night north of Santa Barbara and moving the next day to the coast at Pismo Beach.
Fires like these are no stranger to Southern California. Vegetation is dry and very flammable, even more so because of the extended drought here in the west. The hot, dry winds — locals call them Santa Ana — blow from the east with gusts to 60 mph, fanning the fire and blowing it forward faster than fire fighters can stop it.
I'm reminded that decades ago, Minnesota suffered similar wildfires — for example, the Hinkley fire if 1894. Circumstances were similar: Prolonged drought making vegetation very dry and flammable, and strong, strong dry winds fanning the fire to burn hot and spread rapidly.
It is a humbling experience to flee the fury of nature, when, as Garrison Keillor has said, "Nature is making a serious attempt to kill you."
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
California — LA and the Desert
Heading south, we bumped into Los Angeles and our one encounter with it was a disaster. They closed Interstate 5, the freeway we needed to get to LA, for several days! When we laboriously navigatged the detours, an LA motorcycle officer gave us a ticket for turning left! Disgusted, we withdrew from LA and never returned.
North of LA the land is desolate mountains and desert, stretching to the Nevada border and beyond. We poked around and explored some interesting back roads north of Ojai, then headed for Lancaster Victorville, and Barstow. The weather was gorgeous — blue skies, highs in the seventies — and the desert landscape was gorgeous too — in its own way, of course. (See Driver's View photo at the bottom of this page.)
Actually, most of California is desert. Oh, the northern coasts get rain, and the mountains get snow, but everything else receives surprisingly little precipitation. The great central valley that stretches for hundreds of miles up the middle of the state, Sacramento, Los Angeles, San Diego. All technically deserts, by amount of rain received. Irrigation has made California what it is today. Without irrigation, there would be no California fruit or vegetables, no LA, Hollywood or San Diego. Rent Jack Nicholson's great movie "Chinatown" (in which he wears a band-aid across the bridge of his nose) for an exciting story about California water.
North of LA the land is desolate mountains and desert, stretching to the Nevada border and beyond. We poked around and explored some interesting back roads north of Ojai, then headed for Lancaster Victorville, and Barstow. The weather was gorgeous — blue skies, highs in the seventies — and the desert landscape was gorgeous too — in its own way, of course. (See Driver's View photo at the bottom of this page.)
Actually, most of California is desert. Oh, the northern coasts get rain, and the mountains get snow, but everything else receives surprisingly little precipitation. The great central valley that stretches for hundreds of miles up the middle of the state, Sacramento, Los Angeles, San Diego. All technically deserts, by amount of rain received. Irrigation has made California what it is today. Without irrigation, there would be no California fruit or vegetables, no LA, Hollywood or San Diego. Rent Jack Nicholson's great movie "Chinatown" (in which he wears a band-aid across the bridge of his nose) for an exciting story about California water.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
California — Down the Coast to Big Sur
Next night we were back on the Pacific Ocean in Bodega Bay, staying in Doran Beach State Park (Recommended), located right on the bay, complete with flashing lighthouse and hooting fog horn. Menominee loved the sandy campsite — rolling in sand, digging in it, peeing in it — and we took long walks exploring the dunes.
Then it was southward on Highway 1 to Point Reyes National Seashore. Although it's close to San Francisco, the park is surprisingly rural and rustic. The road, I swear, hasn't seen new asphalt since the Truman administration, but drive over the hills to the west side and the Pacific Ocean lies spread before you, stretching into the mist at the horizon. A cold wind blew in off the ocean, pushing fog over the road and up the hills, so we didn't stay to sunbathe.
We spent two nights in a state park campground over on the sunny side of the the hills. The park is only about a mile from the San Andreas Fault, infamous for its ferocious earthquakes, but we felt nary a tremor.
Then it was time for the big push. We pumped lots of gas into Cruisemaster and headed over the hills and down the highway toward San Francisco. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, slithered through the western outskirts of San Fran, and rejoined the coast on Highway 1, which continues to hug the ocean down past Monterey and Santa Cruz.
South of that lies Big Sur, about 90 miles of desolate coastline reached by a very curvy two-lane road carved into a steep mountainside. If you dare take your eyes off the road, you can see spectacular views of the waves hitting the rocky shore hundreds of feet below. You also cross the historic Bixby Bridge, which was built of concrete in 1932 and — despite all the earthquakes since then — still safely carries traffic. (Compare that with a certain steel bridge built in the 1960s which recently fell into the Mississippi.)
The big tourist attraction along the Big Sur coast is the Hearst Castle at San Simeon (Recommended), built by newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst (the Rupert Murdoch of the U.S.). He used his enormous wealth to buy European antiquities — from trapestries and paintings to whole fire places — ship them to San Simeon, and build a castle around them. Julia Morgan was the architect, civil engineer, interior decorator, and landscape designer who turned Hearst's dreams into reality. The project evolved over decades, as Hearst was always coming up with new ideas. His wife lived on the East Coast; he and his mistress, beautiful starlet Marian Davies, hosted lavish parties for Hollywood celebrities at the castle.
From this opulent cathedral to wealth we retired in our RV to a state park campground ($18 for the night).
Then it was southward on Highway 1 to Point Reyes National Seashore. Although it's close to San Francisco, the park is surprisingly rural and rustic. The road, I swear, hasn't seen new asphalt since the Truman administration, but drive over the hills to the west side and the Pacific Ocean lies spread before you, stretching into the mist at the horizon. A cold wind blew in off the ocean, pushing fog over the road and up the hills, so we didn't stay to sunbathe.
We spent two nights in a state park campground over on the sunny side of the the hills. The park is only about a mile from the San Andreas Fault, infamous for its ferocious earthquakes, but we felt nary a tremor.
Then it was time for the big push. We pumped lots of gas into Cruisemaster and headed over the hills and down the highway toward San Francisco. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, slithered through the western outskirts of San Fran, and rejoined the coast on Highway 1, which continues to hug the ocean down past Monterey and Santa Cruz.
South of that lies Big Sur, about 90 miles of desolate coastline reached by a very curvy two-lane road carved into a steep mountainside. If you dare take your eyes off the road, you can see spectacular views of the waves hitting the rocky shore hundreds of feet below. You also cross the historic Bixby Bridge, which was built of concrete in 1932 and — despite all the earthquakes since then — still safely carries traffic. (Compare that with a certain steel bridge built in the 1960s which recently fell into the Mississippi.)
The big tourist attraction along the Big Sur coast is the Hearst Castle at San Simeon (Recommended), built by newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst (the Rupert Murdoch of the U.S.). He used his enormous wealth to buy European antiquities — from trapestries and paintings to whole fire places — ship them to San Simeon, and build a castle around them. Julia Morgan was the architect, civil engineer, interior decorator, and landscape designer who turned Hearst's dreams into reality. The project evolved over decades, as Hearst was always coming up with new ideas. His wife lived on the East Coast; he and his mistress, beautiful starlet Marian Davies, hosted lavish parties for Hollywood celebrities at the castle.
From this opulent cathedral to wealth we retired in our RV to a state park campground ($18 for the night).
Friday, October 5, 2007
California — Sacramento
Driving across Sonoma and Napa valleys, we passed field after field filled with carefully arranged grape vines growing in impossibly dry dirt. The sun was bright and the air was hot and dry as we made our way to Sacramento, the state capital.
Sacramento is a lively, growing city with clean streets and sidewalks, winter weather that seldom dips below freezing, and hot summers (over 100°, but it's a dry heat). Sacramento is also a city of big trees, which are beautiful but kept blocking the satellite signals our GPS needed to direct us. It became confused, uttering such complete nonsense that we turned it off and navigatged by the seat of our pants. After a bit of driving around, we found Mary H. and Brian at their cheerful duplex apartment. We sat in the shade sipping cold drinks while Menominee explored the back yard.
Next day, Mary and I went to see the State Railroad Museum (Recommended). It's in a beautiful building displaying about a dozen shiny, fully restored engines and cars, which we wandered around at our leisure, reminiscing over train-related events from our childhoods, talking with the volunteer interpreters, and catching the last half of a narrated tour. We walked through a Pullman car (the kind with upper and lower berths that you see in old black-and-white movies), sat in the cab of a million-pound steam locomotive, and viewed the solid gold spike that's a duplicate of the one driven to complete the transcontinental railroad.
One evening we went to a delightful restaurant called the Tower (Recommended), which served delicious food (I had Korean BBQ ribs) outdoors under trees in the warm air. We sat and ate and talked and it felt like we were in paradise. California is like that.
Napa
Leaving Sacramento, we stayed overnight in the town of Napa and Sunday morning I found the UU fellowship there. The minister welcomed me at the door and after the service several members of the congregation chatted with me and invited me to their potluck picnic in a park. Well! How could I resist? I stopped at a grocery for chips and salsa and had a great time with the very happy and friendly people at the picnic.
Sacramento is a lively, growing city with clean streets and sidewalks, winter weather that seldom dips below freezing, and hot summers (over 100°, but it's a dry heat). Sacramento is also a city of big trees, which are beautiful but kept blocking the satellite signals our GPS needed to direct us. It became confused, uttering such complete nonsense that we turned it off and navigatged by the seat of our pants. After a bit of driving around, we found Mary H. and Brian at their cheerful duplex apartment. We sat in the shade sipping cold drinks while Menominee explored the back yard.
Next day, Mary and I went to see the State Railroad Museum (Recommended). It's in a beautiful building displaying about a dozen shiny, fully restored engines and cars, which we wandered around at our leisure, reminiscing over train-related events from our childhoods, talking with the volunteer interpreters, and catching the last half of a narrated tour. We walked through a Pullman car (the kind with upper and lower berths that you see in old black-and-white movies), sat in the cab of a million-pound steam locomotive, and viewed the solid gold spike that's a duplicate of the one driven to complete the transcontinental railroad.
One evening we went to a delightful restaurant called the Tower (Recommended), which served delicious food (I had Korean BBQ ribs) outdoors under trees in the warm air. We sat and ate and talked and it felt like we were in paradise. California is like that.
Napa
Leaving Sacramento, we stayed overnight in the town of Napa and Sunday morning I found the UU fellowship there. The minister welcomed me at the door and after the service several members of the congregation chatted with me and invited me to their potluck picnic in a park. Well! How could I resist? I stopped at a grocery for chips and salsa and had a great time with the very happy and friendly people at the picnic.
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