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September 4 – Tuesday – S.D. to San Francisco
We leave our house about 8 a.m. in San Diego dreading the L.A. traffic. It’s always a crap shoot determining what northern freeway will have less traffic. We choose the 405 with the carpool advantage. The pace is steady and the progress good. We are free of the ever present L.A. tension once we hit Santa Monica. We take a breath and enjoy the beautiful skies with wispy clouds against the mountains. But no matter where we are, trucks are not my friends -- just passing by them makes my blood pressure go up.
We could not enjoy the audio books Bill had spent hours ripping and copying to his MP3 player. The radio speakers only produce a low volume – too low even for the best of ears. We listen to intermittent NPR with a calm “Oh well” attitude – too early in the trip to get hyper.
I am the navigator – which isn’t my strong suite. My job is to take input from our GPS (mounted on the dashboard) and coordinate it with Bill’s Google Map print outs and then cross check with old fashion hardcopy maps. When the directions from each source are in conflict, I must resolve the differences. That’s way too much input for someone who is direction impaired. While checking all the data, I discover that the GPS grades driving skills – speed, braking, etc. – by displaying a red, yellow or green symbol. Bill hovered mostly in the yellow zone.
We make a long overdue pit stop and then hit the Grapevine – always a zoo with speedsters weaving between slow trucks and old people, especially old people in big RV’s. We are ever vigilant watching out for the slow pokes while, at the same time, avoiding the others passing us like a host of scalded hounds. All the while, we look forward to a Country Kitchen restaurant (probably spelled Kountry Kitchen, or Country Citchen) located on the flat land just north of the Grapevine. We pull into the parking lot only to discover that the restaurant had morphed into a couple of chains – Pizza Hut, Taco Bell and Subway Sandwich. We are in a twilight zone, confused and doubting our own thought processes. We pull out the peanut butter and bread from the back and slap together a sandwich. We are survivors.
The next 250 or more miles on I-5 are boring. The only thing that registers in my brain is the signs in the Central Valley with the motto “Food Grows Where Water Flows.”
We make an overdue pit stop to gas up and pee. Bill indulges in a Hagen-das ice cream bar while I smugly eat an apple.
I take the wheel for the next 180 miles while Bill sleeps. He wakes up and teaches me how to use the car’s Cruise Control. After years of training, it is still not easy to have Bill show me the right way to do something. It is also not easy for a control freak to relinquish control to the car. I feel like the Cruise Control is a video game with the object of not running into the cars ahead while maintaining a constant speed. I want to please Bill and rebel at the same time. This inner conflict leads to some white knuckle driving. Luckily we stop and transition drivers well before the 580 to the 13 in the Berkeley Hills.
Susan’s directions are tough to wade through, but we arrive at her lovely home around 4:15. She comes out to wave us to the right garage and looks as young and beautiful as she was in the 70’s. It’s so nice to see her again.
We park (not easy in the Berkeley Hills) and grab a beer and some grub and start to catch up on over 15 or more years of life. We don’t get too far because she has to host a book club meeting tonight and we have a date with some other Berkeley friends at 6 for dinner.
We get to Dick and Beany’s house (in Berkeley) about 6. We only have about 10 years to catch up with them. We enjoy Happy Hour in the authentic African Hut in their back yard – sitting on birthing chairs they import from African. An old pal of theirs, Wayne, from Beany’s Peace Corp Days, is visiting. Wayne is now an organic farmer with tomatoes to die for. We get a little tipsy and laugh about the old Hippy Days. Although we don’t realize it, we are full on senior citizens. Dick was struggling with a couple of botched knee replacements and Wayne is moving a little slow. Beany is wild and crazy as ever – biking in the Himalayans just last year.
With the effects of the wine, along with the constant laughter and joy that always surrounds Dick and Beany, we make our way to a little Thai place in Berkeley called Bangkok Jam. Great food – great evening. Beany decides to go with us to Cambodia in January. She hasn’t been there since the 60’s. God I love these people.
We come back to Susan’s about 9:00 to find the book club ladies are still in full swing – arguing which is better – the Ipad or the Kindle. Susan is a purist and sticks with print. We are charming (as best we can be) and head upstairs to our wonderful room – heck our wonderful floor. Why are we so lucky to have such great friends?!?!?
September 5 – Wednesday – San Francisco
The day begins with the fire alarm going off and the toilet overflowing – We’re great guests.
We enjoy a lovely breakfast with homemade muffins and fruit. Then we hike in the Hills of Berkeley offering great views of the U. C. Berkeley campus where Amy went to school. It’s a tough hike – no wonder Susan looks so good. It starts to rain so we head back down the hill for lunch at a place that donates their profits to charity. Berkeley is so civilized.
Susan and Bill |
Susan and Nancy |
We come back to the house to relax and give Susan a break! However, it’s not much of a break because we start yakking again.
We drive back into Berkeley to have cocktail hour with Billie, our old neighbor who will be 89 in November. She looks so good. She was very Republican when she left our hood to move to this land of the Democrats. She’s toned down a little and doing great. We meet with her daughter Suzie and son-in-law Serge at a yummy new restaurant in Berkeley called Corso’s. This is the place! Wonderful evening.
We come back to Susan’s to yak some more. I’m afraid we’re bad guests – but Susan is so interesting and so accommodating.
September 6 – Thursday – San Francisco
We take Susan out for breakfast and then she drives us to the BART station to catch a train to Golden Gate Park. We take a muni street car to our final destination.
We find the De Young museum tucked away in beautiful Golden Gate Park. The open, simple architecture of the building and the surrounding space sends my shutter finger into frenzy.
Our timing is good as we get to hook up with a docent tour. We are the only ones in the group. Our knowledgeable guide points out a few portraits from a 150-year timeframe. She zeros in on the brush strokes. As the strokes get sloppier, the person in the portraits becomes more real. Her premise is that Impressionism is a direct result of photography. As the camera came along and captured the detail, the portrait artist moved toward the feelings (impressions) to capture the heart. She shows several portraits along the continuum. I’ll share just two examples. John Singleton Copley, who found fame by painting portraits of aristocrats in the American colonies, used fine, detailed brush strokes to paint the stiff and formal Mary Turner in 1763. By 1889, Mary Cassatt, another American, painted her mother in the flowing, Impressionistic style.
De Young Museum |
De Young Museum |
After our docent talk, we roam the amazing museum. All the visuals stimulate me. Bill is more of a text kind of guy and tries to keep me moving through each the eye-popping section.
The African section is a hoot. I love the simple figures and designs. I am especially fond of an overgrown pod that serves as a burial box. Why does African stuff amuse me so?
De Young Museum |
De Young Museum |
De Young Museum |
We take a break from the rooms filled with work and climb the tower to see the amazing views of the city – WOW! We stop at the gift shop to buy Pat a wooden vase.
We walk across the street from the De Young Museum to check out the California Academy of Sciences (Natural History Museum). Both modern museums were built to replace old museums vulnerable to earthquakes. The entrance fee to the Natural History Museum is too pricey ($35 adults)– even the Senior Citizen’s charge is out of sight ($30), so we mosey on down to a parking lot lined with Roach Coaches. We get Indian food to share. The curry is fabulous, the other dish rather boring.
California Academy of Sciences |
California Academy of Sciences |
We leave Golden Gate Park and catch a muni bus back to the city. I enjoy walking the few blocks to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Nothing compares with San Francisco --especially on a perfect day. We pay the entrance fee and hook up with a very dignified, charming docent. I hang on his every word – so deep and clear and resonant. If it weren’t for him pointing out all the important pieces, I would have buzzed by the rooms without having a clue as to what I was seeing.
He shows us the painting that Frieda Kahlo did of her husband, Diego Rivera, and herself in 1931. She gave the painting to this very museum. The couple hung out a lot in San Francisco.
Turns out that another work, entitled “Collection,” which did nothing for me, started the whole POP Art movement. In 1954, Robert Rauschenberg created the collage piece using everyday scraps, inspiring the future Andy Warhol’s soup cans.
Frieda and Diego |
Collection |
I fall in love with some graffiti art by a guy named Barry McGee. He was born in the Mission District of San Francisco in 1966 and is half Chinese and half Irish. He brought respectability to Graffiti and became very famous himself. His stuff makes me laugh out loud.
Barry McGee Graffiti |
Barry McGee Graffiti |
Our docent leads us into a room with two sculptures, both created by Robert Arneson (1930-1992). The statues faced each other and looked like oversized Pez containers. One is of the former mayor, George Moscone. Moscone and Harvey Milk were gunned down by Dan White on Nov. 28, 1978. The other sculpture in the room, entitled “California Artist,” was of Arneson himself.
Arneson was commissioned to do the Moscone piece for the Moscone Center. His rendition was too controversial at the time to be placed in the Moscone Center. Instead, it was stashed away in the Museum of Modern Art’s closet and came out recently. Incorporated into the base of the Moscone oversized bust was a gun, bullets, a Twinkie (for Dan White’s “Twinkie Defense” and other relevant images. Just looking at the Moscone statue evokes a lot of emotion in me.
I am even more mesmerized by the statue Arneson did of himself. What a clever guy to embody his soul in a sculpture – one that sits in a museum room and checks out the people as they go strolling by with that wonderful “attitude” gaze. I watch him pose for pictures and even give the gals a second look. The docent tells us that Arneson died of cancer – very painful passing -- and during that passing, he created a couple of grotesque pieces of himself being eaten by cancer. I am touched and moved by this room of Arneson’s work.
Because we are a very attentive audience and don’t want to the docent tour to end, our docent guru extends the allotted time and leads us up to the top floor of the museum. He shows us walkway bridge, the sculpture garden next to the museum café with views of San Francisco in the backdrop on this most perfect day.
We say “good-bye” to the docent and spend some time in a special exhibit by Cindy Sherman in her impersonator series of raw and strange photographs. She posed in lots of different “personalities” from lots of different times. Strange and raw -- I was intrigued and repelled at the same time. Before our visit, I did not know who she is or that she is famous. I must be culturally impaired.
Cindy Sherman |
I am on visual overload and cannot control my compulsion to snap just a few more shots. Most I’ll never look at again, but I just have to add a couple more picts to the journal.
Museum of Modern Art |
Museum of Modern Art |
It is late in the afternoon when we finally leave the museum and find our way back to the BART Station. In no time at all, we are back at the Ridge Creek Bart Station in Berkeley, where Susan left us in the morning. She picks us up and we go to dinner at a great little American spot called “Rick and Anne’s.” The comfort food hits the spot. Susan has an apple tart waiting at home for us. We watch the last night of the Democratic National Convention. Obama gives one heck of a speech.
Bill does the laundry as we prepare for the next adventure down the road.
P.S. Susan lives in a 3-story sleek house with simple lines tucked up into the Berkeley Hills. She selected it for the open-ness and the wonderful views of the woods and mountains. The neighborhood has had some break-ins of late. Doesn’t seem right – no one should mess with the peacefulness of this area.
September 7 – Friday – San Francisco to Ft. Klamath
Susan treats us to another lovely breakfast and then provides ingredients for sandwiches. We are not worthy, but indulge anyway.
We drive to I-5 and head north. Along the way, the elusive Mt. Shasta pops in and out of view. Nothing is more exhilarating than driving along Shasta Lake. God we love a road trip!
Heading to Oregon |
Mt. Shasta |
We make a stop at the Redding Visitor Center to enjoy our yummy pastrami sandwich from Susan.
We plan to go to the Lava Beds National Monument to see where a band of the Modoc Indians, under the brave leadership of Captain Jack, survived a winter in the Lava Beds fighting against huge white guy armies. Not only is the place historically interesting, but is also touted as being a geological wonder. The friendly, helpful greeter at the Visitor Center in Redding suggests we take the back roads to Lava Beds, shorter on the map. Seemed like a good idea – but bad choice. It is impossible to coordinate official maps with the sketchy maps in the brochures. We make a series of wrong assumptions on those sign-less roads out there in no man’s land. Finally, we spot a sign “18 miles - Medicine Lake / Lava Beds” and make the turn. However, it is a rough dirt road that shakes every part of your body and your car. We would not do to that to a rental car; much less our new Rav 4, so we turn around and head back to the town of Hebron, forgetting about our adventure in the Lava Beds.
We stop to take some photos in a couple of the little mountain towns on the way back to the main road. Dunsmuir has a cool vibe nestled down by the old train station. An invasion of artists took over the town and saved its beautiful soul.
Dunsmuir |
Dunsmuir |
We find some fire activity, with a series of makeshift fire stations, especially around the town of McCloud. Not much to write about the town of Doris. It is noted for the tallest flag pole east of the Mississippi – Whoopee!
After Doris, we cross into Oregon. The scenery becomes a blur with lots of open grasslands. I think I see an eagle nesting at the top of a pole. The area is famous for its grassland reserves to protect the migrating birds.
We get weary of driving. I see more and more signs of mining, earth moving, tree killing and water polluting just outside of Klamath Falls. A good economy brings pollution and strings of Walmarts and fast food chains and gas stations galore – too late for a band of artists to save this town.
We stop at the Klamath Falls Welcome Center where another friendly gal is there to help. She recommends eating at a place called Nibbley’s – not only does she recommend it, she raves about it.
It is only about 5, but we are tired of driving and decide to have an early dinner. Nibbley’s is not at all what we expected. It’s not in a cute part of town, but surrounded by miles and miles of strip-malls. Luckily the GPS seeks it out and in we go in. It’s a so-so place with overweight customers and pricey entrees ($20 or more). Nibbley’s motto is: “When a nibble just isn’t enough.” We didn’t even want a nibble, so we order a beer and regroup. We pay the bar tab and then drive a few blocks further into the heart of Strip Mall City to find Wubba’s.
Bill did his homework on Trip Advisor – They tout Wubba’s for its great BBQ. It was delicious and plentiful and cheap. We don’t need any more help from the Visitor’s Centers, thank you very much.
I am still on a mission to see the cute little town of Klamath Falls– not the miles of schlock that stretch before us. I follow the map to what looks like quaint old western buildings, but between the maps in my lap and the sun in my eyes, I really did not see much at all. We just wanted to get out of town fast.
It was not long down the road before we reach Ft. Klamath and our final destination – The Aspen Inn.
The Aspen Inn is a family run 1950’s style motel partially hidden by the tall trees. It is just starting to get dark out when we are greeted by a sweet woman (and two dogs). The woman is managing the place just for the night. The motel owner, Heidi, is at the local High School’s big Friday night football game -- her first night out in months. She was grieving over the loss of her partner – someone named Sue.
We check in. Our room is clean, but no a/c. We are tired from the long day and disappointed about missing the Lava Beads. We go into our own worlds of recovery – showering, checking emails and for me, wasting 30 minutes watching “Inside Edition” – now that’s some serious depression – but I bounce back quickly!
P.S. In Oregon, one is not allowed to pump your own gas – so strange. Wonder what group made that a State Law?
September 8 – Saturday – Crater Lake
I meet Heidi, the owner of the Aspen Inn, over coffee in the small lobby. She is a sweetheart. Their local football team lost last night and their 8-piece band really sucks – got to get rid of the tuba player.
We pack up and drive down the road for breakfast at Annie’s River Café (in the Crater Lake Lodge). A goofy waiter takes our order. Service was slow, but good.
At 9 am, we arrive at the Crater Lake Park Headquarter Visitor Center and talk to a sweet granny-type Ranger (and took her advice). We watch the orientation video. 7,300 years ago the tallest mountain (which happened to be volcanic) erupted leaving Crater Lake behind. Wizard Island, which sticks up through the lake is a cinder cone that erupted up through the waters of Crater Lake. The whole area is sacred Indian Holy Land.
Crater Lake Visitor Center |
We learn that an important white guy, William Steele, opened up the world to Crater Lake. He was just a kid in Ohio when he saw an engraving of Crater Lake in the newspaper (which, by the way, was used to wrap his lunch. The family moved to Portland and he was hooked on Crater Lake. He explored the place with a friend. Later, he was the first concessionaire for the Park and then became Park Superintendent.
Also fascinating was how Teddy Roosevelt got Crater Lake its National Park status. The bill was blocked by the Speaker of the House. After President McKinley was assassinated, Teddy was able to make Crater Lake a National Park.
(NOTE: It’s disturbing to me that at least 25% of all the stuffed animals sold at the gift shop are bears. I’m intent on finding Mona (whose father was killed by a Grisly) a non-bear stuffed animal – ain’t easy.)
We visit the Old Lodge and stop at Sinnott Memorial Overlook, buried like a bunker inside of the caldron. The views of Crater Lake with Wizard Island are magnificent.
We take the East Rim Drive down to the trailhead for Vidae Falls and take a 3-mile hike to see the spring-fed cascade that drops over a series of ledges.
We continue along the East Rim Drive and stop to see the Phantom Ship Overlook.
We hike 2.2 miles to Plaikni (means “high”) Falls and glaze up at the magnificent waterfall.
We drive down the road and stop at Pinnacles Overlook to see the fumaroles. They started as tunneled vents for escaping hot gasses. The odd shapes solidified. When everything else eroded away, the strange structures remained.
Crater Lake |
Crater Lake |
The overlooks along the East Rim Road are gorgeous on this beautiful day.
We eat lunch at Lost Creek. I slap together a peanut butter sandwich and am good to go.
At 2:30, we take an out and back 5 mile hike to the lookout on Mt. Scott, the highest point in the park. It’s a tough trek at high altitude, but the views of the Crater Lake from the top are worth every step! Once we make it to the top, we snap a few photos and then fly back down.
We share a beer at the parking lot and then say “Good-bye” to Crater Lake and head to the town of Bend.
Crater Lake |
We arrive at the Sonoma Lodge at 7 pm. It’s cheap and clean – just what we are looking for.
We find ourselves on a wild goose chase looking for a place to eat. The GPS takes us to McKay’s cottage – but it’s not open for dinner. Then GPS leads rather poorly through road blocks and crowded streets in Saturday night’s downtown activity. We finally escape to 10-Barrel Brewing at about 8 pm with a 1.5 hour wait. We switch quickly to Plan B. We order a pizza to go and order a beer to drink while we wait for our pizza. I like the vibe of the place – beautiful, healthy kids with big smiles to serve you. The bulletin board is full of clever notices – “Yoga Slacker” is my favorite.
September 9 – Sunday – Columbia River Gorge with Teasing Views of Mt Hood in the Background
We sleep in until 7. I wake up with memories of a very bad dream. A bus in Cambodia runs over a woman and kills her. Seemed so real.
The free breakfast at the Sonoma Lodge sucks – so we drive back to McKay’s Cottage for a really good breakfast. McKay’s is an old pioneer cottage (morphed into a cool restaurant). It was the boyhood home of Oregon Senator Gordon McKay. We see more beautiful, young healthy people.
Fat and happy, we’re off to do the Columbia River Gorge to get in touch with nature and get into the pioneer stuff. However, before we can do that, we must go through miles of crap created and left behind by civilization. (My favorite was “Wet Willie’s Car Wash.)
Just beyond Redmond we find ourselves on a country road with intermittent views of Mt. Hood and peaceful farm scenes of cows in the pasture. I imagine the waves of pioneers coming through, picking their spot to homestead, clearing the forests, building their community. (The views in my head are many times more interesting than the views from the car window.)
We stop at several places along the Columbia Gorge / Mt. Hood Scenic Highway 197. The grounds of White River Falls felt so very peaceful. Once a power station, it’s now a happy place for families to picnic.
Road to Mt. Hood |
In the old town of Dufur, we explore a hotel that looks like it belongs on a movie set. They are preparing for an afternoon wedding.
We walk through the town. The museum is closed so we can only peek through the windows. We stop for a Pastrami sandwich. We love the town, but not the sandwich. (Should have relied on peanut butter, my trusty old mainstay.)
Dufur |
Dufur |
We emerge from the mountains and drive on I-84, along the Columbia River Gorge. The first main town is The Dalles, French for flagstaff, and I suppose flagstaff rocks are a’plenty in these here parts.
I am in charge of navigating. I fail miserably when I miss the turnoff to the dam – DAMN. Too confusing and too late to turn back, we continue our drive through the town of Flagstaff. We whiz by the buildings painted with large murals depicting the town’s early days – not much else of interest in the town.
On the Road in Oregon |
The Dalles, Oregon |
We stop at the Columbia Gorge Discovery Center – a great museum. We learn all about Lewis and Clark. The old inventory records show that each man on the Corps of Discovry team consumed 9 pounds of meat a day – unbelievable! We view cases of memorabilia -- old compasses, various goods needed for trade with the Indians. It was a very “up close and personal” view of the Lewis and Clark expedition. We also learn about pioneer days with stories of wagon trains and town developments. The population growth exploded when jobs to build damns came to this area.
Columbia Gorge Discovery Center |
Columbia Gorge Discovery Center |
Down the hall in the Discovery Center a geek lectures on Barn Owls. We stay for a while to rest our weary bones, but then leave. Interesting, but way too much information on Barn Owls for me.
Columbia Gorge Discovery Center |
We drive 9 miles on an old highway high in the cliffs overlooking the river. The area was scarred by men and their power lines and their dams to control nature – but really didn’t look that bad.
We drive on South 35 to Government Camp, the name of this ski town. Mt. Hood fills up the scenery and then hides again. We arrive in Government Camp. It takes us a while to find the check in counter for the Huckleberry Inn. (It’s in the little café – Who would have guessed?) We go to our room -- sweet, quaint and tiny. The walls are thin and a crying baby is next door.
Mt. Hood |
Government Camp |
Government Camp |
Government Camp |
We find a place to put our stuff and then walk to Charley’s Mountain View Café for beer. The old funky café is the spot for the young, backpacking crowd. Some of the seats are old seats from a bus.
We go back to the Huckleberry Inn for dinner – burgers and fries. We eat so much we think we’re going to pop – Wish we had shared an order.
Restaurant at Huckleberry Inn |
We call home and learn that Zion won a dinner at DQ at church today. Molly barks a “Hi” for us. Her hysterectomy is scheduled for tomorrow.
I finish the post cards and go to sleep hoping that the baby won’t cry. (No need to worry -- The baby must have packed up and left.)
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