California Desert Tour - The trip of a lifetime in four days

Ever since I got back from my April road trip, I've had writer's block of sorts. Not full-on, "I can't write" writer's block. Just laziness and ill-focus writer's block. Which is probably more lethal because it can drag on and on and turn into something called "life." At least with the I-can't-write variety, you know you can't do it. Like you lost the ability somehow, so you get to move on and take up something more realistically challenging, like knitting, rock climbing.

It doesn't help that I have no set deadlines and no publishing plan (yet), so I'm writing for the sake of writing. That is, to get good at it. I've always written, since I was three years old (I still have the short story about a guinea pig who wants a tail, to prove it), but my fictional output has been, we shall say, sporadic. And I want to write fiction. Don't know why. Why does anyone knit or rock climb? 

Because some people have stories to tell. It's just a genetic/brain thing. Like people who paint still-life portraits of pottery and fruit. They just have it in them. I have stories in me, but shaping them so that other people enjoy the output—that is the challenge. It's not as hard as ballet, and definitely easier than learning to play the guitar (but not learning it well). It's somewhere in the realm of being proficient in golf—nearly impossible but perhaps within reach.

Anyway, this road trip, which has simultaneously cleared my head and left me floundering to get back in my daily occasionally productive writing routine. Keith says I made it happen, but all I said was, "Remember that time we briefly drove through Death Valley on our way to Las Vegas? I've always wanted to go back there." Within a day, he had checked out every travel book on the area in two libraries, looked up hotels, restaurants and routes on the Internet, and brought out the suitcases in time to pack for a late Spring Break--last week in April. Pretty much your last hope of walking around Death Valley without suffering severe heat stroke, until cooler weather in the fall. And we were on our way.

We thought Highway 101 was preferable to I-5 (it is, always), and we first stayed on the coast in the most adorable beach town in California (I think—I'm not a big beach-town person in general), Carpenteria. Its main street is lined with historic (there's a plaque) palm trees, planted in the 1930s. The buildings are California old, like from the Depression era and beyond. And it's quiet and friendly there. There's no big-box stores or much in the way of a mini-mall. In short, developers have been kicked to the curb in Carpenteria, unlike 90% of most small-sized California towns and cities, where retail development pretty much runs the show. The state beach is free, and you can camp in the park next to it. It's so cute, I wanted to move there and sip coffee in one of several beachy cafes immediately.

Low tide

We missed Coachella by a few days (thank God). Not that I want to snot all over a big, successful music festival that helps a desert region economically survive. But I'm too old for such things. Even in my teenage years when Bill Gram Presents hosted Day on the Green (featuring a dozen bands in a ball field full of drunken, stoned fellow youth), I shuddered at the vast humanity and poor sound quality these events promised. But I will say this, the guys from British Columbia who stayed at our hotel and decorated their vehicle for Coachella did a great job. And I commend them. And this is as close as to Coachella Fest as I want to get, and it's highly entertaining.

Keith wanted me to take a photo of the four of them as they drank a last brew before heading home, but I didn't need to, because these self-portraits on their car, captures them perfectly.

I'm not a big fan of snails, but I guess when you travel from the far north to the desert, perhaps you miss your mollusk friends from the damp environs.

The land snail as muse

Good vibes from this crew. Hope they enjoyed the music and had a good outing.

Los Angeles! We visited the Page Museum at the La Brea Tar Pits. Keith and Jackson had never seen them. I practically lived up the street from them when I was five, so they're like a second back yard to me (in my mind). What's changed is the hoity-toityness and science-y nature of the Museum now. You can even watch researchers pick through fossil finds with toothpicks and brushes in their fishbowl-like enclosure.

Really different from my last visit a couple decades ago when the one human skeleton found in the pits was 3D-diorama-altered to resemble a young Native American woman whose closest modern relative, as depicted, would be Cher. I guess someone along the line realized that was not very respectful. That display was changed to a saber-toothed tiger alteration. So that's good. The human skeleton is represented by an imagining of its owner on a mural, and she looks more like a person, less a celebrity.

There's remnants of cheese though, if you look hard enough, and I always do. More on that here. 

Oh dear

LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art) has also changed, morphing into multiple modern buildings lining a huge city block. We only spent the afternoon in L.A. so I'll have to go back and visit a few collections (I'm sure it would take a few weeks to see it extensively). But outside there's fun stuff to see for free. Like this plastic-tube sculpture, Penetrabile, by Jesús Rafael Soto.

 Walk through it.

Give it a hug.

It's a big hit with toddlers and other curious people.

Or you can walk beneath the boulder in Michael Heizer's $10-million assemblage, Levitated Mass. I did, and I feel great. I just have writer's block. Otherwise, can't complain. Ten million, well spent.

Heizer conceived of this installation in the 1960s and finally got enough funding for it recently, so hat's off to him for hanging in there with his vision. It's a good piece, referencing the urban and natural and man-made aspects of our modern existence. That big rock. Sometimes walking under a suspended rock is the thing to do.

Onward! I didn't get many photos from Palm Springs. We were only there for the night and for breakfast the next day, but what a cool, fantastically retro place it is. I want to go back and savor the mid-century architecture and try some hiking in the imposing mountains next door. And by next door, I mean, the mountains rise up immediately next to the city. Your first inkling that plate tectonics are in control here, not us.

The affordable Caliente Tropics Resort features this pool, table-tennis, a lawn, and several large and delightful tiki statues.

Jackson having breakfast in the "Nixon Booth" at Elmer's. Elmer's Diner is an Oregon institution that for mysterious reasons has its only (beloved) California franchise in Palm Springs. The kid's menu coloring book still features plenty of Cascade-mountains trivia, so we got to relive that brief Northwestern settlement moment in our lives over a delicious and affordable breakfast.

I was so pleased we got the Nixon booth - perverse, I know - I just wanted the full Palm Springs experience

Then we made the mistake (a minor one) of driving through desert towns rather than the freeway, on our way to the Salton Sea. Palm Desert, Indio, etc.—here is where the developers have settled like an invasive species, taking over land that no one should ever populate in abundance. Palm Desert has all the excesses of Las Vegas with none of the charm, if you can imagine such a thing. Thirsty lawns alongside the bulky main thoroughfare. Palm trees on every inch of land not taken up by a shopping mall or gated big-box housing development. There's such a thing. I've seen it. Then you hit the regions not swimming in retirement dollars and that's a dusty situation full of closed gas stations and sad storefronts. And Coachella!

But I forgot to mention the Date farms. Date palms for miles for the harvesting of delicious dates. Stop by Shields Date Garden and order yourself a delicious date shake. Don't ask why. JUST DO IT! You'll be glad. And the owner might give you free admission to the Biblical Garden out back. Jesus would get a date shake, trust me.

The Salton Sea:

This saline-filled sea in the middle of the state is the largest lake in California, sits below sea level and was accidentally formed in 1906 during Colorado River flooding. More than 400 bird species can be seen here and I like that. I saw herons, egrets, some kind of plover, and pelicans, as well as songbirds who could mix it up as well as any mocking bird, yet they weren't mocking birds. Like mocking birds, they could sound like car alarms too. Car alarms have become an annoyance in both the natural and unnatural worlds.

Please don't hate me because I made a Salton Sea bird collage

From there, we drove by more date farms, through a surprisingly picturesque canyon, and into Joshua Tree National Park from the south. Note, there's not much to look at during the initial 45-minute drive through the park. But once you hit the northern regions, that's when stuff starts to look peculiar. Like an area where a particular cactus grows, so it resembles a garden, because that cactus doesn't appear to exist anywhere else in the park.

Cholla Cactus Garden - do not touch the cacti - they hurt

Further north, boulders and slabs are stacked upon each other in toys-of-the-gods way.

And of course, Joshua Trees.

And when you exit the park feeling hungry, the town of Joshua Tree features the Crossroads Cafe, where you will find yummy hippie-diner fare and brew. Plus the Joshua Tree Inn where Gram Parsons succumbed.

Donovan reminisces about the importance and other-worldliness of Joshua Tree to classic American rock music. Cosmic meals, celestial wheels...




I don't want to give Death Valley short shrift. But this post is getting long, and anything I can say about Death Valley will be overshadowed by the experience of being there, and maybe by photos, if the photographer can hold steady enough to do a good job. And perhaps this is the source of my writer's block. No matter what I write, or edit or think up, these areas remain awe-inspiring and inexplicable, even from a geologist's point of view. I can't top that with my puny imagination. There are boulders in Death Valley that slide across the desert floor, leaving trails, and no one knows why or how. No one's ever seen them do it. It doesn't have to be spiritual to whack the soul into a stupor. The natural world and attempts to explain it will give me pause every time. (Update, 8-28-14: scientists have now solved the mystery of the sailing rocks of Death Valley; hooray for science!)

So why write? Eh, why not.

Death Valley. If you go (and you should), be sure to bring along a copy of California Deserts Camping & Hiking: Including Death Valley, Mojave, Joshua Tree and Anza-Borregoby Tom Stienstra and Anne Marie Brown. This simple guide got us out of our car and hiking around the most incredible places we've ever seen in Joshua Tree and Death Valley. It tells you how long each walk is, the terrain, the difficulty, the sights you'll gawk at, and overall: the death knell of the unprepared hiker who doesn't bring enough water. Luckily we arrived the morning after a much-needed rainstorm, so our day was beautifully temperate. But we still brought gallons of water. Geologically speaking, Death Valley is the ultimate freak-show with micro-climates and micro-geological regions every other mile or so. Respect it.

Heading from the south of the park to west on 190, here's what we saw:

Natural Bridge. Stand beneath a big rock at no cost (with park admission). See what eons of rushing water and erosion are capable of.

Badwater Basin, a former lake and salt flat, 282 feet below sea level. Walk out a mile on a road of salt. There's a snail that lives in the sporadic rainfall puddles here that lives no place else on earth. That's a special snail.

The Devil's Golf Course - salt has crystalized into odd formations. If you fall on it and cut yourself—automatic salt in your wound.

Time to abandon the car for some below-sea-level golf. Furnace Creek Resort has a fine course in the middle of Death Valley—the lowest in the world.

And now for a hike in a slot canyon made of marble and dozens of other types of geological matter, including embedded rock that resembles a concrete collage.

So, you've had enough of rocks. Check out one of two sand-dune regions in the park. Mesquite Flat Dunes are around 120 feet high and shift with the winds. The others, to the north are 700 feet high. We'll visit those next time.

On the way home, stay in charming, old-timey Bishop (it's officially fishing season!), and be sure to stop by eerie, fascinating Mono Lake.

San Diego Road Trip By Way of the Eastern Sierras

In April we headed to San Diego for a memorial for my Uncle Larry. Uncle Larry was my dad's oldest brother. He was a really good guy, a sweet guy, a family guy. His daughter, Jo, who's my cousin who I live vicariously through because she continues to do theater work, which I gave up years ago (she writes too), organized this service for him, as well as many other family gatherings around San Diego. Because my uncle was such a good guy, his bountiful spirit brought forth all sorts of McElroys and McElroy friends and relations to converge on the magical burg of San Diego.

But before we could enjoy what turned out to be a really fantastic family reunion, we drove through the Eastern Sierras on our way south. And a freak snowstorm blew in the night before our journey, so I'm telling you, the weather patterns we experienced on this trip were off the charts. OFF THE CHARTS! Let's review—California's going through the worst drought in recorded time, and here we were, driving to Lake Tahoe in April, in the snow.

Snow

Keith is such a smart traveler. He checked weather.com multiple times before we left and thought to pack Jackson's sled. Look how happy Jackson is to be sledding in April during the worst recorded drought in California history.

Wheee! Take that, climate change!

This was the view of Lake Tahoe from the top of the lovely and informative Stateline Fire Lookout hike. It's up a basic, paved fire road and there's signage along a loop at the top about the geologic timeline that created this beautiful area.

Keep Tahoe Blue. And clear—I love Mark Twain's description of the clarity of Tahoe's water from his 1872 travelogue, Roughing It. Here's the passage describing his small-boat excursion around the lake. Though Twain was famous for his comic gift of exaggeration, this was an honest piece of reportage:

So singularly clear was the water, that where it was only twenty or thirty feet deep the bottom was so perfectly distinct that the boat seemed floating in the air! Yes, where it was even eighty feet deep. Every little pebble was distinct, every speckled trout, every hand's- breadth of sand. Often, as we lay on our faces, a granite boulder, as large as a village church, would start out of the bottom apparently, and seem climbing up rapidly to the surface, till presently it threatened to touch our faces, and we could not resist the impulse to seize an oar and avert the danger. But the boat would float on, and the boulder descend again, and then we could see that when we had been exactly above it, it must still have been twenty or thirty feet below the surface. Down through the transparency of these great depths, the water was not merely transparent, but dazzlingly, brilliantly so. All objects seen through it had a bright, strong vividness, not only of outline, but of every minute detail, which they would not have had when seen simply through the same depth of atmosphere. So empty and airy did all spaces seem below us, and so strong was the sense of floating high aloft in mid-nothingness, that we called these boat-excursions "balloon-voyages."

If you're passing through downtown Truckee and need some grub, we recommend stopping at Burger Me—burgers, shakes, fries—simple fare, but so, so good. You won't be sorry! The milkshakes are HUGE.


On to BRIDGEPORT! I like Bridgeport. Look at the courthouse—cool.

There's a modern (ugly) building addition in the back for further courthouse functions, but that doesn't stop this original building from being one of the all-time great goldrush-era courthouses.

I should mention the temperatures we encountered on this trip. Due to the storm, it was seriously cold on this leg of the journey (and many restaurants and other summer-based businesses were still closed in Bridgeport). During our Bridgeport overnight stay, it was in the high-teens, temperature-wise. It hit 22°F in the morning. We layered up. This trip was a wardrobe challenge—I mean, the destination was San Diego in the spring—you can imagine...

The Bridgeport Community Church and its landscaping is so compelling to me that I shot it at two different angles, which I will share with you here.

Isn't this the most existential-looking church?

It's trying very hard in a hard land

We walked around the nearby Travertine Hot Springs but didn't partake. It's not a nude hot spring but that didn't stop the old sunburned guy wearing (only) a cowboy hat who was sitting on the edge of one of the tiny springs (there's three), apologizing for being nude while showing off his nudity. I told him I was a California native, so I could handle his nakedness. But Jackson kept muttering, "no way" as we weighed the pros and cons of the situation. There were two other small springs but they were pretty crowded. Another time.

The view from the springs (looking away from old naked cowboy-hat guy)

We headed down the 3-mile rattly bumpy rutted dirt road to Bodie State Historic Park for our second visit in two years and hiked a little higher up above town and over by the closed mine this time around. Most of my latest photos aren't that interesting, but here's the view from inside the schoolhouse once again, just to show that nothing changes in Bodie throughout the years—the layer of dust just thickens.

As we roamed around the dirt roads of the abandoned mining town, former home of working men and women, criminals, drunks, merchants, pimps and the occasional family unit, we came across this slightly well-appointed (for Bodie) home. A couple of the houses out of the 200 decaying buildings have curtains covering their windows and suspiciously sturdy steps leading up to their building-code compliant porches. Is this where the park ranger lives? we wondered as we studied the vintage junk left in the yard, oh so historically...

A quick inspection around the grounds revealed a satellite dish hidden behind a sturdy shed built from weathered reclaimed wood. And a discreet garbage bin, also hidden behind an old junky-looking structure. There was an outhouse too, but it was long abandoned, thankfully. I'm glad the rangers have some indoor plumbing going on (I'm assuming).

Sorry, rangers, if it was a little creepy for us to be stalking your home. We were just curious about where park workers function when the park shuts down for the night. We joked about calling the homeowners association to get this yard cleaned up. Chimneys look compliant though, so that's good.

Just look at this mess (also a little snow visible—temperature was in the low 40s)

Refreshed, we stopped by the Mono Lake Visitor's Center, which is a great educational resource to learn about the geology and natural history of this uncanny waterway. If you're looking to experience the incredible tufa formations, head to the State Natural Reserve, off of 395, south of Lee Vining. The Mono Lake Committee Information Center in downtown (heh) Lee Vining is also worth a visit. You could make a study of Mono Lake many times over and still learn something new the next time you visit.

The lake's water level is definitely dangerously low this year due to the drought. Los Angeles has agreed to allow more freshwater springs to flow into the lake to balance out its heavy alkaline levels. Los Angeles and Eastern Sierras water rights is an ongoing power/environmental/population struggle in California's timeline. See Roman Polanski's Chinatown for an artist's take on that story. Here's the Wikipedia entry on this never-ending struggle for water here in the west. 

A quick stop at teeny-tiny Lee Vining to visit the Upside-Down House. What's that, you ask? Why, it's a house, turned upside down! Let's read the plaque:

Ha ha! The plaque's upside down too (of course)! I could turn it right-side up in Photoshop, but it's more fun this way. Here's the gist:

A distinctive local landmark and nationally renowned tourist attraction. It was the creation of Nellie Bly O'Bryan (1893 - 1984), visionary, entrepreneur and long-time resident of the Mono Basin. [She was also a silent-film actress who worked with Charlie Chaplin, Clark Gable and Greta Garbo - ed.] Originally located along US-395, North of the Tioga Lodge, it was inspired by two children's stories—"Upside Down Land" and "The Upsidedownians." [The second book sounds good - ed.] ... Although it's (sic) tenure as Mono County's first "man-made" tourist attraction was brief (1956 to 1968), it made a lasting contribution to the promotion and development of the Eastern Sierra.

Here it is, the Eastern Sierras' first tourist attraction, The Upside-Down House:

The Upside-Down House could use some skylights (floorlights...?). It's very difficult to see all the upside-down stuff inside when you peek in its tiny window. Here's my attempt—pretty dark and spooky for an attraction based on children's literature. Still, I get a hint of charm in the decor.

There's even an upside-down potted plant, for some nice upside-down fung shui.


Onward! A quick stop at the June Lake Loop for this lovely view of June Lake.

The view from State Route 158

Long car rides and a couple nights on hard motel beds gave us a hankerin' for a swim and a soak at Keough Hot Springs, just down the road from Bishop. With its warm mineral-water splashing swimmers from its ancient plumbing, this family-owned resort, though crumbling in a modern-ruin kind of way, may be the happiest place on earth. If it can just hold on for another hundred years, I'll know there's some good in this world.

Then on to that fabulous portal to Mt. Whitney, the highest mountain in the continental U.S. (not that we were going hiking up there—it's more than 14,000 feet tall—Jesus), Lone Pine. Here's downtown Lone Pine.

Who needs some moccasins?

Home of Margie's Merry-Go-Round

What's there to do in Lone Pine? Plenty, my friend. First, have a fine breakfast at the Alabama Hills Cafe. It's over there by the laundromat and full of nice people and good affordable grub.

After your delicious huevos rancheros, why not take a leisurely drive around the Alabama Hills? Stupidly named, but well-worth the short drive out of town. This is where so many western and sci-fi films were shot over the years, you'll think you see some gunslingers or lizard people come sweeping from 'round about that strange outcropping of rocks ov'r t'ere.

My photos don't do it justice—we did a quick drive and popped out of the car only a few times. A camera with a big fat lens to handle all the reflective sunlight is a must. The reddish-orangeish rock formations are so bizarre and near-cartoonish that your brain won't know what to make of what you're seeing all around you. And the Sierras loom in the background—the perfect backdrop for crazy wild-west adventures.

The rain from two nights before brought out these wildflowers

A delightful horsie lives on this ranch and neighed at us as we drove by

Don't forget to pack your golf clubs to try out the range at the Mt. Whitney Course, established 1959.

Golf is hard, but you know what's even harder? That's right, Death Valley. Keith wanted to revisit the biggest national park in the continental U.S. (damn you, Alaska with your even larger national parks!), to see one of its wonders that we missed last time: Darwin Falls. Falls, in Death Valley?!?! It's true, folks. Death Valley, the lowest, meanest, driest, hottest place on Earth (pretty much, give or take a few other worldwide desert regions), has a waterfall.

But first you have to drive through the park a bit to get to it. Here's what you see as you drive along Highway 190:

Father Crowley Vista - bleak but majestic too

The incredibly resilient flowering plants that appear after scarce rainfall

Daisy-like flowers survive against all odds

And then, here's more testimony to Keith's travel smarts (and all-around smarts, in general). Reading multiple sites and guidebooks for weeks on end paid off, because he knew to check our mileage from main highway junctions to find crucial and very obscure turn-offs in order to locate some of this stuff. The signage for the (dirt) road that leads to the 2-mile round-trip hike to the falls is a dirt-colored sign, a few feet off the ground, and it's not on the highway itself. Plus it looks like a homemade sign that someone scribbled in haste on their way out to grab some brewskies after a day of hiking (see nearby Panamint Springs Resort for those brewskies, and ice cream, etc.)

So travelers: heed your mileage. We were having a nice conversation in the car when Keith thought to look at the odometer and see if we were forty miles or so from our initial checkpoint. We were, so he yelled, "I think we were supposed to turn THERE!" I had already missed this barely visible turnoff, so I backed up on the highway for an eighth of a mile (hey, it's Death Valley—make your own rules), and we were off, down a twisty bumpy dusty dirt path toward a lot full of cars.

And this canyon:

Falls? What falls? I don't see any falls...

We trundled along (now wearing shorts and T-shirts—winter gear stashed away for good), noticing more greenery as we delved deeper into the canyon.

Until, finally—a stream! The recent storm made for a good little rush of water for the rest of the hike.

We hippity-hopped over some bends in the stream and climbed a few boulders near the end of the hike, until we reached it—Darwin Falls.

Here's a portrait view to show a bit of scale—not a towering behemoth of a fall by any means, but relative to where we were, pretty damn impressive. 

There's a super-long, leaky, ancient pipeline along the entire canyon hike, perhaps bringing much-need water to the nearby settlement of Darwin (population: 36). I think the more we visit Death Valley, the more we agree: it's a freaky place, on many levels.


After Death Valley, we made a pilgrimage to the Trona Pinnacles. The what? That's what I said. Keith said we should go, so we went, down yet another bumpy, dusty, twister, rutted dirt road to this:

It's a former lake bed that dried up completely 10,000 years ago, revealing 500 tufa. It's otherworldly yet of this world. If you're coming from Death Valley to Trona Pinnacles, you'll be heading through Trona, a dry lake-bed mining town (a different dry lake bed, full of minerals). Stop at Trails Drive In for your burgers, shakes and fries before visiting the Pinnacles. I had a strawberry shake with fresh strawberries and it was SO GOOD.


And on to San Diego. I love San Diego. Love, love, love San Diego. I love my family. I want my family to all go to San Diego to meet up again.

Downtown, San Diego, looking good

Jackson and his cousins Paris and Fayme with Aunt Kamber at Old Town schoolhouse

Balboa Park

Mission Beach

Cousins, Megan and Matt with their mom, my Aunt Linda (I just call her Linda)

My Mom & Dad with my cousin Marianne and three of her kids, Allie, Kristen and Sean (Kimmie's not in the photo, but she, like her cool siblings, was very present)

Farewell, Uncle Larry—you were here in spirit.

Larry's daugthers, Jo and Molly with Uncle Tom, their brother Mike, our friend, Father Dave and my Dad

My Dad with his arm around his youngest brother, Tom

I had never been to a military service. We first attended a church service, presided over by our family friend, Father Dave, and after the reception we headed out to the cemetery for a gun salute and flag-folding ceremony. It was quite moving. The young soldiers in formation, especially during their slow-motion march, are walking symbols of giving up individuality for the good of the whole.

Warrior culture is very cut off from day-to-day life in our Bay Area burg, but in San Diego, it's a huge part of city culture and industry. My Uncle didn't talk about his service much but it must have deeply affected him (I know he traveled far for the first time after he was drafted and joined the Marines) for him to request this kind of send-off. For such a kind, gentle guy, it was a dignified and very proper way to go. And beautiful and dramatic. Perfect.

I made a short video of the salute. Hat's off to these young soldiers.