Vacation 2012: Blazing up the PCH

Well, here it is three weeks later and of course I've long since concluded my vacation and have returned home to...my life. Yeech! Seems like I need to go on a permanent vacation. Riding busses and planes, thinking little sarcastic things about places and people, writing them down in my blog, and taking pictures of them. How much would something like that pay? Nothing? Oh, ok. Good. Back to the lawyer thing.

But not without wrapping up Vacation 2012. This post-the road to San Francisco. The concluding post-San Francisco.

But before going to San Francisco, I spent the day driving up from Monterey. It started out really cloudy, but cleared up around "Freedom, California." Ugh. Is that a thing? What kind of name is that? Smug much? North of Monterey, Route 1 becomes a full fledged freeway, rather than the winding two lane road south of Monterey and north of San Francisco. And just out of Monterey, it goes through an industrial and agricultural with a horrid smell pretty much like dead fish. In other words, its still prettier than Channelview. But after you get past that area the forest picks up, the fog burns off and it becomes lovely.

My first stop was Santa Cruz. I expected Santa Cruz would be this fun, eclectic seaside town. Which totally would have been true if your idea of fun is scoring a dime bag before lunch and rummaging through trash cans. The good part of Santa Cruz is like Larry Sellers' neighborhood in the Big Lebowski. Every house has a pit bull and an El Camino up on blocks. Its "known" in some respects for the Santa Cruz Boardwalk, a huge beachside structure with a bunch of arcade games. Calling this trashy really doesn't capture the spirit of the thing. I saw some chick and a couple of street dudes negotiating a pot buy just outside the Boardwalk. Various crack motels line the main oceanside drag. Not exactly like the Monopoly Boardwalk. [Sidebar: I want to create an updated version of Monopoly. Call it something like "Mortgage Banking." The object is to bankrupt the Western Economy by making and selling risky mortgage loans. You could pull cards like "IRS Audit" or "Federal Reserve adopts new rules, You Lose $500 million." Game tokens could be like the symbols of all the big banks. I guess there may be some copyright issues.] There's some sort of big "Pier" jutting out into the sea that seemed to draw a bunch of visitors, but I assumed it was just more crackheads and Tyler Junior College alumni and blew it off.

So after driving around a little bit, I quickly decided to stop risking getting carjacked, and instead to check out the University of California-Santa Cruz campus. I'd long heard the campus was really interesting. That hardly describes it. As much as the town of Santa Cruz sucks, the campus was incredible. Its in hills overlooking the town and the ocean. While most college campuses involve a bunch of buildings all plopped down next to one another in a defined spot (except Florida, which could be its own city), the designers seem to have tucked away the few buildings into a huge natural environment. Campus contains vast swaths of undeveloped land. The designers created several building clusters, spread throughout the area, and each building seems inserted into the natural land. Thickly forested corridors separate all the buildings, and students can walk between buildings on scenic gravel trails running through these wooded paths. Its hard to describe the buildings. They struck me as kind of minimalist, without the usual college Gothic or Greek architecture. Lots of box and glass-like structures like those presently decimating Travis Heights. This place is like going to school in the Shire. UC-Santa Cruz also houses the Grateful Dead Archive. Good to know that the kind of music I like qualifies for archival status. Next to the Gregorian Chants and Ragtime ditties, I guess. Who knew those guys were sober enough to think about saving anything to put in an archive? But sure enough, there's lots of photos, documents, and artifacts going all the way back to 1965. The library displays a very tiny bit in a large room on the first floor. Seems like they could expand that into more of a tourist draw or campus attraction. But based on the look of these students, I think they're more concerned with keeping outsiders out than making a buck off them (UT style). Wow. LSU or Ole Miss this is not. These kids look like Abercrombie and Fitch models. Only, exactly the opposite. Rice students look at these kids and think "damn those are some ugly kids." Only, they'd say it all cryptically to where no one could understand, like "the student body exhibits diverse yet scholarly physical characteristics." No frat houses here either. Guess those guys have to go down to the Boardwalk to get their closeted freak on. Buttchugging? Nope, no Pikes around here. Go Banana Slugs!

After leaving Santa Cruz, I barrelled the Red Shark up the freeway toward my next objective, Half Moon Bay. For reasons that seem inexplicable now, I had the expectation that Half Moon Bay was a secret little oasis of delight just south of San Francisco. A Ritz Carlton resort sits right on the bay shore, for example. Though I got close enough to see it, I never found a parking spot so I couldn't walk around and explore. It looked nice but having been to Pebble Beach the day before, it seemed kind of like Camp North Star by comparison. (If you got that reference by the way, you're my new best friend. Enjoy.). Otherwise, Half Moon Bay doesn't have a lot going on. Or else I missed it. There's a little main drag with the usual quaint shops and pretentious local restaurants, and a kind of interesting local grocery store. But I sure didn't come all this way on vacation to see a place that pales in comparison to Fredericksburg, so I quit the town and made the final push toward Gomorrah.

Along the way, the PCH resumed its former two-lane, winding character, rolling through intermittent fog and beachside state parks. Of note, I passed the Point Montara Lighthouse, visible through some thick fog. There's a youth hostel on premises, which I assume means there've been several mass murder incidents through the years. Eager to make San Francisco before nightfall, I sped on.

Next-San Francisco.

Presidential Debate Prediction

Just wanted to do a quick hitter before finishing up the Vacation Saga.

Let me save you a couple of hours and tell you how the Debate is going to play out.

Questions to Romney will be of the nature of "a panel of experts from Stanford University sent us this six-part question concerning your fiscal and monetary policy...."

Questions to Obama will resemble: "how did you get to be so totally awesome?"

Neither candidate will actually answer any question, but instead will just give a pre-scripted answer about the general issue the question raises.

For example:

Q.: "You have stated you would repeal the health care legislation. What would you enact in its place?"

A: "I think all Americans should have affordable health care and that is why I have proposed a 15 part plan that would provide Americans with greater health care for lower cost, with lower taxes and higher benefits."

Q: "But, Governor, what is the plan?"

A: "Yes, it has 15 parts. My opponent wants to bankrupt small businesses."

Very illuminating.

Afterwards, each campaign's talking heads will bleat prepared remarks about how their candidate was "more Presidential" and "clearly demonstrated command of the issues." Each will lament about how the other seemed dazed and unable to grasp basic facts about either (a) government, (b) economics, or (c) the American People.

Then, the major news organizations will lead with focusing on the Major Romney Gaffe, speculate on whether the Romney campaign can possibly recover from the MRG, and the last sentence will mention how, oh yeah, Obama said something about nationalizing the oil and gas industry. "Obama is the only candidate to advance such specific, forward-looking policy proposals."

While the Drudge Report will run a story about how Obama cheated on his SAT.

Yikes.

This is why I'm going to watch Hamlet tonight. By which I mean, The Big Lebowski (TMC-Direct ch. 554). "I mean, say what you like about the tenets of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos."

Vacation 2012: Down In Monterey

Young gods smiled upon the crowd
Their music being born of love
Children danced night and day
Religion was being born
Down in Monterey

 --Eric Burdon and the Animals, "Monterey"

That song was about the 1967 "Monterey International Pop Festival," which the movie Monterey Pop later immortalized. Insufferable much? You can accuse today's "pop stars" of a lot, but not even Justin Bieber thinks his "music" represents some newborn religion. The Baby Boomers didn't become self-obsessed and develop grandiose egos once they started making money. They were always that way. All that Dr. Spock crap about telling your little child he's the most important and wonderful and special little child in the whole wide world, and the "participation ribbon" syndrome, gets you a generation where Presidents nail their interns, business people (like bankers and energy traders) treat laws like they were used kleenex (then who rail against "petty crime"), politicians (and their sycophants) think that "truth" is anything that happens to escape their mouth at any given time, and athletes violate controlled substances laws like they were in the Zeta Cartel of human growth hormone. And people who take trips and incessantly post to their blog about them like they were Columbus finding new worlds.

And it all got off to a great start down in Monterey.

OK, rant concluded.

But that's probably Monterey's most famous connection. Well, that and John Steinbeck's Cannery Row. Which is one of those novels you were supposed to read your junior year english class, but just read the Cliff's notes instead because Joey Halvorson was throwing this wicked cool party on Friday after the game, and you were totally hung over the whole weekend. Its about canning fish or the American Dream or man's struggle against inhumanity or something like that.

Next stop on the Vacation Tour: Monterey. The hippies and sardine canneries have long gone, and in their place, tourists! And the Army, in a simple twist of fate. Since leaving Yosemite, I’ve been in Monterey, on the central California coast. I left Yosemite Monday morning and drove about five hours to get here, going through several vastly different types of country. Not long after leaving the park, the land turns into hilly scrub and the elevation lowers significantly the further from Yosemite one goes. Eventually, the land turns into flat desert, which these people call an agricultural valley. It’s a “valley” only because they divert billions of gallons of water to irrigate the dirt, growing all kinds of produce, nuts, and fruits. Every now and then I would pass a huge irrigation canal, and several large man made reservoirs. The few towns don’t resemble California at all. People have put up Romney signs and various other patriotic displays, all along the roads. There’s little evident wealth, but like many Texas towns, one can easily find a Mexican restaurant or place to purchase hay or fruit. And its incredibly hot, although dry so its not quite so unbearable. When I left Yosemite, at roughly 5,000 feet, it was around 70 degrees. Within about an hour, it was a little higher than 90 in Merced (at under 2,000 feet). I ate lunch there at a place called the BBQ Pig, where everyone seemed happy and…normal…no Californians here. It’s the kind of town where the high school kids go to Chili’s for prom. After a few hours, the rolling hills resume, which get higher and higher, with more trees and vegetation as the elevation picks up. Clouds and fog begin rolling in from the coast and it dropped from 92 to 62 degrees in just a few minutes.

 About 30 minutes later I arrived in Monterey and began freezing. Monterey is located on the Monterey Peninsula (shocking, I know), which juts out into the Pacific south of San Francisco. Monterey Bay previously boasted a prime fish stock, which spawned a widescale fish canning industry. After the industry just about destroyed the local stock (through overfishing), the state and Feds made Monterey Bay a protected marine reserve and the sea environment came back. Monterey features a world renowned aquarium and several other research institutions.  Monterey was also the first capital of California, when it was a Spanish possession, and the city managed to preserve many of that era’s buildings near the wharf. The Army’s Defense Language Institute is located at the Presidio of Monterey. Otherwise, Monterey relies on tourism for jobs. I stayed in a hotel by the “Fisherman’s Wharf,” the oldest concrete wharf in the Bay, which now consists of tourist restaurants and souvenir shops overlooking a commercial marina. There’s a really attractive trail (the Pacific Coast Trail) that runs right along the water for several miles, where I ran a couple of times.

 

Tuesday, I ran half an hour on the trail. Seals were lounging in the water all along the trail, barking incessantly. After finishing, I ate breakfast at the hotel, where the world’s happiest omelet chef works.  I’ve never encountered anyone so thrilled to serve breakfast (or so jazzed about the buffet’s local strawberry and chocolate scones offerings…really, someone needed to slap her out of it).  Some pear shaped guy ordered an omelet, making a big deal to instruct said chef to make it with “all vegetables” and “no oil or cheese,” then he walked over and loaded up his plate with pork sausage. True story. I walked from my hotel to the Aquarium, through the old “Cannery Row.” The latter is one of those streets that every tourist town promotes, with hotels, bars, restaurants, t-shirt shops, and other stuff you’d never think of frequenting except when you’re on vacation. Like, the Ghiradelli Store. Or Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, which had a line outside at 11:30 waiting to get in, when nearly every other restaurant was empty. These people must wait in line at home to go to Olive Garden. Or Applebee’s. Or Golden Corral. Or any of the other real gourmet dining establishment chains. Cannery Row does, however, preserve some of the old canning buildings, giving the street enough local charm to justify its extensive promotion.

The Aquarium operates within one of those buildings. Its one of the world’s largest. Star Trek IV, the awful one with the whales and time travel, used it to represent the institute where they nabbed some whales to bring back in time to communicate with the invading aliens (you see why the movie was so awful?). I hate superlatives, but this place is phenomenal. It features a huge variety of marine life, and easy to read, informative explanations help enhance the displays. Part is outdoors, but most is located inside the building. It takes about three hours to work through the place, including one marine biologist’s live presentation. The exhibitions run the gamut from sharks to the tiniest jellyfish imaginable. I didn’t see any whales though. Or dolphins. But I’ve already swam with a dolphin so no big deal. So much for Hollywood accuracy. Its appalling. If you can’t trust movie producers, who can you trust?

Later that afternoon and the next day, I saw several groups of soldiers running on the trail in formation. The trail provides a great running location. Probably not one of the best I’ve ever found, but really good. What makes a good running trail? Well, many factors. Surface (gravel vs. concrete), width, scenery, elevation, hills, babeage (err, “people watching”), climate. My top 5 trails: Central Park (both at the Reservoir and throughout), Lady Bird Lake (Austin), Burke Gilman (Seattle), Golden Gate Park (San Francisco), and Lakefront Trail (Chicago). Houston’s Memorial Park trail doesn’t make the list. Too humid for most of the year, and after the drought a few years ago, so many trees have died and been removed that its no longer very shady. After the Aquarium I had thoughts of driving up to Santa Cruz, but instead stumbled upon a really interesting farmer’s market on the main street downtown, so I walked around there instead. Not only did it feature the usual fruit and produce, there were several flower, jewelry, and various other vendors, as well as low-scale food trucks of all kinds. Several musicians were playing, and the place was packed. Hey, white folks love their farmer’s markets, right? I bought a jar of spiced pecans. Chalk it up to vacation craziness; La Dolce Vita.

 That night I ate dinner at Schooner’s Restaurant, located within the Monterey Plaza Hotel right on the water. I ate outside at a table next to one of those fire columns (something about those things strikes me as extremely hazardous, but whatever), with a view of the bay and the lights of Santa Cruz in the distance. I could also see the Monterey lighthouse beam as well. They served an exceptional dinner: cioppino using locally sourced fish and shellfish. It would have been a great date place, then again, I’m not a cheap date so if I’m going to take myself somewhere, it better be classy.

The next day I took the Mustang for a spin. But first I went on a longer run, all the way past the Aquarium into the neighboring town of Pacific Grove. The Grove seemed much nicer and less touristy than Monterey proper. Less trashy. Ocean Drive, then Scenic Drive, run along the water, and tacky tourist spots didn’t mar the bay views. No Fisherman’s Wharf.

After breakfast, I headed to 17 Mile Drive. The Del Monte company developed the Pebble Beach area, with golf courses, homes, and the Pebble Beach and Spanish Bay clubs. This includes 17 Mile Drive, a publicly accessible scenic route that winds past numerous sites through the development. Monterey Cypress grew all throughout the area, including the “Lone Cypress,” the Pebble Beach Company’s trademark. I had lunch at the Lodge at Pebble Beach, feeling like Danny Noonin out of place at the country club. Just suppose I never saw myself hanging around the same place that displays the U.S. Open Championship trophy. The public can’t get on the golf course, but you can see parts of it from the road and it appears every bit as beautiful as on television. On the other hand, the homes don’t exactly measure up to what you might expect. No doubt they cost millions, but most weren’t the sort of Buckingham Palace affairs I expected. In fact, most were surprisingly modest, almost like something you could see in parts of the Woodlands or Kingwood. Where’s the fun of that? No doubt their owners ran out of money after buying the lot. From there I went down the Pacific Coast Highway to Carmel. Yeah, the place where Clint Eastwood was Mayor. It’s a nice little community right on the water. Mostly it’s a bunch of upper class families whose kids play soccer and worry about getting in to Stanford, or Princeton, or places of similar ilk, and "crime" consists of badmouthing your neighbor's recent cocktail party. They have a huge, well maintained beach, and the downtown area has a “boutique district.” I noticed a lot of the stores were closing or vacant, and many homes were for sale. I guess recession eventually reaches everyone. The place had a great natural “tree” aroma; I can’t think of any better way to explain it. Similar to the pinon aroma that permeates Santa Fe, only it’s the cypress trees. I arrived at Big Sur around 5:30 so I didn’t get to spend much time. I wasn’t clear what Big Sur was; turns out it’s a series of smallish state parks all in a large natural preserve that runs throughout the Santa Lucia Mountains. There’s many forested heights all around and Highway 1 links them on the west side. Big Sur is a very attractive area but time had run out, so I couldn't do anything by the time I arrived, which was just fine because I don't think I could have hiked much anyway.

So I turned the red shark Mustang back north, and headed up the PCH back to Monterey into the night.

Next-on to San Francisco!

Vacation 2012: Hiking in the Yosemite

 









I have to make this brief because I'm traveling tomorrow so I'm packing tonight. That means doing laundry, because I hate packing dirty clothes. They give the remaining clothes that next day spilled beer smell. I need to bring a personal staff on the road.

Oh, and its back to the normal, "everything is horrible" style you've come to know and love.

So, let's get on to the never-ending Yosemite hiking saga.

Yesterday I hiked to the North Dome, which provides incredible Valley views as well as views of Half Dome and Clouds Rest. It took around six hours, 45 minutes of which I spend at the top marveling at the absolutely sublime scenery. North Dome, as the name implies, lies on the valley's north side, just across the Merced River from Half Dome. The hike mostly runs through the same kind of forest I've been seeing for nearly a week now, until the woods clear near the Dome. You have to hike another half hour or so once the Dome comes within sight, with the trail leading down another higher granite point to reach the Dome itself. The last part of the trail leading to the Dome is quite steep. I saw an elderly woman returning back up that grade, and she didn't look like she was doing so well. But she was with two other somewhat younger friends; the youngest of whom made it a point to tell me about her getting together with her "girlfriends" from Mammoth Lakes, while she was from Santa Barbara and the altitude was killing her at which point in the story I lost consciousness (at what age do you go from being a "girlfriend" to "Old Lady [insert name here]? Probably the same age at which men stop having a"girlfriend" and start having a "special friend"). And while we're at it, how exactly have I been giving off the "please tell me your life story in slow, vivid detail" vibe? Cause that seems to be happening more and more and it needs to come to a screeching, airbag-deploying halt. Getting back to the original point, its really not possible to convey the enormity of the sights one finds at North Dome. Not even the tons of photos I took really can do it justice.

This hike wasn't quite as bad as the day before, going to Taft Point, which ran nearly straight up for almost three hours. Today's hike had a fairly even number of hills and downhills, until you reach the Dome itself. The top was 7,525 feet in elevation, and the hike started at 6,000 feet. I met a guy at the trailhead parking lot who was finishing as I arrived. He said it only took him three hours round trip. Jerk. It took me twice that long. I started around the same time as this weird group of twenty-something kids, probably closer to 20 than 29. They all resembled former high school Science Fair winners who also had minor roles in the Drama Club trying to meet more people. Minor roles. Like "second butler."  Nearly every one was wearing glasses (hey, losers, its 2012, get some lasik). This one stork-looking dude wore extremely tight, short biker pants and vibram footsies (or whatever they are), which made for a very unfortunate sight. His Blossom-looking girlfriend likewise wore the same. Basically it was like being with the Big Bang Theory cast. With similar-looking nerd girlfriends. I don't think it was some kind of live action role playing deal; they did seem like characters, but there wasn't a script as they kept talking about the things around them. One of them, who seemed like their leader, did seem like he had some modicum of swag. [Sidebar: I intend to incorporate the term "swag" into my speech patterns for the next few weeks, so the kids will think I'm cool. But not "bro"; "bro" is dead to me]. Or at least, he would have had something if he weren't wearing a painter's hat. They would hike for awhile, each one no doubt secretly wishing they were the Fellowship of the Ring, then stop, then restart, the whole time. This meant I was passing them, and they were passing me, and I was passing them, the whole time. This odd procession sort of resembled all those freaks in the "I Am the Walrus" scene in the Magical Mystery Tour. Whatever, hope they enjoyed the trip back to Cal Tech (what up, Terry?). Anyway, the Dome itself resembled Enchanted Rock. Just a huge granite outcropping, albeit white rather than pink. The top was very windy, making it imperative to stay a healthy distance from the edge. And to tighten my irreplaceable sweat stained "Texas Football" hiking hat.  Along the way back I detoured slightly to see the "Indian Rock," Yosemite's only natural arch. It didn't resemble the arches in Arches National Park, or in Roadrunner cartoons, though it did kind of look like the arch/time portal in that Star Trek episode where Kirk got together with peacenik Joan Collins. You know, where McCoy went temporarily insane and beamed down to the Planet of the Week, where everyone had gone back in time through this arch looking device, so Kirk and Spock went after him and met up with pre-Dynasty Joan Collins who ran a soup kitchen and campaigned against wars. Basically Jean Simmons' character in Guys and Dolls, but with more time travel and less Brando. Kirk spends well over 20 minutes seducing Joan, who made a valiant effort resisting the Captain (this is about 15 minutes longer than it usually takes him; really only the Fonz worked faster, on network TV at least), but its time well spent because we get to see Spock building a TV set from his tricorder, and watching TV even though they had gone to a time before there were any TV broadcasts. Sadly, Joan was nowhere near my arch.

[Yes, I realize the irony of calling a bunch of other people losers, while in the same paragraph providing a finely detailed summary of a Star Trek episode. I meant to do that.]

Today (well, now its yesterday) I intended to take a lower-intensity hike, consisting of the full, yet relatively flat, 13 mile Valley loop trail. This trail shows you everything along the Valley floor. It didn't disappoint from that perspective. The hike, which appears to follow some old roads leading in to the Valley, runs alongside all the famous Yosemite Valley features, offering extremely close up views: El Capitan, Cathedral Rocks, Cathedral Spires, Bridalveil Falls, Sentinel Dome, Taft Point. It also tracks the Merced River, which essentially runs right down the middle of the Valley. The River's cold, clear green water, flowing very gently over smooth river rock, made for some really nice views as well. Unfortunately, the river and various little tributary creeks leading from several falls to the river also attracted a lot of late summer flies bent on having me for lunch. They weren't too persistent or difficult though; everyone who grew up on the Gulf Coast has suffered a lot worse during mosquito season. Which basically is year round. Thanks new Houston mayor whose name I forget that decided to stop spraying mosquitoes so she could fund some other totally useless project that pleases her special interest buddies' agenda. Thanks for turning Houston into West Nile, Texas. Here, however, the flies kind of hover around and irritate you but don't seem to bite. The trees near the river banks were also quite attractive, including thick numbers of both mature and younger maples, whose leaves have yet to turn. What didn't work, however, was my right foot. Six days of constant hiking pretty much did in my little toe (you know, the piggy that went home, or to market, I guess it depends on which one you start with), and the thing has swelled up like a Vienna Sausage gone bad (err, "worse"). You wouldn't think your little toe could cause that much pain. Witness the Nihilists' girlfriend in the Big Lebowski who (spoiler alert) gives her little toe for the cause. But little toe pain can get pretty bad. The little toe, after all, forms the crucial bulwark of the outer "toe perimeter," or something, so jamming it inside relatively inflexible hiking boots all week tends to take its toll. So I was pretty much hobbling during most of the time like someone had shot my foot. Or it fell asleep while I was sitting at my desk. This made it a little difficult to appreciate all the amazing scenery. Go figure. I shut it down after about nine miles. Despite the thick crowds in the Village and at other bus stop sites, I didn't see more than 10 people on the entire trail the whole afternoon.

Tonight, for the first time since I arrived, I had a chance to enjoy the clear night sky. The moon has been rising steadily later each night, and tonight the moon didn't appear until quite late. Even with the lights around the Lodge, the sky was thick with stars. Even the Milky Way came out. That was a rare treat for someone who lives in the middle of a city.

OK, I think that about does it for Yosemite. Truly its God's Studio. The sights here simply marvel and amaze. You may go places that boast one thing more beautiful than something here, but I can't recall any place where almost every turn reveals unsurpassed natural beauty like Yosemite. Well, except Pasadena, of course. Nothing could be keener than to be in Pasadena.

Next-on to Monterey, California and the California Coast.

Vacation 2012: Happy Talking Fun Yosemite Trip

 

[ed. note. Looking back at the last couple of posts, I've described my trip somewhat negatively. Once again. People have...noticed. Well, that's just stinkin' thinkin', no fun to read, and doesn't exhibit the true vacation spirit. So today's post will reflect a Kenneth Parcells style: happy, fun, fluffy kitties, Easter eggs, and surprise chocolate all wrapped up in one. Happy Talk...talk about things you like to do....]

Well yesterday and today were just two more super fabulous fun days in one of the most beautiful places anywhere. Another opportunity to enjoy time with fine people from all over the world who've come here, to this special place, to commune with nature and together strengthen humanity. I've been just dying to tell you all about the totally awesome fine time I've had recently. It would only have been better if I could have taken all of you with me and we could have been together the whole time having laughs and singing songs as we walk along the trails.

Yesterday, after taking lots of pictures at "Tunnel View," I hiked to "Inspiration Point" and "Stanford Point." All these spots provide postcard-quality views of the Yosemite Valley, including such landmarks as El Capitan, Half Dome, Mount Hoffman, Bridalveil Falls, and the Valley floor. That's one of the two photos above. Even better, cars and tour buses can easily access the Tunnel View, located right next to a tunnel on Highway 41. So I was blessed with the chance to share this incredible experience with dozens of happy, excited tourists from all over the world. They spoke different languages, smoked a wide variety of cigarettes, and walked around all over the place taking pictures of everything as their little children shrieked and exclaimed with childhood exuberance. Many of them honored me by asking me to use their own cameras to take their pictures, which I totally didn't mind at all because even though I was trying to start my hike, the day is always long enough to make new friends and send people along their way with a special little "hey you, I hope you have a wonderful day!"

Anyway, my hike started at around 4,500 feet and took me to around 6,600 feet at the top near Stanford Point. Its basically a three hour scramble up the valley wall, going up a steep grade nearly the whole time. At first the trail runs through mixed country, with bushes and pine and fir trees, including rocks and other scrub along the ground. Later, it includes more ferns and leafy ground vegetation, with some redwoods. The richer vegetation owes to several creeks running from the top. The whole effect turns the forest Kermit the Frog green. The ascent is challenging and I was breathing pretty hard the whole way. But in a soul nourishing, commune with nature kind of way that enriches the soul and teaches respect for God and the earth, and every creature living in the forest. I had the extra special good fortune to get lost during the first five minutes, as I missed the trail marking. It took me around 20 minutes to figure out I had missed the trail, during which time I got scratched up pretty good trying to get past the bushes. But this just gave me a chance to experience scenery most people don't ever see up close, and to stay super close to the trees, the plants, and the insects that greeted a rare visitor. The guide book I had consulted rated this trail as "moderate" difficulty, which failed to capture its true character. There's even more good fortune, the happy surprise of encountering an unexpected physical challenge. Makes me stronger; helps me live longer. Stanford Point basically consists of bare escarpment jutting out over the Valley. You can see most of the Yosemite Valley, as long as you make sure not to get too close to the edge. Otherwise you see way TOO much. Oh, sorry, that was negative. Well, I won't let that happen again. Anyway, I ate lunch there, and certainly took lots of photos so that all my readers and friends can have just as much fun as I did. When I turned back it began to rain softly. The rain falling on the leafy canopy and ground plants created a really nice whooshing sound, making the risk of ruining my new camera totally worthwhile. And even more fortuitous, I didn't experience the same right foot pain that I did the day before. So it didn't hurt, that much, going back down the steep downhill grade. Overall, the hike was formidable but the views made it quite satisfying. Yet another positive, happy Yosemite vacation day.

I designated the next day, today (where I am at least), as Mellow Day. Not being 21 anymore, which is so awesome because I've had so many great experiences with totally cool people for all these years, my body needed a little time to recover and regain strength. So I slept in a little bit and had a leisurely breakfast, fortifying my positive attitude and renewing my "A-OK" vacation spirit. I noticed that people have continued coming to Yosemite, braving the hantavirus situation just like me, which makes it an even more special experience to enjoy during this particular time.

Today I visited three locations: the turn of the (last) century Wawona Hotel, the Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias, and Taft Point.

The hotel is a designated National Landmark. It resembles an old Southern hotel, with wood construction and huge two story porch along the entire building. It also has some outbuildings, including the Moore Cottage which resembles a large private home. The hotel seems to reflect an early attempt to build a "resort" within the Park borders, along with tennis courts, a nine hole golf course, an excellent dining room and full hotel staff. The grounds were very attractive, and after returning from the sequoia grove I sat in a wicker rocking chair for a few minutes jotting notes and looking through my guide book. I could have stayed even longer, which would have been consistent with Mellow Day, but the dry warm breeze and the quiet surroundings (only a few people were on the porch and they were playing cards) would have put me to sleep and I'd have missed the opportunity to see even more stupefying portions of the Park. Its like the time I went to Savannah during October, and fell asleep in the afternoon heat while sitting on one of the old town square benches. I fall asleep, sometimes. Just not at night. But that's just another relaxing way to experience fantastic surroundings.

Preceding the hotel, I toured the giant sequoia grove. Giant sequoias are the largest trees in the world, and can live to the oldest ages of any life. They grow only in the Sierras in eastern California. Yosemite features several groves, owing to a successful late 19th century struggle to preserve them from logging. The sequoias can only grow in extremely limited conditions, present only in the Sierras. They are incredibly resistant to fire, and even depend on it to help open up their seeds and drive off predators and rival trees. And they're huge; check my photos. They absolutely dwarf other trees and people. Tons of people speaking all different languages were visiting the grove. I rode a shuttle bus from the hotel, with one extended Spanish family with lots of kids acting boisterously. Those kids were so overcome with excitement to see big trees. And it was great that their parents didn't try to rein in their youthful joy and stunt their emotional development by urging them to keep still and stay quiet, not even when the bus driver was making announcements about the grove and return arrangements. I had absolutely no desire to reach for my death ray gun and start shooting. I stayed about an hour and a half, wandering about the grove and enjoying the sequoias' dominating presence. During the walk, a large branch came crashing down right next to the trail, scaring a nearby woman to the point of causing her to scream about as loudly as the actual crash that provoked it. But how fortunate that she, and everyone else nearby, could experience this wonderful natural reality firsthand.

From there I went to the hotel, then to Taft Point. This is across the valley from El Capitan, also extending out into the valley. The Point is located on the Glacier Point road, about half an hour from Wawona and at a much greater elevation. The temperature dropped about 10 degrees. It was still hot but much more bearable. Not that it was unpleasant or uncomfortable before, of course, because any temperature is great in Yosemite. The trail leading to Taft Point runs for about a mile, easily reached within half an hour. It also has a number of interesting rock fissures, resulting from natural weathering.  Taft Point also has incredible views, again as shown in my photos.

So today was a rewarding, happy, fun, and positive experience that in no way was anything less than totally amazing.

Tomorrow: North Dome. Not "Notre Dame."

Vacation 2012: "But We Are Old"

During the last couple of days I've made my way through DQ Country to Yosemite and spent a couple of days here, taking some arduous hikes. Here's how it happened.

Labor Day became Travel Day. It took around six hours door to door to get to the Yosemite Lodge. Kimberly and I first had breakfast at Fat Apples, where we had lunch on Saturday. After doing some wash and saying our goodbyes, I headed east. My hoped for idyllic top down drive all the way to Yosemite survived only for a couple of hours though, as 98 degree heat soon overtook me. Just outside of Oakland, it suddenly turned into Northwest Texas. Just rolling, scrubby, burned hills...the proverbial miles and miles of miles. I didn't need that, for sure. So somewhere around Tracy, CA, I put the top up. Waste of good money. Well, it'll come in handy when I get to Monterey. By the way, this place is like militia country. What the hell is going on out here that these people feel the need to live on the surface of the Sun? You'd think they were somehow involved in agriculture. But based on my stop at the local Wendy's, unless illiteracy and meth counts as agriculture, that's not what they're doing. The other Mustang I parked next to...yeah, it had a permanent Raiders emblem on both sides. 'Nuff said.

Around Oakdale, the scrub seemed to give way. Oakdale seems like a nice little American town. It has a four lane road and a Starbuck's (the internationally recognized sign of municipal prominence). Maybe Oakdale wasn't sufficiently charming to stop, but I did want to go to the House of Beef (specializing in seasoned sirloin tri-tip). As I posted earlier, a House of Beef may not be structurally sound, but it sure would be tasty.

After Oakdale, agriculture proper takes over. I passed countless orchards, irrigated fields, produce stands, and small farms. How do they grow all these plants in what is essentially a desert? They divert river water for irrigation, growing crops in land that otherwise would be lifeless dirt. Whether that makes any sense as water becomes one of the scarcest commodities I leave to you. Beyond the signs for Tulloch Lake, the elevation picks up, the heat starts to drop, and native trees make a return. Rocks litter the landscape, competing with the trees for space. Traffic flowed pretty well going east; cars leaving Yosemite bound for the coast, however, absolutely choked the one westbound lane for miles on end.

The road in to Yosemite initially goes through some heavy forest, but quickly starts to hug the side of the mountains. There's no gas stations in Yosemite Valley, where I'm staying, so I paid $5.09 for basic unleaded at the station just after the entrance. It was hard sitting down for a few hours after that, but they charge super-inflated prices for just about everything. Its like Hawaii, or New Zealand, or the Gulf Coast after a hurricane. Apparently gouging has become part of the National Parks experience. It takes forever to make it to the Valley because of the super low speed limits, winding roads, and the fact that I stopped every five minutes to take pictures. The Valley, where most people tend to visit, is situated along the Merced River, which runs between a series of huge granite cliffs. Right away you see the incredible natural beauty. A little closer in you encounter the famous El Capitan, and then the Cathedral Rocks. Still closer to the Lodge, where I'm staying, a herd of black tail deer was foraging in the meadow.

Yosemite has several lodging options, anything from the Ahwanhee Hotel, which is like a Hilton or a really nice Hyatt, to tent camps. The Lodge is analogous to a Hampton Inn, albeit with a better dining set up.  The Lodge is actually the "Lodge at Yosemite Falls," but the Falls have actually dried up (oh snap) until later in the year, as they rely on snow melt and all the snow has run off. The Falls dried up in early August. All around one can smell a strong tree scent. They've set up a shuttle bus system running throughout the Valley, taking people to all the popular locations for free. I took the shuttle over to Yosemite Village, to get some basics from the Village Store (Prisoner, anyone?).  The driver chastised me for going in the exit door (in through the out door, anyone?). On the way back, I paid my debt to society by listening to her offer her opinions on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and how the newer Johnny Depp movie wasn't nearly as good, and how she doesn't have a TV set but likes to watch DVDs, but only DVDs she can fall asleep to, and her favorite is the series Alice, because its Alice In Wonderland but the science fiction version. Anyone remember when I said the whole point of vacation was NOT to have to talk to people? I chimed in with "uh huhs" and "reallys" where appropriate. Whatever, freak.  Oh, and I was the only person on the bus after she shooed away this young couple trying to do a bunch of stuff after the buses stop running and the stores close at 10. They were incensed that things didn't stay open until midnight. In a national park. Hundreds of miles from the nearest after-hours club, yoga studios, and late night shopping. Hell the nearest Starbucks is in Oakdale and that's about two hours away. The whole point of a national park is that its not Los Angeles. Go back to West Hollywood, chatches.

The next morning I took a tour bus out to Glacier Point, towards the southern end of the Park, for what became a six and one-half hour hike back to the Valley. Glacier Point has long been one of the Park's more popular destinations. At its 7,000 foot elevation it provides fantastic views of the Valley, including Half Dome, the Vernal and Nevada Waterfalls, Mt. Hoffman, and other peaks. I took the photo above at Glacier Point. The trip there took an hour and a half, with an irritating tour bus driver wrapping somewhat interesting facts and figures around the worst jokes ever told. Which basically is the Tour Guide  profession, I suppose. I've taken exactly one tour bus where the driver's schtick didn't make me want to re-enact one of those scenes in Airplane where people are killing themselves as Stryker drones on telling his life story. That was at Edinburgh Castle in Scotland. Anyway, we passed El Capitan, Cathedral Rocks, Bridal Veil Falls, and the now dry Yosemite Falls en route.  I started hiking around 10:30, and aside from stopping about 20 minutes to brush off my new camera that I dropped in the dirt about 10 minutes in to the hike, and about a 20 minute lunch break, didn't stop until around 5:30. Mostly the hike was downhill; in fact, it had such a steep downhill grade that the last couple of hours or so I could feel my quadriceps twitching they were working so hard (sidebar-new punk or angry grrll band name: "Twitching Quadriceps"). The hike, along the Panorama and Mist Trails, runs past three waterfalls (Illilouette, Nevada, and Vernal), one river (Merced), and provides fantastic views of Half Dome and its sister "Sub Dome", and even a little (unsanctioned) swimming hole or two near the Nevada Falls. This hike boasted several highlights. I saw a green rattlesnake for the first time. Not sure exactly why it was green, but apparently it is the Mojave Green Rattlesnake, with a very small rattle. It was crawling just alongside the trail in a bush, and a woman about 30 feet ahead of me screamed bloody murder when she saw it. Other highlights included the Ahwahnee Hotel tour, led by two 20-ish year olds, one of whom went to TCU (nice job prospects there, Horned Frogs), the other of whom was a young woman who literally would not shut up about her recently broken engagement. I started from Glacier Point about the same time as them, and apparently kept the same pace. Were it not for the dropped camera, I may have had to burst my eardrums from the pain. I also enjoyed the couple who felt compelled to fight with each other, and keep the same pace as me, for about a couple of miles. Needless to say, this trail was very popular and about as populated as any trail I've ever hiked. The falls were quite spectacular. The Nevada Falls flowed into Emerald Pool, which had about the clearest Irish green water I've ever seen, and which then flowed into the Vernal Falls. Both falls were quite loud; even with my terrible hearing I could hear them all the way at the top of Glacier Point and throughout most of my hike. The Vernal Falls created a rainbow effect as they hit bottom, and threw off mist (hence the "Mist Trail") for hundreds of feet in every direction. It was a fairly warm day for Yosemite, in the upper 80s, and the place is always very dry. I ran out of water with about an hour left. Iced tea cravings kept me going to the shuttle at the hike's end.

The next day took me further north, to Tuolumne Meadows in the "High Country" to hike to Cathedral Lakes (there's two, an "Upper" and a "Lower"). I hadn't planned on the drive to the trailhead taking over an hour (thanks to road construction--hey, if we can't have late night grocery stores, we shouldn't have to deal with road construction). But it was a cool day, and the Tioga Road passed some very interesting scenery so it wasn't too painful. Of course, I prepared for this day's hike as if it were yesterday, taking far too much water, and not enough clothing. It was a good 20 degrees cooler at this higher elevation (7,000'), and towards the end of the day, near sunset, I could feel my hands becoming numb. Plus, today was cloudier, with clouds rolling in and out all day long. This hike had an elevation gain of about 1,000', meaning that it wasn't mostly downhill as was yesterday's hike. It started at the Meadows, a well known Park area boasting clear grasslands and no doubt wildflowers in spring. The Tuolumne River cuts through the Meadows, nourishing the clearing. The sight of numerous twenty-somethings in excellent shape bearing full trekking gear should have been my first clue this hike would pose a challenge. They looked like they were headed out to Milford Track in New Zealand, one of the world's greatest and most challenging hiking trails. As opposed to me, who finally figured out the reason my right boot was surprisingly tight was because that's where my lost tube of chap stick was hiding. My hike was almost straight up for about an hour, leveling off as it approached the first Lower Cathedral Lake. While the Glacier Point areas were fairly heavily forested, this area resembled northern New Mexico, only somewhat greener. The trees were scrubbier, and the whole area was chock full of rock and boulders. Right around where the trail leveled off, I got in front of three retirees, who insisted on talking loudly about their recipes and their gardens and various daily medicine routines. I couldn't quite shake them, at least not for awhile. And I left my ipod in my pack and didn't want to stop and take it out. So I had to do a LaDanian Tomlinson burst to create some distance. Or endure their waterboarding-like conversation. Approaching the lake, the trees gave way to another meadow, revealing the gorgeous Lower Cathedral Lake. A large granite expanse bordered its northern shore, accessible for hikers, while the southern side was tree-lined.  The water was deep and blue, with brown grasses covering a portion of the lake bed. I ate lunch along the shore beneath a small cedar tree, enjoying the still cool temperatures (maybe a windy, sunny upper 60s). Cathedral Peak dominated the scenery, jutting up with several spires higher than any of the surrounding peaks. After finishing lunch I headed on to Upper Cathedral Lake, which unfortunately did not seem accessible. So I kept hiking just a bit beyond and found a nice, exceptionally large meadow which opened up the space between three high peaks and the lake. Returning, I ran across another asian family (actually, by this time, they ran me down) looking for their son, with whom they were supposed to rendezvous at "Cathedral Lake." They had the wrong lake. They didn't quite speak english. I tried telling the father about the other lake, and how to get there. I asked if his son was young, and he said "he is 21, but we are old!" I guess, meaning that he and his wife were getting pretty tired. The guy looked younger than me, by the way, so that's good to know. The trail was also the John Muir Trail, doubling as a horse trail, and I saw several horses being moved. Horses had fertilized the whole trail, so careful footing was the order of the day. Around the fourth hour, I started experiencing some really bad right foot pain, primarily due to my small toe's nail getting extremely irritated and sensitive. Like most of your political posts on Facebook. I had to cut my speed dramatically just to get back, and by the end was limping pretty badly. Its been painful ever since.

So I'm not quite sure if I can hike tomorrow or not. Stay tuned to find out.

Vacation 2012: Wild Turkeys, the Black Hole, Flamenco Dancing, and the Hells Angels

Welcome to Vacation 2012, officially underway.  Friday was mostly a travel day, where I suffered the usual TSA indignities along with countless other proletarians that seemed to jam the airport. The atmosphere here was a little strange. Much more bustling than a usual Friday afternoon. The business people, forced to mix with the WalMart crowd, looked very worried, as if one of the unkempt worker-types (who by all rights should be taking the bus) might touch them or bump them from a flight. One particularly Banana Republic-clad chatch looking guy, anxiously pacing up and down while barking instructions on his newly released smart phone. That guy needed to back up and let it go, because he was stressing me, and no doubt some wife or secretary was extremely worried on the other end about the volcano that was going to explode when that guy returned home. The others were no doubt looking forward to fabulous destinations, like...Jacksonville...or other meth lab locations. You can tell where people at the airport are going just by looking at the gates, without even looking at the gate label. The party people are going to New Orleans or Las Vegas. The worn, beaten, humorless looking people who look like there's a permanent gray sky wherever they go are going to the East Coast. People who look like they should star on a Cops episode, or 80 year olds who have skin made of saddle leather, are on their way to Florida. The Southern travelers? That's generally anyone in a group with one or more family member, or women saying things like "mama my legs are sweating." Those traveling to the West resemble tall hobbits : emaciatedly thin, eco-friendly, Birkenstock and breeches-wearing earth dwellers, wizened and slow-moving due to their exclusively plant based diets (including copious amounts of mary jane).

Yes, it IS good to be so much better than everyone else.

I knew immediately I arrived at the correct gate for the Oakland flight when I found the one that looked like the yard at San Quentin. The place was filled with Raiders Fans, which is kind of one and the same. By all rights I should have been shanked after about 10 minutes near the gate. Imagine Newport Yacht Club during the season. This was the exact opposite. But fortune blessed me and I managed to survive the wait and made it onto the Southwest flight. This one actually served the peanuts, unlike the last flight where they announced that because one guy was allergic, they couldn't serve any peanuts. At all. Where the hell did all this nut allergy come from? I didn't know anyone for about 30 years with a nut allergy, much less something that could shut down a whole plane from enjoying the one and only perk Southwest Airlines makes available. Was anyone allergic to peanuts in 1969? Not that I knew of. We ate them everywhere. And peanut butter. Now kids can't trade their lunches, and every school cafeteria has a "nut free zone." Chris Rock once said no one in Somalia is lactose-intolerant, and I bet no one there has nut allergies either. Oh, and the peanut sacks all say "produced in a facility that processes peanuts and other nuts." Really? The bag of peanuts, you say? Wow. Either the FAA has so dumbed down its regulations that next they'll be telling us how to sit in a chair (which they do for emergency exit rows) or attorneys at huge law firms billing hundreds per hour are doling out some really incredible lawsuit-preventative advice. Either way, its pretty brilliant stuff. But we did enjoy some uplifting moments. First, when the pilot pointed out our passing over the Yosemite Valley. Even from our height you can see the dark forest, the snow capped peaks and the cragged terrain, all giving way to the Central California desert (or valley, depending on whether you work for the local chamber of commerce). The other was when they announced that one of the passengers was celebrating his 92nd birthday. He had been a fighter pilot in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. The passengers broke into unbidden applause. I saw the guy in question later on, who looked like he was about 65. Remarkable.

The Oakland airport has improved considerably over the years, from the time when it made remote Argentinian airports look like O'Hare. Its now just like a real airport, just like what happened with Hobby. Eventually I made it to the rental car counter, where to my satisfaction they had reserved me a new red Mustang convertible with white stripes. Exactly what I need for my look. You can't represent in a Subaru.

Off I went down the 880 to Pinole, weaving in and out of Oakland rush hour traffic, past the "Black Hole" where the Oakland Raiders and A's play, along with countless motorcycles speeding in between traffic lanes and scaring the hell out of me and no doubt everyone else. At one point I saw a Hells Angel blaring his Harley right past everyone. Kind of like seeing an endangered species. I had no idea the Hells Angels was still a thing. Turns out not only are they still around, they've got a web site. Who knew? It seemed an appropriate sight while passing through Oakland, which these days resembles Detroit in RoboCop. Or just Detroit.

But eventually I arrived at Chez Ligocki, with Kimberly, Taffy and Rocky waiting to greet me. We feasted on a lovely, homemade dinner of pork and beef sausage meatballs and sauce, quinoa pasta, and salad with tomatoes grown in their garden. Quite a lovely way to end the evening.

The next day I set out to run into downtown Pinole, and at the outset discovered that a herd ("covey" "flock" what's the right word) of wild turkeys were chasing me down the street. Certainly not what you'd expect while jogging in an urban environment, but California has always been a land of possibilities, so why not? I returned to enjoy yet another awesome home cooked meal of scrumptious scrambled eggs and cheese, blueberries, and oatmeal. When Terry could join us after his tennis match, we headed out to Tilden Regional Park. The Bay Area boasts spectacular natural scenery and the communities long ago created an extensive park network. Berkeley's biggest park, Tilden, is no exception. In fact, Kimberly and Terry held their wedding in the Park many years ago. I was a "bridesman." Don't judge me. Today we saw no weddings, but did hike two miles out to Inspiration Point and enjoyed panoramic views of the entire Bay, including San Francisco, Oakland, Marin County, Angel Island, and Richmond. We enjoyed a really clear day with temperatures in the 70s. I very easily adapted to daytime conditions that weren't in the upper 90s with 80% humidity. No doubt the weather keeps people from leaving that might ordinarily flee the taxes, crime, and sky high living costs.

After our little hike we enjoyed a nice, healthy lunch at Fat Apples in El Cerrito (I think). I had some really good chili and a spinach salad. Looks like they serve great breakfast, and the bakery had a huge case full of great looking pies, cakes, and cookies. We then went home and crashed for awhile, Terry and I enjoying some college football. Then we headed into the city for a flamenco dancing show and tapas as LaLoLa Restaurant on Mason Street. This small, intimate Spanish restaurant features excellent food. We enjoyed a variety of dishes, including lamb chops, pork ribs, beans with sausage, chicken with salad, and an excellent cheese plate. The real treat, however, was the flamenco guitar, singing, and dance performance held in the basement. Terry's tennis friend David plays guitar for a monthly show at the Restaurant. This evening featured a dancer from Malaga, Spain, as well as a native San Franciscan. I'd not seen flamenco dance; it differed from my expectations. It struck me as almost balletic, rather than other more interactive dance forms. Both dancers displayed real focus, power, and artistry, and David's outstanding guitar performance really set the stage. The crowd, which noticeably filled with Spanish and similar-looking people, enthusiastically enjoyed the show. They really knocked us over too.

The next day, after running for about a half hour at Hilltop Lake Park, Kimberly treated me to another great breakfast of eggs, miniature strawberries (which I've never heard of), yogurt, and bacon. If the whole journalism thing doesn't work out, she could turn this into a pretty good bed and breakfast. Terry had another tennis outing planned, so Kimberly and I headed into Marin County in the Mustang, sans top, to explore Mill Valley and Tiburon. Mill Valley has long been a favorite, sitting near Muir Woods and nestled in the redwoods and maples. It boasts a number of local shops and good restaurants. We had lunch at Piazza d'Angelo, a place that Kimberly and Terry first introduced me to many years ago. We sat next to the open window facing the town plaza, enjoying the Japanese maples and the passers-by. I had an almond covered sole with salad, Kimberly had a salad with wine vinaigrette and grand padano cheese. We walked through the town, particularly enjoying the local park, located in an old growth redwood grove along the creek running through town. From there we headed to Tiburon, just on the Bay north of Angel Island. The town seemed quite larger than Mill Valley, or at least much more spread out along the road heading by the Bay to the ferry landing. We walked around some to enjoy the sun as it sank in the late afternoon, and watch the fog rolling over the Golden Gate Bridge. Lots of families were walking about as well; we enjoyed watching an elderly lady who had walked down from the hill with a bag of dog treats (and a toblerone bar), passing out treats to the dogs running through the bayside park.

After Tiburon, we headed back home where Kimberly made a really great, spicy roast, with green beans and peas. We also enjoyed some Cowgirl Creamery cheese we bought in Mill Valley. I visited Cowgirl Creamery in Point Reyes with Kimberly and Terry many years ago, then again while on my vacation a couple of years ago. So enjoying some with Kimberly and Terry again brought back those memories.

Ugh, ok. That about covers it. We've been pretty active since I arrived, but tomorrow its on to Yosemite and my dance with rat-borne death. Apparently the local news now is reporting that perhaps thousands who stayed in the Curry Village cabins in July and August may be at risk, but that the Park won't be closing or restricting access any further than it already has. Good to know. Of course, you can't sue them so what do they care?

Question: if I'm listening to the Marshall Tucker band past midnight while I'm in San Francisco, should I be worried?

Next-on to Yosemite, and hiking, hiking, hiking.