One of the nice things about staying in campgrounds is getting to eat outside (a) when the weather is nice and (b) when the CG provides a decent picnic table. The stars do not always align to make this a daily event, but we try. Here we find My Lovely Bride admiring the grilled chicken, sweet potato and salad we threw together ($29.95 per person in town, most likely, and wine not included) for a few bucks at home.
We are also closer to nature when we are in campgrounds, since many are located near woods, lakes and meadows. We would otherwise have missed watching this family of Canada geese (Branta canadensis) out for an evening stroll, had we been in our house watching TV.
While in Santa Barbara, we dropped in at the mission, founded by the Franciscan order in 1786. The capilla (chapel) is shown here, and below are a few images from the cemetery and garden. Known as the Queen of the Missions, Santa Barbara is a solemn place, and just walking around for an hour allowed us to feel some of the history and religious dedication that permeates this holy site. (Joyce, thanks for the loan of your wide angle lens for most of the shots on this page.)
This tiny grave was that of a young boy, only 29 days old when he died in 1866.
I love California, especially the mountains and coastline. Dedicated readers know that I poke fun at several states, Minnesnowta first of all, but you can't knock California's weather... well, except for the ongoing drought, and some locals here might say that isn't the fault of any human being, except maybe all those nasty conservatives in Flyover Land driving RVs and SUV's. (Whoops, I qualify on all three of those counts!) But just so you know, one of the problems with water here is that the population of California has doubled since 1975, but because of the state's protection of a few tiny fish and snails, there haven't been any new reservoirs built since then to store water for times when it doesn't rain enough. Like now. So hundreds of millions of gallons of precious water are allowed to run from the mountains into the sea unimpeded, and Jerry Brown, AKA Governor Moonbeam, wants to institute a $10,000 fine for any citizen wasting water. (Of course, it might not apply to Hollywood glitterati, but this is California, after all.)
We were personally impacted by Governor Moonbeam's declaration of a state of emergency for water usage when we visited Hearst Castle, the opulent palace (is that redundant?) of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. We walked into the entrance and saw signs stating that the restrooms were closed to conserve water, and that visitors should use the porta-pottis lined up in the parking lot.
Okay, so we marched over and found that all 25 honeyhuts were locked with padlocks. "Sweetheart, isn't that interesting? Can you hold it for four hours?" Seems the state of California had closed the toilets and forgotten to provide the staff of the state park with keys for the porta-pottis. (Does anyone remember the bureaucratic incompetence of the old Soviet Union? Methinks the People's Republic of California may have imported some administrators and planners from Moscow...)
Also known as Casa Grande, Hearst Castle itself was very impressive. As the great man said, "I would like to build something up on the hill at San Simeon. I get tired of going up there and camping in tents, I'm getting a little old for that. I'd like to get something that would be more comfortable." Judging from the front door, it looks like he got his wish...
While the outside of Casa Grande appeared magnificent, the interior rooms were quite understated... well, maybe if you lived in Versailles or Buckingham Palace. We actually found most of the castle dreary, and decided that if we ever had half the money in the world, our castle on a hill would be more airy and bright than Hearst's.
The outside swimming pool was closed for renovation (we hadn't thought to bring our swim suits in any case), but the Roman columns are the real deal. Hearst didn't spare any expenses on this place.
Suzanne found the indoor pool even more interesting. If there hadn't been a guard there, she might have gone in for a dip.
I convinced My Lovely Bride not to get arrested at Hearst castle by promising to take her to an overlook on the Pacific Coast Highway, California Highway 1. The coast here is striking, and we would have driven up to Big Sur, but coaches larger than 30 feet in length are generally not permitted on that section of highway, which has numerous hairpin turns and narrow sections.
This was our last look at the Pacific Ocean for awhile. The next leg of our journey would take us inland, up to Paso Robles, where we would meet some friends for lunch and maybe stop in at a vineyard or two for some wine tasting. "Oh, are there vineyards and wineries in Paso Robles? Who knew?"
While at Port Hueneme, we took advantage of nearby Big Sycamore Canyon near Point Mugu for a mountain bike ride. One of the folks we met along the trail mentioned that "There's a hill at the end; be prepared." Here we see Biker Chick pedaling up a steep grade on "the hill", which was really a small mountain to us flatlanders from Florida. Fortunately the path had widened to a paved road for the final push, making it less exhausting than trying to bounce over rocks and roots.
Your Faithful Correspondent is pointing at the road up the hill we just completed. You may notice that there are no coffee shops, convenience stores or even ice cream parlors up here. One lady we met was bitterly complaining that the governor had even shut off the water faucets on the trail to save water. (More on Governor Moonbeam in my next post...)
The trip back to the car was highlighted by meeting this group of families and friends of people with cerebral palsy and wounded veterans in wheelchairs. A local mountain bike group and the Ventura County Sheriffs support the event, including a picnic at the beach, following a two-mile hike on a fire road that turns into a dusty, rutted dirt path, but the smiles on the faces of kids and adults alike was awe-inspiring. We watched wheelchairs being pushed, pulled and lifted through sand deep enough to almost stop our mountain bikes, but instead of complaints, we only heard laughter and giggling.
As we rode carefully past this sheriff's truck with the passenger's mount walking alongside, Suzanne asked the uniformed driver why he was using a horse to push the truck. He replied with a chuckle, "It's a Ford, do you expect anything less?" (This comment will undoubtedly amuse my good friend and Battleship IOWA shipmate Dale Hilliard, who works at a Chevy truck plant in Indiana, although I know he secretly wishes it had been a Toyota; dream on, Dale.)
Having had way too much fun in Southern California, we relocated up the coast to Santa Barbara, setting up camp in an Elks Lodge RV park in nearby Goleta. We first did a driving tour of the area, including the upscale town of Montecito, where homes of the Hollywood Glitterati abound. Our recon also included a hike in the hills above Montecito, where Hiker Chick decided to do some trailblazing, mostly uphill. Here we see her at the summit, where I finally got to catch my breath.
On the way down, we saw these beautiful, tiny wildflowers. Okay, floral researchers, name those buds! In spite of the ongoing drought, wildflowers are blooming everywhere we go, marking the hillsides with scattered riots of color against the brown and russet brush, dirt and rocks.
In addition to lots of running and biking opportunities, Santa Barbara was also an "Admin Stop", where we could catch up on email, paperwork and trip planning. Internet was solid for a change, with our cell phones being used as hotspots, rather than picking up Wi-Fi from the RV park. You might guess that our monthly cell phone bills are pretty high, and you would be correct. (I think we are members of AT&T Wireless' Platinum Preferred Abnormally Hi-Usage Customers Club.)
The last item on our to-do list in Santa Barbara was a bike ride along the coast. Unfortunately, the bike trail wasn't as long as the one we rode in Huntington Beach, but it was still nice to ride along the shore again. The down side was the large number of bums... oh, sorry, the politically correct term is "homeless gentlemen"... camped out in shoreside parks. Unlike during the Great Depression, when "If you don't work, you don't eat" was the watchword, today taxpayers (I think that means you and I) pay for endless summers for tens of thousands of able-bodied, working age males who prefer not to burden themselves with the "W-word". But I digress...
The next leg of our summer tour took us up the coast to San Luis Obispo, where we are staying at the Camp SLO RV Park, on a California National Guard base. Our Dachshunds Rudy and Gretchen have given our new campground a 5
Star rating due to the permanent residents, hordes of ground squirrels
that have hundreds of burrows nearby. Here are three within 20 feet of
the coach. Gretchen will sit in the window of our coach for hours
gazing longingly at the rodents below, patiently awaiting the
opportunity to go outside and chase the little buggers back into their
burrows.
Doxies were bred to hunt badgers and rabbits, and they will cheerfully go down a hole after their prey, so keeping them on lead in this area (or anywhere except a fenced-in doggie park) is absolutely mandatory. We joke that the puppies' amazing sense of smell around here must be similar to our walking into a pizza parlor, magnified 100 times.
The weather is getting chilly, with lows in the high 40s at night and only in the 60s-low 70s in the afternoon. We are now wearing fleece sweaters, and occasionally down jackets. My Lovely Bride is seen here trying to stay warm on the boardwalk at Morro Bay, a handy harbor of refuge on the Central Coast for transiting small boat mariners.
Morro Rock is a 581 foot high volcanic plug, a remnant of an ancient volcano from the Oligocene Period, and its age has been carbon-dated to about 23,000,000 years. The rock is primarily dacite, a felsic intrusive igneous rock similar to rhyolite and andesite. (I know that helps a lot... is there a geologist who speaks English in the house?) The only groups allowed to climb Morro Rock are native Chumash tribal members, for their annual solstice ceremony, and, much to the angst of the Chumash, members of a competing tribe, the Salinan, who celebrate the time when Hawk and Raven destroyed the two-headed serpent Taliyekatapelta, as he wrapped his body around the base of the rock.
San Luis Obispo (Spanish for St. Louis the Bishop [of Toulouse]) is located approximately midway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, and is actually called SLO Town. It is well known for being the first town in the world to ban indoor smoking in public buildings, and second for the frequent drunken campus riots and looting of liquor stores held by Cal Poly students, the latest about two months ago. We are happy to be on the National Guard base with soldiers in battle gear and Humvees driving around. There is also a National Guard-sponsored Grizzly Youth Academy, not for young bears, but for at-risk teens, both male and female. It provides a nine-month program to help kids from all over California focus on improving their lots in life, and we were very impressed by talking to one of the sergeants and two of the young men who will graduate in about a month. There are 36 of these charter schools around the country, and they have an impressive 92% success rate. Now that is something to write home about!
Finally, I have to share a photo that our dear friends Sharon and Joyce sent us. We had asked them to take our car out every few weeks while we were gone and neighbors Bob and Jan were away, and we received this photo and this cryptic note: "Just got back from Stonehenge. Ava (our Toyota Avalon) drove like a charm-- druids say 'hi.'"
I get a few unusual emails every now and then, but this one was, well, "interesting"... It read, "Hello dear,
i am Sergeant Leigh Ann Hester, United States military Sergeant, looking for a reliable and trust worthy person for a cordial relationship. Please I will be happy if you reply me for more details. Best regards! Sergeant Leigh Ann Hester." I had the foresight to read this one aloud to My Lovely Bride, who might otherwise be suspicious about an email from this young woman. (And no, I'm not quite so dumb as to reply to such an email... well, unless she sent a photo... Smack! Jeez, that hurt!)
What made the conversation with MLB most surprising was that I mentioned, "Suzanne, who was the character in a 19th Century novel named Hester?" Immediately she replied, "Oh, that was Hester Prynn." I had to look up the reference, but English majors (yes, Connie and Lois Anne, I'm thinking of you) will surely shout, "A Scarlet Letter!" Guess that fits with the type of phishing email that she is sending out, but she's probably in Albania or Russia and not in Boston or Wellesley. Of note, the image is of Lillian Gish, "The First Lady of American Cinema", from the 1926 film A Scarlet Letter, based on the book by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was only the second MGM film the lovely young actress had appeared in, and she had requested the role specifically of the producer, Louis Mayer, who was worried about negative reaction from church groups.
It didn't have anything to do with the email mentioned above, or even the beach volleyball team that I tried to join, but on the last day of April, we relocated from Southern California up the coast to Port Hueneme, home of the Navy SeaBees. "SeaBees" is a popular term for Naval Construction Battalions (CBs), which were created at the beginning of WWII to build naval installations and airfields, primarily in the Pacific.
Their official motto, "Construimus, Batuimus" translates from Latin as "We build; we fight", but their more well-known motto is "Can Do". Contrasted with young sailors, soldiers and Marines who fought in WWII, the average age of SeaBees was 37, since they were mostly highly experienced construction workers. The SeaBees built hundreds of airfields, bases and port facilities in the Pacific and European Theaters, and were the subject of a 1944 John Wayne movie, but even
more sensational was the recent report of Der Blogmeister driving a
SeaBee Caterpillar bulldozer. (Eat your heart out, Bob.)
While on the base, we decided to get a long run in, and passed this sign warning that we were in a Tsunami Hazard Zone. I looked for a tall tree to climb, but My Lovely Bride told me that I was overreacting. Sigh...
We also had the chance to have dinner with a former neighbor from Washington, DC, retired Coast Guard Commander Jim Morrison and His Lovely Bride Karen, an HR executive. We met at a very nice Malibu restaurant right on the beach, with excellent food and adult beverages, and at more reasonable prices than in Williams, Arizona, outside Grand Canyon... (I may be on the Williams, AZ, Persona non Grata List for that comment, but I'm already on a hit list in Coon Rapids, Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesnowta, so what can you do except call them like you sees them???)
California is an unusual state; where else would you find a couple of guys in formal wear playing music on the beach? Their attire actually would fit in here quite well; we passed many properties fit for Hollywood stars, where houses (estates?) run into the tens of millions...
The bar was also a bit more completely fitted out than most back at home. I'm not a Scotch drinker, but this bar had Johnny Walker Red, Black, Gold and Blue, the latter selling at retail for $200-$300 a bottle. I didn't dare ask what a shot might cost. The young bartenders were also well-fitted out with low-cut tops, but I had learned my lesson from a previous misadventure, and was "keeping my eyes in the boat", so to speak. (A difficult task here, I can assure you. And, by the way, My Lovely Bride offered to take this photo, and oh, darn, just happened to take several photos when the young ladies were faced away from the camera! Sorry, guys...)
The city of Ventura was just down the road from our campground, so we struck out to "recon the ville". The scenic harbor was filled with yachts and a sizable number of fishing boats, including this gill netter. She probably fishes for tuna, but many other boats here go out seeking squid, lobster, halibut and crab.
There are also many tourist boats offering harbor cruises, but as we were there midweek, most were moored quietly at their berths.
The fishing heritage of Ventura is proven by this five foot diameter mandala of sardines (or maybe herrings?) mounted on a wall in the harbor shopping village. I'm not that familiar with tiny fish, since my fishing expertise tends toward larger, more challenging species. (No snide comments, please.)
We also got out along the coast road, Highway 1, to admire the views south of Point Mugu. Surfing is very popular in this area, but I must have left my board and wetsuit back home in The Villages, and had to pass up the chance to hang eleven on the drop here. (That could have been an ugly sight...)
I have always wanted to visit Nepal and see Mt. Everest and Kathmandu, but never made it happen. The recent tragic earthquake and avalanches which killed so many people and destroyed so many priceless buildings there got my attention though, and when Recreational Equipment Inc. (REI), a national outdoor equipment co-op of which I have been a member since the 70s, announced a fundraising effort using the respected charity Mercy Corps, I decided to help. If you have some spare bucks that you'd like to donate to a good cause, please consider this organization, which puts 83.7% of the funds it raises to programs and services, a relatively high percentage compared to many charities. Click here for more info.
Back on our tour, the desert town of Needles was a rollicking place, but after two nights we had driven down every street in town and met all four people who live there. So we packed up our coach and headed west, crossing about 200 miles of Mojave desert in a moderate windstorm. We had gusts into the 40s, on the beam, which made driving "interesting". Bob and Jan may chuckle at that, because they had gusts of 60-70 mph when they drove through southern Utah a couple of weeks ago. What we did find interesting were the hundreds of Harley-Davidson riders heading back to L.A. from a huge rally out in the desert.
When we got into the greater Los Angeles metro area, we were on I-15 south from San Bernardino and it was 14 lanes, 7 in each direction. Even midday on a Sunday, the freeway was crowded, but nothing like during rush hour M-F. We were headed for a small park near Irvine, in the foothills of the Saddleback Mountains, for some hiking and mountain biking.
On the road to our campground, we passed Cook's Corner, where a popular biker bar is located. MLB thoughtfully suggested that I could meet the locals if I bumped one or two Harleys down, and the resulting domino effect would be sort of neat. (She is always looking out for my welfare and opportunities for social interaction...)
At O'Neill Regional Park in Trabuco Canyon, we spent one night dry camping, meaning no hookups. Having no electricity wasn't too bad, because we could run the generator for a few hours a day, such as for meals, but not at night for air conditioning, but that wasn't really an issue because it dropped into the low 50s at night, perfect sleeping weather, and daytime temps were only in the low 80s. We carry 125 gallons of water, so that wasn't an issue either. And even better, the campground was almost empty; since we arrived on a Sunday afternoon, most people had already headed home for the work week.
The potentially serious issue was that there were some aggressive local feline residents, and I'm not talking about tabbies or even Maine coons - this sign says it all... I asked one of the rangers about cougars, and he said that it had been several weeks since one walked through the campground; well, that anyone had noticed, anyway. Hmmmm....
We were observant on the trails while biking and hiking, and only saw a few birds and squirrels. The terrain was varied, with oaks and sycamores clustered in the ravines and some hillsides, and other areas with scattered brush and cactus. We preferred the sylvan scenes like this one. It was also much cooler in the shade.
Suzanne gave her Awakened Living 301 talk at the Awakenings Center in Laguna Hills Wednesday evening, which was very well received. Thanks to Brandon Camacho for hosting the event and to Amanda for her assistance that evening.
One of the attendees that I spoke to was a young 90-something retired sailor who had served in WW II, part of that time aboard a fleet oiler supporting USS Hornet (CV-8), when she launched the Doolittle Raid in April 1942. In a plan conceived by the Navy to help flagging American morale following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, 16 Army Air Corps B-25 medium bombers were flown off the Hornet in the North Pacific and delivered their bombs onto Tokyo and 5 other cities. These were the largest aircraft ever to be launched from a Navy carrier at that point. Lt Col Doolittle was awarded the Medal of Honor and promoted to Brigadier General, and the Japanese people learned that they were not invulnerable.
We relocated to the Navy Ammunition Depot at Seal Beach, a terrific campground with all of the modern conveniences. We rode our bikes to a trail that paralleled the water, and Suzanne stopped to take a photo of the Mommy Brigade with their kids in strollers. It looked like a lot more fun than standing around the neighborhood with cars whizzing by.
A pleasant break was taken for brunch at a cafe at the mouth of the San Gabriel River, where we enjoyed coffee, french toast, eggs and bacon - great fuel for a long bike ride in perfect weather, 72F with an ocean breeze.
I also had to stop for a moment in Huntington Beach, this time to peek in on a local volleyball match. Suzanne asked why now, when I never watched sports on TV. "Well, My Darling, I am admiring the juxtaposition of sun, sand, ocean, waves and athletes. And I think I'll ask if they need a trainer..." Smack! (When will I learn???) I have found that Southern California is a lot more fun than I thought, while My Lovely Bride says that maybe we'll go back to Needles...
One of the nice things about staying in campgrounds is getting to eat outside (a) when the weather is nice and (b) when the CG provides a decent picnic table. The stars do not always align to make this a daily event, but we try. Here we find My Lovely Bride admiring the grilled chicken, sweet potato and salad we threw together ($29.95 per person in town, most likely, and wine not included) for a few bucks at home. 
While in Santa Barbara, we dropped in at the mission, founded by the Franciscan order in 1786. The capilla (chapel) is shown here, and below are a few images from the cemetery and garden. Known as the Queen of the Missions, Santa Barbara is a solemn place, and just walking around for an hour allowed us to feel some of the history and religious dedication that permeates this holy site. (Joyce, thanks for the loan of your wide angle lens for most of the shots on this page.) 
We were personally impacted by Governor Moonbeam's declaration of a state of emergency for water usage when we visited Hearst Castle, the opulent palace (is that redundant?) of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. We walked into the entrance and saw signs stating that the restrooms were closed to conserve water, and that visitors should use the porta-pottis lined up in the parking lot. 
Okay, so we marched over and found that all 25 honeyhuts were locked with padlocks. "Sweetheart, isn't that interesting? Can you hold it for four hours?" Seems the state of California had closed the toilets and forgotten to provide the staff of the state park with keys for the porta-pottis. (Does anyone remember the bureaucratic incompetence of the old Soviet Union? Methinks the People's Republic of California may have imported some administrators and planners from Moscow...) 
Also known as Casa Grande, Hearst Castle itself was very impressive. As the great man said, "I would like to build something up on the hill at San Simeon. I get tired of going up there and camping in tents, I'm getting a little old for that. I'd like to get something that would be more comfortable." Judging from the front door, it looks like he got his wish...
While the outside of Casa Grande appeared magnificent, the interior rooms were quite understated... well, maybe if you lived in Versailles or Buckingham Palace. We actually found most of the castle dreary, and decided that if we ever had half the money in the world, our castle on a hill would be more airy and bright than Hearst's.
The outside swimming pool was closed for renovation (we hadn't thought to bring our swim suits in any case), but the Roman columns are the real deal. Hearst didn't spare any expenses on this place.
