We decided to leave San Luis Obispo Saturday afternoon and drive to Ventura, shaving120 miles off the long Sunday drive to Phoenix. We planned to drive the charming two-lane country road we had driven the previous week. Rowdie, who had traveled like a road trip warrior on the trip to California, began to whimper and pace from the outset and would not settle down. We stopped along the side of the road and walked her in case she had to... you know; but that didn't help. She would not stop whining. Twenty miles into a 2,200 mile journey, things were not looking good.
Remember the Twilight Zone story from the road trip to California, when Rowdie climbed onto our suitcases and almost chewed through a seat belt strap as we climbed the twisting mountain roads? Well, we figured out that it was not extraterrestrials or secret government activities that had gotten her so worked up. Rowdie, we concluded, is prone to motion sickness. Our romantic two-lane country road was driving her nuts, and she was driving us nuts.
We got back onto California 101 and, presto! Rowdie circled her den twice, lay down and took a nap. As long as we're on straight roads at steady speeds, no problem.
Arrived at La Quinta south of Ventura after dark and exited into a confusing hodgepodge of four-lane streets with big box retail stores and heavy traffic. The motel was terrible - dingy and dirty. A tiring end to a rough start.
Sunday
Things changed for the better Sunday morning. We found the beach and had a lovely sunrise walk with Rowdie as the rough surf pounded the shoreline. Got on the highway under sparkling blue skies. Rowdie approved of the route and settled contentedly in the back.
(A click on any photo will enlarge it to full screen.)
Ventura, CA - Things began to look better after a rough start.
We cruised. No traffic problems as we skirted LA and headed east. The hills of the Central Valley yielded to majestic snow-capped mountains as we approached Palm Springs. We made a brief stop in downtown Palm Springs to charge the cell phone at Starbucks and people watch.
Mt. San Jacinto, Palm Springs
The final leg of the trip was along Arizona Route 60, Superstition Highway, which took us to Pat and Bill Proulx's condo in Gold Canyon, lying just to the south of the Superstition Mountains. Soon we were sipping wine, watching the Super Bowl and being treated to Pat's excellent chicken enchillada soup dinner.
Desert Sunset Near Gold Canyon
A delicious dinner from Pat's kitchen
Wouldn't you know, the fourth quarter of a close and exciting game commenced almost exactly at the same time as Downton Abbey. After a bit of discussion (not too much), Bill and I did the gracious thing.
Monday
The Superstition Mountains in morning light
Hanging out at Pat and Bill's.
Hanging out at Pat and Bill's.
Hanging out at Pat and Bill's.
Hanging out at Pat and Bill's.
Four-Wheeling!
I confess that what I did Monday morning was not environmentally correct, but boy! Was it fun! Bill drove first, while I clung white-knuckled to a secure handhold. Then it was my turn. I tended to slow down when we approached a ravine, but Bill kept saying, "Floor it!" What the hell! I did. We stayed on roads and trails; no local vegetation was harmed during our outing. Burned some fossil fuels and made a little too much noise, perhaps.
Tuesday
Another travel day across the wilds of the southwest. We arrived in Santa Fe and settled in at the Hotel Santa Fe (not to be confused with the Santa Fe Hotel and Inn, its upscale cousin down the street). We had a charming casita only a short walk to the old plaza in the downtown. The three of us took a long stroll and soaked up the blue skies and the ambience of the old city.
Patio, Hotel Santa Fe
A short walk in the other direction took us to the home of our friends, Dick and Sue Molnar, for another delicious dinner. We drank good California wine and shared stories of our retirement lives.
Wednesday
We split up for most of our day in Santa Fe. Carol went off shopping. I wandered through photography galleries. I have never seen so much stunning black and white photography in such a short period of time. I saw the masters of the twentieth century (photos available for $15,000, give or take a few thou, framed). The highlight of the morning was my discovery of a gallery that was not on the tourist map, the R David Marks Gallery. David Marks owns the gallery, and all the photos displayed are his. David greeted me as I entered, and we had a good conversation about his photography. His work could hang alongside anything that I saw on this amazing morning. The link above is a key to the door behind which you can view his stunning works. His "Dad's Bowling Shoes" moved me deeply.
We met for a delicious burrito (Carol) and quesadilla (Marc) lunch at Burro Alley and then set out again on our own. Carol shopped some more. Overdosed on beautiful art, I strolled the streets, took photos and visited the churches.
Wednesday
We split up for most of our day in Santa Fe. Carol went off shopping. I wandered through photography galleries. I have never seen so much stunning black and white photography in such a short period of time. I saw the masters of the twentieth century (photos available for $15,000, give or take a few thou, framed). The highlight of the morning was my discovery of a gallery that was not on the tourist map, the R David Marks Gallery. David Marks owns the gallery, and all the photos displayed are his. David greeted me as I entered, and we had a good conversation about his photography. His work could hang alongside anything that I saw on this amazing morning. The link above is a key to the door behind which you can view his stunning works. His "Dad's Bowling Shoes" moved me deeply.
Photographic Treasures Inside
We met for a delicious burrito (Carol) and quesadilla (Marc) lunch at Burro Alley and then set out again on our own. Carol shopped some more. Overdosed on beautiful art, I strolled the streets, took photos and visited the churches.
A Good Lunch Spot.
Patio Entrance, Georgia O'Keeffe Museum
Near the old Plaza
The Thirteenth Station of the Cross
Mural
Santa Fe
Thursday
US 285 runs straight as a knife south out of Santa Fe, forty miles of two-lane highway slicing through the rolling New Mexico terrain. This morning under a bright blue southwestern sky, US 285 was as close to heaven as you can get in an automobile. With the exception of a solo vehicle traveling north every five minutes or so, we were alone the entire way. Clusters of piñon pine stretched out on either side of us all the way to the horizon. We crested a hill, and they were gone, replaced by miles of yellow winter grass. The silken tones of Frank Morgan's saxophone filled the car. I sipped strong dark roast. For a stretch of a few miles, a strip of pure white snow ran parallel to the highway like a third lane. It was the only snow in evidence, just as we were the only people.
US 285 runs straight as a knife south out of Santa Fe, forty miles of two-lane highway slicing through the rolling New Mexico terrain. This morning under a bright blue southwestern sky, US 285 was as close to heaven as you can get in an automobile. With the exception of a solo vehicle traveling north every five minutes or so, we were alone the entire way. Clusters of piñon pine stretched out on either side of us all the way to the horizon. We crested a hill, and they were gone, replaced by miles of yellow winter grass. The silken tones of Frank Morgan's saxophone filled the car. I sipped strong dark roast. For a stretch of a few miles, a strip of pure white snow ran parallel to the highway like a third lane. It was the only snow in evidence, just as we were the only people.
The directions from Santa Fe to Oklahoma City are
simple. Take US 285 south to
I-40. Turn left. Stop when you get there. Once you're on I-40, New Mexico yields to the Texas
panhandle. The entire west is one
vast open space, punctuated by the continental divide. Somehow, the open spaces in Texas seem
more vast and more open than anywhere else. Looking out the windshield was like looking at
eternity. The wind blew strong across the highway. Tumbleweed flew by, just like in the black and white t.v. westerns of my childhood. Every sixty miles or so, a billboard reminded reminded us
that “God is Alive” or that “Jesus is Lord.” Sometimes there were visuals.
Down the road from the XXX Topless Bar
Our La Quinta in Oklahoma City had a cocktail lounge, our
first such amenity of the entire trip.
There was one table of large, loud guys, a couple guys at the bar and
us. The waitress, herself barely
old enough to drink, made the rounds.
Her duties, apparently, included stopping by the guys from time to time
to massage someone’s shoulders and neck. She finally got around to bringing Carol a martini and me a
bottle of Dos Equis, no glass. I
knew enough not to ask for one. When she brought the bill, she said, "Have a safe trip home, hon." Hon? Maybe she was a young-looking forty-five. She didn't massage my neck.
The motel's heating system broke down shortly after we arrived. We got an extra blanket and a free night's lodging.
The only other remarkable aspect of our stay was the fact
that our RAV4 was, with the exception of a motorcycle and a sedan or two, the
smallest vehicle in the parking lot.
The RAV4 was dwarfed by Ford F-250s, Dodge Rams and other oversized,
extended cab monster pickup trucks.
Friday
A long, uneventful drive to Kansas City. The directions to KC matched those of the
previous day. Take I-40 east to
I-35. Turn left. Stop when you get there. We arrived early enough to rest up and
go out for an evening on the town, which consisted of attending the opening of
a Chinese art exhibit that coincided with Chinese New Year (the Year of the
Snake) at the Nelson Atkins Gallery of Art. It was quite an event.
There was music, Chinese food, performance art (Chinese drums, Chinese
yo-yo demonstrations) and access to all the galleries in the museum. And throngs of people milled about, all
ages, all races. I was amazed at
how crowded the large museum was.
When Carol and I left, people were still arriving. We had parked on a residential street a
couple blocks from the museum, the only car on the block. When we left, the block was packed, and
cars were circling, looking for a parking spot.
Saturday
The final leg of the road trip, for the most part covering familiar ground. Gray skies all the way, but the snow didn't start until well after we emptied the RAV4, stowed it in the garage, sipped champagne in our own living room and began the chore of unpacking, opening mail, doing laundry and returning to normal.
Our living room was festooned with a cheerful "Welcome Home, Pop-Pop and Gram" sign, compliments of Paul and Aidan. The kitchen counter held sweet treats from Ellen and notes and drawings from Wesley and Julien. We're already talking about adding a couple of weeks to next year's road trip. But for now, we are home. Happily.
Up to my elbows in grandsons!
It's good to be home.
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