Death Valley

Unkie and I got our supplies ready for the trip to Death Valley:
1 tube braunschweiger
1 box Carr's crackers
1 jug water
and... as we wandered through the Lone Pine IGA standing in front of the beer fridge we pondered our options. Miller High Life, St. Pauli Girl or maybe a summer ale. I jokingly (but not actually joking) suggested we grab some Mickey's Big Mouths. He and I now have an indelible bond.
2 40 oz. Mickey's
On the east coast water is so plentiful. The west is quite arid and the improbability of a city like LA is easily recognized. Leaving Lone Pine towards Death Valley one must cross Owens "Lake". Los Angeles diverted the water sources for this lake 4 hours to the south. It is now a shallow salt water area. Yet it would seem like a tropical paradise compared to our destination.

It's only an hour drive or so into Death Valley. One can actually feel the heat growing. Putting my hand out of the window there was an actual burning sensation-- the air is completely unforgiving and wind feels quite like a convection oven might. It was 118 degrees in the shade. At 3 o' clock, temperatures were reported at 122 degrees.

The best part about visiting the desert during the summer is the German tourist watching. They are everywhere. No English can be heard. At the Corkscrew bar in Furnace Creek one just had to close their eyes and be transported to Berlin. They all bought bottles of red wine and ate hot dogs. Wierdos. It was so hot, some even went sockless in their sandals-- most however did at least opt for white instead of black socks.

When I took this picture hundreds of cameras were snapping as I was mistaken for Cute Knut.

ECV

It has now been more that a month since leaving Atlanta-- although I’d count my time in San Fran as my old routine. Such is the reason I have left. One particularly dull and woozy night at Unkie’s place we hatched a plan to do a little exploring: Yosemite, Death Valley, Las Vegas, Joshua Tree and LA. It would take a week. The trip would end on the 4^th of July. A particularly fitting date as, in the most unsentimental of terms, one cannot imagine the natural wealth of this nation. This is what I have discovered.

We loaded up the “red wiener” (the Mercury) and left early in the morning. Across the vast strip malls and highway exits just a few hours from the coast lays the inspiration of Ansel Adams. Yosemite National Park is positively breathtaking. Irrespective of the ipod in my hand or the reception of my cell phone I could not help but think of the first people to cross this place. The awesome sight of both towering mountains and gushing streams must have been, and remains, sublime.

Around 10:30am we found the only bar in the park. There at the Ahwahnee Hotel Unkie talked about the Redwoods in California. “You know Rob the largest tree in the world is in California… and, here is the greatest testament of 19^th century thinking, it took them a year and a half to figure how to cut it down.” The second largest tree was removed of all its bark by Brits on scaffolding for reproduction in England and consequently it died. Finally, the third largest has a hole cut in it for cars to travel through. It too will die soon.

The first night we stayed in Lone Pine, CA. It’s an old western/mining town. Unkie insisted on staying there. That night at the Double LL bar he revealed why. We are honorary E Clampus Vitus members. I'm thinking of starting my own chapter. E-mail me about membership inquiries.

Bar Hoping

San Francisco is about 7x7 so the act of bar hopping is easily done. I made a few new SF friends the week prior. I asked each of them to take me out on a typical night on the town. Each live in different parts of the city and go to very different places. Here is a synopsis of last week around San Francisco pictorially with unreliable narration.

Jason is a bar tender at The Hearth, he took me out. Jason is a photographer with some remarkable war-zone, photo journalism experience. We talked about his experiences as we took cabs around town. We ended up going to Hemlock, Annie's Social Club, and the 540 Club. Apparently he also made a habit of whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

"Aunt" Marianne and I made our way along the Coastal Trail to the Cliff House for some much deserved Martinis. Then Scott took me to a great Richmond District bar, The Bitter End. I challenged the two girls next to us to a game of pool. They proceeded to beat us the next 7 games, bought us drinks with a smirk and left us standing on the street.

Lunch at Swan Oyster House opened in 1912 (still, eat oysters on the east coast) with Amy then retired to her roof. This was followed by a pitcher at Zeitgeist. Wine tasting with Andrew and Olivia in the Pacific Heights/Russian Hill area, then bar hopping in the Tenderloin of all places.



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Last night in San Fran hung was in the Haight during gay pride.

Look for the giant pink triangle on the hill in the background. Went to some Russian girl's house party and ended the night at a great jazz club, Club Deluxe at Height and Ashbury. Walking home that night across Golden Gate Park I decided that had to get out of San Fran. This is exactly what I did.

Mission District Accomplished

-->I latched up with friends of my old roommate Phil. Met them at Dolores Park in the Mission District. We sat in the park for quite awhile. The entire hill side was covered by the usual social groups and their respective activity—hippies, hipsters, gays/drum circles, bikes and dogs, sun tanning.

When it got too cold we went to a great Mission District bar The 500 Club. In Atlanta the “industry shot” is Grand Marnier or Jagermeister; in San Francisco people shoot Fernet Branca. And so that is what we did, it is really bitter. I have heard this a few times now, “Have you had a shot of Fernet yet? It’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted. I’ll buy you one.” 

Dick's International

I needed a hair cut desperately, it was suggested that I head over to Dick's International. Best hair cut ever. Playboys and Hemmings Motor News strewn about. $12. And, a straight razor shave.

Just as we reach the Sweeney Todd part I hear from a door, "Daddy, Daddy" and little kids rush in to greet their father. Kids scare me already (this is an established fact) but kids and razor blades to my throat bring this to a new level. I already couldn't swallow for fear my adam's apple would be spliced in two, then these little moppets flood in, buzzing around like gnats. I survived, but barely.

My friend Cat from Atlanta just moved to SF. We met up to window shop in the Downtown Union Square area. I have now been to 7 Ralph Lauren store across the country. I should inquire about sponsorship. We got hungry and said we would stop at the first place we saw. We were so lucky to find the The California Pizza Kitchen. My cheeseburger pizza was so fresh.

We actually went to the second place we saw Tadich Grill. It is California's oldest restaurant. Established in 1849. It's 160 years old. Sitting at the 80 foot bar I had a perfect Manhattan, crab, oysters, herring and so on. The motto of the place is "The Original Cold Day Restaurant" which was rather fitting considering it was about 55 degrees out and windy. At the end of the night I walked back past jazz clubs, people kissing, hipsters, tourists, the Cartier store, criss-crossing cable cars. If I get stuck here, I suppose that would be OK with me.

Scopes Monkey Travel

I split a cab from the Ferry Building to the Richmond District. My uncle has lived in San Fran (in the exact same rent controlled place) since 1981. Had the cab drop me off at The Hearth. I entered to a standing ovation from extra-middle aged regulars. I'll be staying with him for a week or two.


Typical scene outside The Hearth and my crash pad here in SF. As we stood outside the bar, catching up, Uncle stopped and uttered "Uh oh, not again" and found some treasure. We took a trip around the city in his 1991 Mercury Capri. It's a classic, sorta. And a ride over the Golden Gate to Marin County.



Here I am in Marin, that thing on my head was purchased the evening before at a 7/11 around 3 am.

California Choo-Choo and LOCO-motion.

At 3:45 in the morning the Super Shuttle came to bring me back to Denver International. I found Denver's Union Station in time to catch the 8:05 "all aboard" call for the California Zephyr.
I would be on this train for 38 hours. For those of you who have never rode Amtrak here are some general truths:














Cowboy Larry will, finally, get off at Winnemucca, UT and go back to his cattle ranch. (This is us in the "bar car")


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There are two general types of riders: octogenarians and schizophrenics (and often this overlaps). Possibly the best thing about a moving train are geriatrics trying to move about it. The elderly look like al dente noodles, wiggling about-- in how they walk and in their fingers and skin. A chorus of Andy Rooneys can be heard at all hours. Notable quotes: "That mountain used to a whole lot bigger " and "Children shouldn't be allowed on trains, it's too dangerous." At each stop the Octo's rush to the Observation Car; peering out, they safely gawk at those of us who step off for a smoke.

One must accept this fact, you are going to be on the train for a long, long time-- the train goes 35 mph most of the time. Make friends and take NyQuil. As people begin to realize the gravity of a 38 hour train ride everyone is interested in some companionship and colloquy. I remarked to myself how comfortable I became. I watched the Rockies rise green and lush then crumble in to the desert. At night the rolling of the train and the darkness of Utah outside the window put me to sleep. I woke up in Reno and had some lunch in the Dinner Car. I ate while over looking Lake Tahoe. Hours and many new friends later I arrived in San Francisco.