STOPOVERS

After leaving Camp, we bombed down Highway 50 to Sacramento and its airport.  There, we left Mom and Tina to catch their flight to Indy, via a change of planes in Phoenix.  They didn’t get home until nearly midnight, EDT, but it was only 9 p.m. by their body clocks.  We were sorry to say goodbye.  We then headed off to S.F. and the kids.  Usually, I hate this drive because of the very heavy traffic, especially once you get to the Berkeley area, but this year, for whatever reason, it was a breeze.  Almost no stopping, and we flew into the City.  We stayed at John & Meghan’s.  Alia, alas, was stuck in Philadelphia for a work assignment, so we missed her.  Like the traffic, the weather was cooperative, and we enjoyed a walk in a park just up the hill a bit from J&M’s place.  Even a distant view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

We enjoyed a nice visit, yummy meals (thank you, J&M), and were on our way south by noon on Sunday.  We took Hwy 101 so that we could stop off and see our old college friend, Paul, in San Luis Obispo.  Too bad he’s not in the B&B business, he could clean up.  We stayed the night, and he treated us to very fine wines

and equally great grilling. 

Yup.  That’s three bottles for the three of us, and each of them was superb.  The food was up to the wines (delicious grilled salad greens and extras not shown),

and we essentially laughed and lip-smacked the balmy evening away. 

Thank you Paul, master chef and host!  Bobby Flay, watch out.

 

HI HO, OFF TO CAMP WE GO

If this is July, it must be time for our annual return to the Stanford Alumni Association’s Sierra Camp.  We first started going back in 1982, when Michael was just four months old and John was not yet five years.  Now they’re college grads, married, and well into careers.  Decades.  My god.  Despite all those visits, we never tire of it.  This is where we get the chance to bring a changing cast of extended family, and friends, to our favorite spot on earth.  This year we again had Mom, and also Tina, my sister-in-law, also from Indy. 

The weather was absolutely superb.  Cloudless, until the last day or so, always balmy in the high 70’s, almost no wind the whole time.  Bad for sailing, but very nice for everything else.  Looking across Fallen Leaf Lake, that’s Cathedral Peak to the left (it looms over the Camp, which is in the trees at the extreme left) and Mt. Tallac with the snow on the right.

As usual, the girls spent a lot of time in the art and craft sessions.  Under threat of severe sanctions, no pictures of those activities, as Loni seemed always to open her mouth just as I snapped the shutter.  They all did great work in every session.

I joined a fairly rigorous hike on the 2nd day, Monday, which, at 6400+ feet, was a bit too soon for this sea-level dweller.  We puffed and panted our way up the Eagle Falls trail to one of the Velma Lakes, all in the Desolation Wilderness just SW of Tahoe.  Tons of water this year from the late and heavy winter snows, with rivers and streams where we don’t usually find them.  My legs were leaden by the time we got back.

On Tuesday, Loni came along on a stroll hike on the Rubicon Trail.  Note:  despite the staff hiking leader’s misimpression, this is NOT the famed Jeep trail.  However, it starts at Emerald Bay, and ends at Rubicon Bay, close to where the vehicular one finishes, so they share the name.  This trail is about 5 miles long, and skirts the shore of Lake Tahoe almost the entire way.  In the summertime, it’s very popular with seemingly every tourist in the basin.  The parking lots were full up, so we had to backtrack along highway 89 to park along the roadway and then hike back to the trailhead.

We had about a dozen in our group, so the conversation was lively all the way.  Many of the “oldtimers,” like ourselves, have stopped coming as their families aged.  We miss seeing them, but it’s good to meet new faces.  The hike is fairly easy, without any real elevation gain, except for rolling climbs and drops that get you a couple hundred feet above the lake.  It’s a beautiful hike, despite not being true wilderness.

The paddlewheeler is a tour boat out of South Lake Tahoe, and was just exiting Emerald Bay.  Tahoe retains its remarkably clear water, given all the development that has sprung up around all shores.  Kudos to the Tahoe Basin Management Unit and related entities for the good fight to impose strict development controls on waste and runoff.  It has preserved pristine views like this:

Even a stroll hike deserves a rest stop.  This is where we broke for lunch.  Even PB&J tastes good in this setting.  (I’m smiling, honest; I just have a crooked face!)

Wednesday is the traditional beach games day at camp.  No tug-of-war this year, but the usual limbo contest, egg-throwing competition, water-skiing demos (not particularly successful) by the staff.  We make a beeline for the shade.  The UV rating at that altitude is brutal.  Games day is always a favorite of Mom, because that’s the day she can get a hot dog!  There must be something to them, ‘cause at 88 she’s still going strong.

Although still pretty lively for her years, Mom has had to make some accommodations.  Even without the high altitude she gets winded on lengthy walks.  But we wanted her to see the local waterfalls which are about 3/4 of a mile up the road (and up a hill).  This is probably the biggest runoff year in decades, and the falls are at their peak.  We got her to agree to attempt it, as long as she could bring her folding “golfer’s” chair along to rest along the way.  We just went very slowly and stopped to examine every bit of flora that we saw.  Eventually we got her hauled up the rocks and she thought the view was well worth it.  You can see two figures, center and right, in the middle of the falls.  They turned out to be an incredibly athletic brother-sister pair (their parents and grandparents were watching next to us) who were climbing all over the falls (they went up the center rocks from this point).  All I could think of was the recent tragedies in Yosemite at Vernal Falls.  Fortunately, this pair made it over, around, and off the falls without mishap.

  She’s, uh, pretty scenic, huh?

For us, no trip to Camp is complete without a visit to our favorite trail, the wildflower hike from Carson Pass to Lake Winnemucca.  Mom last did this with us when she was 82.  We took off on Thursday morning, bailing the car out from the parking area and making the one hour drive from Camp to the Pass.  This is a gorgeous hike every year, and with the retained snow packs, was even more spectacular this time around.  Lake Winnemucca lies at the base of the left side of that mountain (Round Top) behind us. 

Because of the late winter, the flowers were just beginning to sprout, and then mostly near the beginning of the trail at Frog Lake (below).  We saw some iris there, and elsewhere lots of mule’s ear, lupen, and other things I can’t identify.  I think Frog Lake is really a nifty spot.

We did encounter some snow packs along the trail, but nothing that posed any problems other than the occasional slip and slide.  There was a lot of pinkish algae (or something) on the snow that showed up much more visibly through polarized sunglasses.  Amazing how stuff grows everywhere.

The trail is about 2 1/2 miles each way, with only 600 feet of elevation gain from the trailhead at the pass, so it’s pretty much a stroll again, albeit starting at 8,500 feet.  That’s why we leave it for the end of the week, when we’re more acclimated.  The goal is the ultimate serenity of lunch and a nap at the lake.  This year, for the first time in our memory, there was a huge ice flow stretching across the center of the lake.  Unlike years past, we didn’t see anyone this time jumping into the water off the rocks on the far side.  Yeah, do you think I love it?

 

Right at this shot, the batteries in the camera expired, and yours truly hadn’t thought to pack spares.  I had about twenty of them back at the cabin.  No boy scout, me!

Camp is many things.  Our children, and just about everyone else’s in this week, grew up here.  There are always kid’s groups charging about on one adventure or the other, the egg drop contest is the usual mess, the staff “talent” show and water ballet is hit or-miss (almost all “hit” this year!), the food, especially desserts, is generally scrumptious, and the pure peace of the place is heavenly.

Yeah, Mom.  Family Camp.  It’s like grabbing your own personal sunbeam.

FLIPPIN’ BIRD

Is it old age?  Creeping senility?  Utter stupidity?

Whatever.

Like the good eco-sheep we are, we have switched to using reusable bags for our grocery shopping.  We got a couple from Trader Joe’s, one from Ralph’s, but mostly we use shapeless canvass bags that are legacies of various professional meetings or college reunions.

Went shopping last weekend, and hadn’t used the car in four or five days afterwards.  Loni went to fetch something from the interior and came back in saying, “phewwww.”  It smells like an animal died underneath the car.  I checked, and sure enough, it was foul (pun approaching).  I got down and looked underneath as best I could.  Nothing.  Opened the windows to let the car air out overnight.  Next day, even worse. 

So, you say, open the trunk, dummy.  But what could have gotten inside the trunk?

It was fowl.

It seems that when we did our shopping Sunday morning, I did the unloading and carrying in.  We had purchased a whole chicken, like the one above.  The bagger had put it in its own small canvas bag.  We had a lot of empty ones sitting on the floor of the trunk.  I unloaded everything except that bag, which was sitting in a pile of empty bags, and looking like it was one of them.

So, for five days, it sat in the trunk, in the sun.  I can tell you, solar ovens really work!  What a stench.  The culprit, and its bag, now reside in the bin, which is attracting flies like crazy.  We can only hope the coyotes don’t get, er, wind of it before trash pickup Tuesday morning.

ON PARADE

One of the many nice things about our community is the annual 4th of July Parade.  It’s either timeless or caught in a time warp.  I swear we saw some of the same floats and bands 30 years ago, and the mayor’s car hasn’t changed in 55+years.

  I’m particularly fond of this ride, as it is the spitting image of my first car, a ‘56 Chrysler Newport:  the Great White Whale.  The mayor’s car actually is, I believe, a ‘55 Imperial, which got the tailfin treatment a year ahead of the Chrysler line.  Mine was a hardtop and painted the same white.  I drove that whale back and forth cross the country twice, from Indiana to Palo Alto, back in college days and almost entirely pre-interstates.  Used it to pick up Loni from her dorm the first night I met her.  Many good memories of that old tank.  Two-speed push-button automatic.  You could keep it in first up to about 50mph, and it ate gas like there’s no tomorrow.  At 30 cents a gallon, we didn’t care.  Ah, youth.  I digress.

Anyway, the parade had that an air of recycledness that competed with nostalgia.  That’s the peril of becoming an old fart.  But, not everyone has lived in the same place for 38 years, so the enthusiasm of the newer residents kept this year’s edition lively.  This is the 50th anniversary of the local high school, so it got a cake float.

Speaking of lively, one of the original teachers when the school opened in 1961 is still teaching there . . . at age 92!  Both our boyos had her for English, as did our niece, Noelle, back in the ‘90’s.  She was and is a tough old bird, but her students love(d) her.  I guess those are her great-grandchildren behind her.  Keep goin’ Mama G!

 

As always, the bands were the draw for me.  They ranged from the local, pick-ups, to the impeccable Marines, and the band in white which came all the way from Rockport, Illinois.  Hope they had a good time; they were a treat to hear.

We also had groups from Mexico that were very colorful, with some outfits that looked like escapees from the latest Transformers movie.

The tubas rocked, the police rolled (we’ve got money in the budget for those things??), the pipes wailed, and the underwear brigade did their close-formation drills.

Afterwards, we lugged our chairs home, and Loni set to work fixing a scrumptious 4th dinner that was as good as it looks.  Yum.

I’ll spare you a shot of the cherries-topped cheesecake.  Did I mention my cholesterol tests just came back with flying colors?  Later, Mom opted to stay home to watch the east coast fireworks on TV.  She claimed we walked her legs off at the parade.  Loni and I walked over to the high school and watched a very nice fireworks show to end a perfect 4th. 

I love living in a small town!

CLASSIC SCOOTS

Last Tuesday night we piled on the scoot and headed off for the Petersen Automotive Museum to check out the new Scooter exhibit, and to attend a special curator talk about the history of scooters.

Good thing we took the scoot.  Getting out of our end of town to head to the mid-Wilshire area is becoming darn near impossible.  The intersections getting out of Santa Monica and thru Westwood are gridlocked.  You can spend a half hour getting through one light.  Unless, of course, you are scootin’ and can go between the stopped cars.  We did this repeatedly and saved a huge amount of time.  And only clipped one mirror in the process.  :(  My bad.  I did not stop.

The talk was fine and surprisingly well attended for a Tuesday night.  The exhibit was superb.  There wasn’t a printed guide, and I didn’t take notes, so you’ll just have to make do with the photos.

I have no idea what’s up with the big, white flatbed scoot.  The cushion area was about 3x6 feet.  No handles, so any passengers would be sliding off at the first turn.  I particularly liked the design of the tubular frame at bottom center.  Elegantly simple.  The tail light is incorporated into the end of the tube under the seat.

I don’t know why, but the tall “trashcan” scoots like the upper right appealed to me.  Such a goofy design.  I hope the rickshaw had a very slow speed limit.  That canopy would fill with air and take off, it seems to me.

We caught the displays with at least one goof, which we pointed out to the curator.

Not!  We have a GTS250.  Cut those mpg ratings in half and you’re about right. 

This was an excellent exhibit, if you have any interest at all in scoots..

LAS SECUELAS

The wedding was on Friday, but we weren’t due to fly home until Sunday, so John & Meghan had done a lot of planning to arrange a charter boat on Saturday to take everyone to either snorkel or to loaf on a beach accessible only by the sea.  Actually, we got to do both.  The weather continued to cooperate, and we got calm seas and blue skies for our one-hour voyage.

First stop was a look-see at Los Arcos, with its caves and many other dive boats. 

Since the beach for the non-snorkelers was further south, we just cruised around here and then pushed on.  We got to Las Animes, dropped off the loafers, and transferred the rest of us to a smaller launch to keep going south to the rocky coves where the fish were to be found.  Things got tense when the Jolly Roger was spotted,

but our lack of plunder was obvious and we were left in peace.  Until, that is, the feeding frenzy of the dreaded saltwater piranhas.

 

Well, they coulda been piranhas.  They were beautiful, regardless.  When we plopped overboard, we immediately were in the midst of a huge school of these things.  They were the most colorful that we saw, and by far the greatest in number, but we did see a decent variety for this part of the coast.  The water was nice and warm.  You could stay in for hours if you wanted, but we were done after about one.  We had brought our masks, but not our fins, so swimming barefoot got tiring after a while.  Yeah, pansies.  I know.

We made it back to the beach and met up with the slugs, who were several drinks ahead of us.  The tables and umbrellas were courtesy of the El Coral restaurant behind us which, while having pretty good food, easily takes the award for the most manana service we encountered.  For the food, that is;  drinks were brought out pronto.

  The beach had a parasail operation going, and they managed to drop every rider we saw right on the designated landing spot as gentle as can be.  I still wasn’t tempted, however.  Those guys were getting really high.

We were content to kick back with a cerveza and some shade

 

and watch the newlyweds do the newlywed things.

Sunday it was time to pack up, take one last dip in the infinity pool, and taxi our way out to the airport.  The cabs here don’t work on a meter, but rather a zone system.  A fixed rate for each zone traveled.  For the most part, the rates were reasonable, no one tried to gouge us, and the cabbies were friendly.  Try saying that on a trip to New York.  At the airport, we couldn’t check in right away as no one was home at the Alaska Airlines counter.  The shopping was limited, but I was REALLY tempted to get this for Loni to wear.

Alas, at $USD 89, it was a pricy joke.  At last the agents opened the counters;  however, we ran into a laborious process to get checked in, the result not of the Mexican equivalent of the TSA (everything is “sorta” checked by hand, no Xrays), but rather Alaska Airline failing to have sufficient agents to handle the crowd.  We were the fifth couple in our line.  It took us an hour and twenty minutes to get to the agent.  I was not a happy camper.

Ah, well, I guess there has to be a transition back to reality from a magical week.  Adios, Puerto Vallarta, y gracias!

LA BODA MAGNIFICA: TERCERA PARTE

At last, the big day, Friday June 17 (ignore the publish date above).   We started out with a family breakfast out on our terrace, while Meghan and hers did the same at the bridal villa.  The staff did their usual great job, and the view didn’t disappoint either. 

Loni later went down the hill to John & Meghan’s place and found the bride and Dad completely up tight about the whole affair.

 

The rest of the day was lazy on our parts, but I suspect things got a little more hectic down at the bridal suite.  Late afternoon, we ordered a trio of taxi vans to haul us down the hill to the Vista Grill restaurant which was up its own hill, overlooking the city and bay.

The picture above shows the covered area, but there are several large terraces to the left and center below the covered part, which have big couches and chairs to lounge on. 

The ceremony was held on the largest of the patios.  Unfortunately, with all the chairs, the space was a little tight and the orientation wasn’t the best for photography, with lots of backlighting. 

I don’t think John & Meghan cared one whit.

The wedding was a civil ceremony according to Mexican law, and required the employment of a quasi-judicial person.  In the state of Jalisco, there is only one, and that is the woman in the white shirt to the right.  She performed the ceremony in Spanish, and a translator repeated everything for the benefit of us gringos.  There is a required script, but it can be supplemented with personal insertions, which John and Meghan did.  There seems to be a strong focus, both in the pre-marital required “counseling,” and in the ceremony’s wording, on the rights of the woman and how she is not to be abused.  Seemed a little strange to our egalitarian sensibilities, but this is a macho culture.  Anyway, it was a beautiful ceremony.

Meet the in-laws!

Overcoming logistical difficulties, Barry greets his new son-in-law.

The restaurant did an excellent job with the banquet.  Hey, and I didn’t have to pay!  All the more delicious.

Mom got to dance with her boyo.  The grin stayed on her face for days.

People came from great distances to deep down in Mexico (PV is just WNW of Mexico City) to help John & Meghan celebrate.  Ireland, England, and all corners of the U.S.  Everyone had a blast.

When Michael and Alia got married two years ago, I was popping my buttons with pride.  I had no less pride this time around, but must confess to being hit with, at times, more emotion than I thought I had left in this old bod.  I don’t think I want to over-analyze it.  There’s some sort of great circle being closed, and this was a big part of it.  Loni and I have been so lucky in our lives, we just want the same for all our family. 

Hmm.  Somehow, I don’t think we have to worry.