Laura and Michelle at Venice Beach
Monday, June 14, 2004
Detroit Metro Airport
The Pacific Northwest and the West Coast were among the most beautiful and exciting places I had ever visited in all of my travels. Sharing them with my family was something I couldn’t wait to do.
Adding to this anticipation was the knowledge that this would probably be our last great American Adventure vacation. We had traveled from sea to shining sea, from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico, from Alaska to Hawaii. We had seen so much of this great land and had shared so many experiences … I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.
So, with this in mind, I pulled out all of the stops. I crammed everything we could possibly do into nineteen days of driving between Washington State and Mexico. It would either be the greatest trip ever … or a total disaster.
For months, while planning the trip, we followed the news. It seemed like the west coast was at the epicenter of everything going on in the world ... and you could always count on California to provide news of the bizarre, the ridiculous, and the truly crazy. Events in the past several weeks had put our trip into context and had everyone wondering about it:
- CNN reported that the leftist environmental group, the Earth Liberation Front (ELF), was targeting Portland, Oregon for large scale sabotage and vandalism against corporate interests.
- President Ronald Reagan passed away after ten long years with Alzheimer ’s disease. A week-long period of mourning culminated with his sunset burial at his presidential library in Simi Valley, California.
- Two huge court trials got underway in California during the past week – the Laci Peterson murder trial and the Michael Jackson child molestation trial.
- A rider on Disneyland’s Great Thunder Mountain roller coaster ride was killed when the ride malfunctioned. The coaster had been recently reopened.
- Governor (and actor) Arnold Schwarzenegger was still trying to resolve California’s budget crisis. The state is $32 billion dollars in debt.
- Finally, experts at the National Earthquake Prediction Center had predicted that Southern California would experience a major earthquake between June 1st and September 1st.
We always knew that California was a little bit “different,” but given these recent events, we prepared ourselves for the unexpected.
In fact, this trip would be a little different than our other 'drive-trips' because we would be flying out to our starting point – Portland, Oregon. So after teaching two early-evening taekwondo classes, I came home, showered and jumped into the car. Tam and the girls had already packed and were anxiously waiting for me. We drove to Detroit Metro Airport, left the car with the hotel valet, and checked into the Westin Detroit Airport Hotel. We knew this trip would be a budget-buster, so we ingeneously saved money by not getting mini-bar keys.
We slithered into Westin’s famous “heavenly beds” around 11pm. We had a long and arduous experience awaiting us.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Northwest Airlines Flight Detroit to Portland
Oregon
Washington
Mount St. Helens
A glorious sun shone through the window at 5:45 am. It was a heavenly, but brief, night’s sleep. By 7:30 am, the Olin’s were once again marching through another airport – headed for great adventure!
Our flight, Northwest Airlines 811, was scheduled to push back at 9:04 am but the plane was delayed for ten minutes while two passengers from Manchester, New Hampshire stepped off to enjoy a smoke. The two young women were greeted by a hundred angry faces when they re-boarded. Wheels were up at 9:35 am.
Precisely twenty minutes later, we were directly over our gorgeous green-blue Gull Lake. Laura loved seeing our house from the air.
Then things began to change. This might be a good time to articulate one of “Tom’s Rules of Travel.” When eating while flying through extreme turbulence, either eat fast or bring a bottle of Spray and Wash with you. For more than four hundred miles, through Wisconsin, Minnesota, and South Dakota, we hammered across the sky. Dramamine was distributed just as the ride smoothed out over Aberdeen, South Dakota.
By the time we began our descent approaching Portland, I noticed something very unusual. The sky was crisp and clear. We knew from experience (considering that western Michigan is one of the cloudiest places in the United States) that the Pacific Northwest was notoriously overcast. There are only a handful of days a year when the sky around Portland is perfectly clear. This was one of them. We took in fabulous views of Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and Mt. St Helens. From a distance, Mt. St Helens looked much like the others, snow-covered, but with a slightly flattened top.
Looking out the other side, to the south, we cruised past Mt. Hood ... so closely that we could count the trees on her slopes. A few minutes later, at precisely 11:08 am (PDT) our plane touched down and Michelle, Laura, and Tam all collected their 50th state!
Hertz Rent A Car provided us with a really cool Mitsubishi SUV. It is worth remembering that it had just been washed and was really clean. From the airport, we headed north on Interstate 205, across the Columbia River and into the state of Washington.
We ate lunch out of a Burger King bag while we continued toward exit 49 (Castle Rock). We paralleled the Columbia River for thirty miles as it briefly turned north in its run to the sea. In November of 1805, Lewis and Clark and their Corps of Discovery navigated this river as they neared their Pacific goal. In large flat rafts, they floated down the wide and rapid Columbia as it surged toward the mighty ocean. On this day, the only people navigating it were dozens of wind surfers … some using huge kites to capture the high winds that blew through the valley. Some of these thrill seekers were reaching speeds of fifty to sixty miles per hour.
As we proceeded north, we could see Mt. St. Helens brooding ever closer, then disappearing behind the pine-sloped hills of the Columbia Valley. Following Route 504, we arrived at the Mount St. Helens Visitor Center. Here, we got our first clear shot of the western slopes of the still-simmering mountain. From this angle, we could tell that something traumatic had happened, it’s non-symmetric shape provided a visible clue. It was a beautiful and intimidating sight. We were still forty miles away.
At the visitor’s center, we were shown a presentation documenting the chain of events leading up to the massive eruption that took place on May 18, 1980. For years, Mount St. Helens was considered one of the most beautiful mountains in the world. With a nearly perfect conical shape, also indicating that it was a very young and active volcano. The mountain had not erupted since 1857, when it burped a small ash cloud.
It all started one early morning in March of 1980. An observer noted steam emanating from the top of a small but growing caldera. For the next two months, the mountain endured several small eruptions, melting the snow-cap and leaving a dusting of ash at the summit.
The winding road from the visitor center to the observation station would periodically swing out, giving us closer and closer views of the volcano ...
During early May of 1980, a lava dome several hundred feet thick had formed on northern slope of the mountainside. Scientists astutely called it “The Bulge.” Authorities began to evacuate the surrounding area. Despite law enforcement efforts, 83 year old Harry Truman refused to leave his rustic lodge at the foot of the mountain and along the shore of beautiful Spirit Lake. Defiantly he stayed, protecting his 54 acre property, with a .45 caliber Thompson machine gun and several gallons of homemade moonshine that he called “Panther Pee”.
Harry Truman
Unfortunately for Harry, at 8:31 am, a magnitude 5.1 earthquake triggered the collapse of The Bulge, creating the largest landslide in recorded history. Gas rich magma and superheated groundwater blew laterally, in a force five hundred times greater than the first atomic bomb. In less than three minutes, 230 square miles of forest lay flattened. Hot gas and magma melted the snow and ice that covered the volcano. The resulting floodwater mixed with the rock and debris to create concrete-like mudflows that scoured river valleys.
The blast could easily be heard 225 miles away in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Within minutes, an ash cloud had reached 80,000 feet, transforming day into night across Eastern Washington. Several days later, Mt. St. Helens ash was eventually found on Miami Beach.
Two climbers, who happened to be sitting at the top of nearby Mt. Adams and taking early morning photographs of Mt. St. Helens, had the thrill of their lives as they watched the mountain fall apart before their very eyes.
Harry Truman also had the thrill of his life, for about thirty seconds (until he was buried in six hundred feet of pyroclastic rock). The lake that he lived on was blown completely up the side of Johnston Ridge and, within seconds, washed back down to its original spot. Spirit Lake instantly doubled in size as the rockslide filled much of the bottom of the glacial lakebed. Sixty other people were killed in the eruption too.
We came around a corner near Coldwater Ridge and were suddenly face to face with the majesty and carnage of Mount St. Helens. All conversation in the car stopped. All eyes stared into the collapsed chasm of the northern slope. I was filled with a mix of wonder and shock in its unearthly presence. It was ugly and it was beautiful. It was horrific and it was serene. It was moving and it was unsettling. Everyone’s imagination was running wild.
We crept closer, eventually to the Johnston Ridge Observatory. From this vantage point, we were only three miles from the volcano and directly in the center of the blast zone. The massive scale of the damage was incomprehensible. Literally, jaws dropped as visitors approached the scenic viewpoint.
Part of the thrill of standing there was wondering what it must have been like to be this close when it erupted … followed immediately with a shudder of fear that it might happen at any moment again. Try to imagine a mountain blowing up toward you at six hundred miles per hour.
A National Park Ranger told us that we were incredibly lucky. Only a handful of days per year were this perfectly clear. He said that for the past three weeks, the volcano had been totally obscured by a heavy rain layer. Even on most good days, he said that the top of the mountain was usually hidden in thin clouds. He joked, “They don’t call this the Pacific Northwet for nothing!”
On this day, however, the view was absolutely perfect!
Laura and Michelle stood mesmerized by the sight of the volcano. We could see the new lava dome forming inside the mountain. This mini-mountain has grown nearly a thousand feet since the eruption of 1980. Very small vents of steam were hissing along the mountain ridge.
Looking around from Johnston Ridge, we didn’t see the blown-down trees that we anticipated. Rather, it was like a moonscape, stripped clean. Within the first six miles of the blast zone, the force of the magma, stone, and superheated gas was so forceful that it completely scoured the land, shredding trees and collecting them in a debris mass that doubled in size as it spread out. Since the blast was almost entirely to the north, it smashed against Johnston Ridge and then turned left, heading west down the Toutle River. For nearly forty miles, debris rumbled down the river valley.
Meanwhile, the gas cloud blew across the adjacent mountain ridges between ten and twenty miles away. Trees were blown down like matchsticks, following the contours of the hills.
The four of us walked the “Eruption Trail.” No matter which way we went, we couldn’t take our eyes off the volcano. Michelle described it as a “burnt marshmallow.” Yes, it actually did look like that.
Standing at the edge of calamity …
The north slope of Mount St. Helens
After an hour at the site, we began to head back to Portland.
Before we got back to the hotel, however, I needed to take some all-important state sign pictures. I knew that the interstate was a poor place to take these pictures, especially going over the Columbia River Bridge at the border. So I chose a spot between Longview, Washington and Rainier, Oregon. This was a huge mistake. Somehow we got lost in the giant lumberyards along the river and were forced to backtrack several times. What’s worse, the kids were hungry. By the time I found a “Welcome to Oregon” sign, the kids were mad and frowned in all of the photos.
We never could find a Washington state sign.
It was 6:22 pm, and everybody was really grouchy when we crossed the river into Portland. If I didn’t move fast, I would have a mutiny on my hands. Michelle spotted a sign for a Damon’s Restaurant and we exited immediately. The exit ramp dumped us into a shopping mall parking lot and Tam pulled into the first diner we could find. Luckily, she picked Stanford’s Restaurant and Bar. We ate. We drank. We were happy again.
The Marriott Portland City Center Hotel is located on SW Broadway in the center of Old Town Portland. We checked in and watched the Detroit Pistons crush the Los Angeles Lakers 100 – 87 for the NBA Championship.
Everyone was asleep before 9:30pm … except maybe Michelle the night owl.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Pioneer Square
US 101 (Oregon Coast Scenic Highway)
Shortest River In The World
Cape Foulweather
Yaquina Lighthouse
Haceta Head Lighthouse
Coos Bay
Portland, Oregon was first named “Stumptown” by founders Asa Lovejoy and Francis Pettygrove when they arrived in 1844. By 1845, they flipped a coin to rename the city. If it was heads – it would be named Boston, if it was tails, it would be named Portland (after Portland Maine). It was tails.
By this time the famous “Oregon Trail” had been established, beginning one of the greatest migrations in American history. It all started when one thousand people and five thousand head of cattle left Independence, Missouri in pursuit of dreams in the Oregon country. One out of every ten emigrants died along the trail – due to drought, disease, wild animals, and hostile Indians. Still, this did not stop the migration that lasted for three decades. By 1860, three hundred thousand people had made the trek across the Oregon Trail.
Through the 1880s, Portland grew steadily. In 1883, the railroad arrived bringing with it a burst of growth and the rapid change from pioneer town to an urban center.
In 1905, the mayor of Portland proposed that every other downtown street be stripped of its buildings and planted with shade trees and roses. Although seen as extreme by most people, this was characteristic of most Portlanders. This resulted in dozens of parks that today surround the city from the foothills of Mt. Hood to the plains of the Coast Range. “Nature” is held in high esteem here. Even the post-modern hammered-copper statue called “Portlandia” that stands in front of the Portland Building is of an earth-mother kneeling among forest animals.
Portland has kept its air and water clean despite being such a big city (540,000 people). Much of the local energy comes from water generators harnessing the power of the Columbia and Willamette Rivers.
Two historic districts are located downtown – Skidmore/Old Town and Yamhill. Here are some of the greatest collections of cast-iron-fronted structures outside of New York City.
Modern-day Portland is a leader in wheat and lumber exports. Thanks to a deep water port, Portland is also a major Pacific Coast shipping hub.
Modern-day Portland is a leader in wheat and lumber exports. Thanks to a deep water port, Portland is also a major Pacific Coast shipping hub.
Turning on the morning news, we learned that San Diego had experienced a magnitude 5.2 earthquake on Tuesday afternoon. Missed it – dang it!
Without much jet-lag, Tam and I rolled out of bed at 6:00 am. I cautiously pulled open the blinds … another perfect day!
Tam wanted to see some of Portland before heading south, so we hurriedly got ready and went for an early-morning walk through downtown, bringing Laura along. The three of us meandered down Broadway four blocks to Pioneer Square. On the corner was a very busy Starbucks coffeeshop. Tam had a mocha latte. Laura had a strawberry crème iced beverage. I had a Pelligrino water.
Sitting in the window at Starbucks, we people-watched for ten minutes. A businessman walked by in a Brooks Brothers suit and with a long pony tail down his back. A young woman sauntered by in her earth-mother hemp dress, and covered in tattoos. A Honda Civic drove by – with hand painted fish designs all over it. Was there any doubt that Portland is a hotbed of American Bohemians?
As we stepped onto the plaza, a homeless man approached us and asked for loose change. Without pausing for a second, Laura reached into her purse and gave him a five dollar bill. The man was so grateful that tears welled-up in his eyes. I asked if he would share with us his name. He said that his name was John Anderson. He told us that he was an artist, working for a local construction company doing sculpture-work on office buildings. He said that when the company went under, his last paycheck was worthless. John thanked Laura again and we wished him good luck.
The Pioneer Courthouse was in the midst of restoration. Its foundations were being excavated. The original hundred-year-old stonework was visible. Just beyond the courthouse was a district with some of the most exclusive shopping in the northwest. Saks Fifth Avenue alone stretched for two blocks. There was a Tiffany & Company on the corner. Tam began to drool as we walked past the largest Ann Taylor store she had ever seen.
Michelle was ready for us when we returned and the Olin caravan rolled out of Portland at 9:00am. We headed south on Interstate 5 to 99W and points southwest.
We took a last few glimpses of Mt. Hood in our rear view mirror. Mt. Hood is 11,239 feet of snow-capped splendor. Standing in wonderful isolation just fifty miles east of downtown Portland, its near-perfect conical shape hints that it, too, is a youthful and active volcano, sleeping ever-so-near the half million people of the city.
Route 99W is a two lane highway that bisects the rich agricultural Oregon valley. This is where the Oregon Trail continued to the sea – highway markers designating its location for fellow travelers. Apple orchards, cherry trees, and vineyards blanketed the rolling hills.
The last time I saw Howard Hughes’ infamous Spruce Goose airplane, it was under a dome in Long Beach, California, next to the Queen Mary. We found it in a huge glass tent-like hangar just outside McMinnville, Oregon. The largest airplane of its day – made out of wood (believe it or not) – was now part of a small-time air museum in the middle of a strawberry field.
After stopping for fuel in Otis, we headed south on US 101 (The Oregon Coast Scenic Highway) at Lincoln City. At mile marker 115, we pulled into the D River wayside. The D River is listed in the Guiness Book of World’s Records as the “Shortest River in the World.” Connecting Devil Lake with the Pacific Ocean, it is officially 440 feet long. In reality, it looked like an ordinary concrete canal with a shallow creek running through it. Laura crossed the river in her bare feet, followed by a more cautious Michelle.
“D” River
The World’s Shortest River (440 feet)
Driving down the coast, we were repeatedly awed by unbelievable coastal vistas. Just north of Newport, we paused at Cape Foulweather and took in spectacular views from the high bluffs. In 1778, Captain James Cook named the promontory on a particularly stormy day. Winds were estimated at 100 miles per hour. On this day, the sky was cloudless and the view endless!
Just south of the point, at Otter Rock, we saw our first west coast surfers. This surfing area is called Devil’s Punch Bowl. In 1988, the Cowabunga World Surfing Championships took place here. Looking out, we could see maybe twenty surfers in the pounding waves. A handful more were donning wetsuits and climbing down the steep hill to the beach.
At the edge of the surf, overlooking the action, was a little gray shack. A small sign marked it as Mo’s West, one of the legendary chowder houses opened by Mohava Marie Niemi. Starting with a great clam chowder recipe, “Mo” opened her first restaurant in Newport in 1940. During the next fifty years, the chain-smoking and cantankerous woman added six more locations along the Oregon coast. In 1999, Mo’s Clam Chowder was honored by the Smithsonian Institution as one of America’s “Best Regional Foods.”
The Olins walked into Mo’s West and were met by Deb, a very friendly and helpful waitress, who brought us a family bucket of chowder along with two orders of garlic cheese bread. It was the greatest clam chowder I had ever eaten!!
The girls gobbled up a Marionberry Cobbler while I picked up a couple of “Mo’s” T-shirts at the gift corner. Michelle bought a shirt too. She really like it because it mimicked her nickname at school – Moe.
The Olin family at Mo’s West
After lunch, we stopped at several waysides to enjoy the beauty of the Oregon coast – the Yaquina Lighthouse and Nye Beach, in particular.
On Newport’s south beach is located the Oregon Coast Aquarium – a world-class facility, ranked among the country’s top ten. For an hour, we enjoyed watching jellyfish, sea otters, and sea lions frolic. What I didn’t count on was a major traveling exhibit featuring, of all things … BATS! Eeeeeeeuuuww!
Further down the coast, at Devil’s Elbow was the Heceta Head Lighthouse. The light is located 205 feet high on a hill, overlooking the rocky shore below and is one of Oregon’s most spectacularly scenic headlands. It was named after eighteenth century explorer Captain Bruno de Hezeta. Built between 1891 and 1894, the fifty-six foot tall tower still functions – with an automatic beacon that was installed in 1963. This is the most powerful light on the Oregon coast, with the beacon visible twenty-one miles out to sea.
Heceta Head Lighthouse
The most powerful lighthouse
on the Oregon Coast
Tucked behind the rock promontory is a fabulous and peaceful sand beach. Michelle and Laura jumped out of the car and into the gentle surf. They needed a break after sitting in the car for four hours.
As we walked back to the parking lot, we found a huge (twelve foot long) carcass of a dead elephant seal. A skeleton was emerging from under rotting flesh. The smell was putrid. The three of us, more subdued from the experience, quickly walked back to the car and Tam continued heading south.
It was late afternoon when we arrived at Old Town Florence, where we wandered the handful of art shops along Bay Street. Florence was somewhat disappointing compared to the word-of-mouth that we had heard up the coast.
A scary moment happened when an elderly lady (named Judy) tripped on the sidewalk and fell flat on her face. Due to serious diabetic neuropathy in her feet, she could not feel her legs. Tam and I assisted her until paramedics arrived. Ultimately, she was able to get up and her husband drove her home.
Guess what. It was five o’clock. This meant that Michelle was starving. She picked out a place called Bridgewater Seafood Restaurant. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner while watching the residents of Florence walk their dogs (of all types) up and down the sidewalks of old town. We hoped to take a dune-buggy ride in the Oregon Dunes Recreation Area, but our dinner took almost two hours and ruined those plans,
Strangely enough, Coos Bay is the only deep water port between Portland and San Francisco.
Pulling into the Coos Bay Best Western Holiday Motel was like reliving a bad dream. All four of us had visions of our Lake George experience. Actually, in reality, it was very close. There were stains on the furniture. The wallpaper was peeling. The smoke alarm in the girls room hung loosely on the wall by two wires.
Michelle and Laura stripped their beds and curled up in the cleanest sheets they could find. Tam had happily found a washing machine near the pool and was doing a few loads. Me? I was in our hotel room doing battle with the clam chowder that I had loved so much during lunch. I felt sorry for Tam when she came back with the clean laundry.
We all agreed to wake up early and get moving down the road ASAP.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
West Coast Game Park Safari
Cape Sebastian
California
Redwood National Park
Tour Through Tree
Eureka
Morning came early, we were up before 6:00 am again. It was another bluebird day – were we lucky or what? Once again, Laura joined Tam and me for a walk down to the Coos Bay McDonalds while Michelle still lay wrapped in her sheet, like a mummy.
It was cooler than the previous two days. Maybe sixty-five degrees. This made our walk very refreshing. We noticed that the people of Coos Bay were very friendly. Several people stepped out to greet us with smiles and waves.
Right on time, at 8:30 am, we hit the road, continuing south on US 101. About forty-five minutes later, we stopped at the West Coast Game Park Safari. The girls had been anticipating this event for several hundred miles, thanks to the barrage of billboards that showed smiling children holding baby lions and tigers and bears.
This place puts Wall Drug to shame when it comes to self-promotion! Every place we stopped in Oregon had pictures and brochures proclaiming “America’s Largest Wild Animal Petting Park, Unsurpassed touching experience, and “Where visitors can feel the difference!” As we neared the attraction, the number of billboards multiplied. “Exit in 3 miles, 2miles, 1 mile, ½ mile, ¼ mile 200 feet!! TURN HERE!!” Actually, I was skeptical about the whole thing and hoped that the kids wouldn’t be disappointed.
They weren’t.
We pulled up to the cheap-looking shack with a large painted wooden fence. For a few seconds, we couldn’t even find the front door, until we realized that it was a sliding glass door right in front of us. We entered and were among the first people there. We entered into the gift shop, through which every visitor must pass to enter the park. A lady behind the cash register charged us $41.00 to enter. There were ice cream cones filled with animal feed sitting beside the door. They were available for an extra $1.00 a piece.
I asked her if we could feed the animals directly. She casually responded, "Sure, you can feed ‘em … if you don’t mind being attacked.”
Ok …
We bought a couple of cones anyway and tepidly proceeded through the door. We were immediately greeted by a chicken. I thought, “Oh boy, we’d been had.” The response, however, was premature. We wandered out into a large dirt courtyard. There was only one person we could see in the place – a kid sweeping up pellets of poop into a big circle.
Soon Michelle and Laura were surrounded by a phalanx of small goats and then a few deer. They became an army that followed the girls wherever they went.
We walked to one area and stood waiting for something to happen. Laura stood beside a fence, talking with me while pointing out a skunk that had popped out of a bush. Meanwhile, a seven-foot tall ostrich came up from behind her and ripped the cone right out of her hand, throwing it to the ground in a feeding frenzy.
Laura’s eyes were like saucers! She ran back to the gift shop and bought five more cones.
Michelle, on the other hand, had found a family of Australian wallabies and was quietly feeding them in the corner.
Around the perimeter of the park were large cages with truly wild animals in them: a black bear, four adult tigers, two lions, several black panthers, some elk, two chimpanzees, and one spotted leopard with green eyes that hypnotically stared into mine. I must have I looked like a big water buffalo to him. What was weird and a little spooky about the place was that the only thing separating us from these carnivores was one chain-link fence. For sure, this was the closest I had ever been to these creatures.
Just as we were getting ready to leave, they brought out Slugger, a thirteen-week old black bear cub. Slugger was born in a zoo back east and was brought here to be trained for use in the movie industry. While Slugger was being fed two large bottles of milk, visitors were permitted to come up and pose with the bear. Tam, Michelle, and Laura all did it while I took pictures.
After an hour, we left the West Coast Game Safari Park. It was a truly memorable and satisfying experience.
Heading south once again, near Cape Blanco, we drove around a corner and straight into a massive cloud-bank. Sadly, we would be in the clouds almost all day. Every once in a while, we would break through and momentarily see some spectacular views of the Oregon Coast (at Cape Sebastian, Pistol River, and along the Samuel H. Boardman Scenic Corridor). These views were of massive stone formations jutting up from the surf and steep mountainsides diving down to the water’s edge.
Right on schedule, at 11:45, the sound of cranky (and hungry) kids could be heard in the back seat. At one point, Michelle blurted out, “This is a terrible trip … all we have seen is water and rock and trees and more rocks and more water and more trees." I interrupted, “This is some of the most beautiful land in the world!” She retorted, “When do we get to Disneyland?” I abruptly ended the conversation when I growled, “Two weeks!!” We stopped in Brookings, Oregon at La Flor de Mexico. It was an all-you-could-eat Mexican buffet. Oh yeah!
Only a few minutes south of Brookings, we pulled up to the California state border. We took pictures of both state signs – first we posed by the California sign and then we crossed the road and did the Oregon sign. It was as simple as that! Walking back to the car, I noticed that a homeless man was camping out in the bushes right on the state line.
We continued south towards Crescent City and the National Park Service Information Center. We met Wally, an elderly semi-retired ranger, who told us all about Redwood National Park. He directed us to a special place in the Jedediah Smith section of the park called Stout Grove. It contained the oldest and largest redwoods in the park. After buying really cheesy $3.00 ranger hats for everyone, we followed Howland Hill Road out of town and plunged into the park.
We followed a road that became narrower and narrower, changing from asphalt to gravel to dirt to basically “create your own trail.” The further we went, the darker and creepier it got. The trees and their canopy were blocking out so much light that our automatic headlights turned on. Tree trunks were getting wider and wider. At one point, we had to pull in our mirrors to squeeze between them. It was like driving into some sort of jurassic park! On several occasions, we drove under huge fallen timbers that were leaning precariously against other trees. These were gigantic trees ten and fifteen feet in diameter with one foot thick bark - almost like they were on steroids!
Then we got to the really big stuff at Stout Grove. Walking along the half-mile trail in the midst of the lush, dense forest, we encountered redwoods three hundred feet tall. Trunk diameters were exceeding twenty feet thick. One fallen tree had been cut in half, revealing more than two thousand rings. The tree had been here before Christ!
Ranger Tom welcomes everyone
to Redwood National Park
An infestation of lyme-disease bearing ticks kept us on the gravel paths and Tam made everyone wear long pants for safe measure.
Interestingly, Tam said that she couldn’t smell any redwood scent. True. Neither could I. We also noticed that several trees looked burned, as if they had been in a forest fire. They were. But the bark on these giant redwoods is so thick that they are virtually impervious to even the worst fires.
At one point, I took a photograph of Michelle and Laura in front of the tree that was almost thirty feet wide.
Laura and Michelle
in front of the largest
Redwood tree in the world!
Redwood forests contain the greatest reported volume of living matter per unit of land surface than any other places on earth. I could believe it. The whole place felt “dense” – dense with life.
Just outside the park, we stopped at Jed Smith’s Redwood Burl Company and purchased some artwork made from redwood. Obviously, their specialty was making chainsaw carvings of bears. There were sculptures of bears of all shapes and sizes, doing all kinds of things. I thought the one carving of the bear driving a Corvette was a bit over the top. But hey, art is in the eye of the beholder. We purchased two highly-finished burl candle holders instead.
Continuing south along US 101, we stopped in Klamath and a world-famous landmark just off the highway. This was the Clark Griswold of all cheesy tourist attractions! Following huge signs, we turned into what seemed a private driveway. We pulled up to a small unmanned toll booth. A hand-written note asked visitors to drop $4.00 per car into a little metal drop-off box and then follow the arrows along the road. We drove up a steep incline and found a line of cars waiting to … drive through a giant redwood tree!
This redwood was one of a handful of drive-through trees in Northern California. It was privately owned. The tree was 725 years old and had been damaged by fire, perhaps three hundred years ago. When the area was logged in 1967, the tree was spared because of its giant size. A tunnel was cut into the tree in 1976. The opening was 7’4” wide and 9’6” tall. The trunk was fifteen feet in diameter at eye level. A one-of-a-kind outhouse was fabricated from the section cut from the giant redwood.
Tam drove through the tree with me taking rapid-fire pictures. The kids were hanging out both back windows. Then Tam circled back and we did it all again with the video camera. Pathetic ... but professional.
We drove another hour to get to our destination – Eureka, California. The skies had cleared. Everything was beautiful once again. Eureka is the California North Coast’s largest city. It has gone through several cycles of boom and bust, first with mining and later with timber and fishing. It is best known for its Victorian architecture. It has been called “Williamsburg of the West.”
More than one thousand highly preserved homes and other structures from the 1880s are lined up along the old wharf. One of these is the Carson Mansion, an incredibly ornate green house that looked like it belonged on a wedding cake! It is considered perhaps the greatest example of Victorian design in the world. Built in 1885 for timber baron William Carson, the house is literally covered with gingerbread ornamentation. Mr. Carson purposefully added more and more detail as a means to keep his craftsmen busy (and employed) during difficult financial times.
We drove past the Carson Mansion and Laura became almost apoplectic. She could just imagine herself standing at the front door in a matching green ball-gown and peeking over her waving lace fan
Among the other great Victorian landmarks are the “Pink Lady” house and the renowned Carter House Inn – our next accommodations.
The Carter House Inns is a complex of four authentic Victorian residences converted into custom bed and breakfast suites by third generation owners Mark and Christi Carter. Our suite, room 508, was on the top floor of the original Carter House. Our suite was the best of the bunch and had been used by many celebrity guests in the past few years, such as … Steven Speilberg, Rene Russo, Barbra Streisand, Andy Garcia, Kid Rock, Dustin Hoffman, Uma Thurman, Randy Newman, Joan Baez, and now … the Olins!
We all huffed and puffed, pulling all of our bags up three massive staircases. Once in the suite, however, they were uniquely elegant, with sloped ceilings, canopy beds, and antique furnishings. Our butler informed us that after the four o’clock tea service, there would be warm cookies and cold milk set out for us in the case we needed a little snack before bedtime. The girls thought that it was so cool. He also told us that only one other guest was staying in the house with us, so basically we had the run of things.
Our home away from home
The Carter House Inn
Eureka, California
For dinner, we went to Marie Callendars. Service was awful. We waited two hours before any food came. Nobody was hungry anymore when the food came out at eight o’clock. Well, maybe not really hungry.
We returned to our mansion at nine o’clock and found a large plate of cookies waiting for us. Michelle and Laura each grabbed four and stuffed them into their pockets. The poor guy in room 506 would have gotten diddly-squat if Tam hadn’t made the girls put some of them back on the tray. The girls enjoyed a last cup of tea while I finished the journal upstairs.
We opened the windows before going to bed. It was getting a little stuffy.
California Dreamin' (Part 1)
(Includes video footage of the trip)
Friday, June 18, 2004
Legend of Bigfoot Tourist Trap
Santa Rosa Charlie Brown Monument
Golden Gate Bridge
San Francisco
Through the windows we had left open, the sound of the garbage truck came loudly in. The streets were wet. It was overcast and misting. A chilling breeze blew in through the lace curtains. It was 5:56 am. I ran down the hall to claim the bathroom first. I decided to shower with the windows open because the bathroom had no vent fan. I think maybe only one neighbor got a thrill.
Reluctantly, the Olins got moving, pulling away from our bed and breakfast without partaking in the famous award-winning Carter House breakfast service. We stopped at McDonalds instead. The girls started their day with Dip’n Dots ice cream.
We plunged southeast, away from the coast and toward Ukiah and points beyond. Massive redwoods reached into the low clouds, fading to white along the “Avenue of the Giants.” Highway 101 had become four lanes wide and we were blasting past majestic redwood spires at seventy miles per hour; hardly enough time to appreciate them.
Near Redway, the big trees began to give way to rolling hills covered with parched, dry grass. We drove past two California Department of Corrections Fire Crews. These were prisoners, serving as firemen in remote areas of California during fire season. Michelle thought that one of the prisoners looked cute. “Um Tam, could you step on it a little bit?”
Coming around a corner near Garberville, we encountered a local legend … Bigfoot!
Indeed, the “Legend of Bigfoot” tourist trap and general store was packed with lots of “serious researchers” like us who bought bumper stickers, signs, post cards, clocks, and hats … all with Bigfoot’s image on it. For the past forty years, there had been more than 497 sightings of Bigfoot in Northern California. The first sighting was near Mount Shasta in the late 1800s. There had been three sightings in the Klamath area in the past ten years. The last one was in August of 1999, when a man and his eight year old son encountered Bigfoot on Grasshopper Trail in the Redwood National Park.
Little did we know that this tourist trap was just the beginning of a ten mile stretch of classic come-ons. There was the One-Log House. There was the mysterious Grandfather Hill, not to be confused with Confusion Hill (right next door). There was the Believe It Or Not Tree House. There were even two more Drive-Through Trees.
After lunch in Ukiah, we drove to Santa Rosa, where we stopped at the California State Visitor’s Center to pick up information and maps. Walking back out to the car, I noticed a familiar bronze shape in the town square. It was the big, round head of Charlie Brown. That’s right, Santa Rosa was the home of Charles M. Schultz, creator of the Peanuts comic strip. After Schultz died of cancer, the village erected a statue of Charlie and Snoopy in tribute to the local hero.
Traffic began to build as we entered the bay area. Tam did a great job of weaving in and out of many jams. At this point, we were in some familiar territory. We had entered into wine country – the Napa Valley. A short time later, we were driving past Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterpiece, the Marin County Civic Center.
We knew we were getting close when I spotted the Richmond – San Rafael Bridge. With each turn, I told the kids that we would see the Golden Gate Bridge. For fifteen miles, we came around turns and saw more turns. The kids were losing patience with me.
Then, as we came out of the Sausalito Tunnel, we were presented with the complete panorama of San Francisco Bay. There was Alcatraz. There was the Bay Bridge. There was the Transamerica Building. And right in front of us was the Golden Gate Bridge. Michelle almost jumped out of her seat. She instantly recognized the view because it was frequently featured on the television show Full House.
I told Tam to pull off at Conzelman Road, before crossing the bridge. We drove up to Battery Spencer (an old military lookout established in 1987, which protected the Golden Gate until 1943) and walked up the trail that took us to the top of the hill and one of the most spectacular views in America. From that spot, we could see miles out into the Pacific Ocean. We could see up and down both coasts. The Golden Gate Bridge sat directly in front of us with San Francisco spread out, just beyond. Alcatraz, Treasure Island, and Oakland were clearly visible as well. Huge cargo and military ships were passing beneath us.
At the top of the Golden Gate
Michelle kept asking where the San Andreas Fault was. I told her that it went right under the bridge. She would sharpen her question, “Like … right there?” To which I snorted, “Can’t you see the dotted line?” Then she went with, “Have we had an earthquake yet?” I answered, “Probably.”
Battery Spencer, the large military gunnery position that protected San Francisco Bay in the late 1800s and early 1900s is still there, in large part. Originally, it had huge twelve inch cannons mounted on a circular pivot, enabling the defense of the wide area below them.
Oh, I wish you readers could have been there! The view was incredible! Not a cloud in the sky, we could see literally for a hundred miles.
I desperately grabbed a guy with a fancy camera and asked him to take some pictures of our whole family with my camera. I returned the favor for him and his friends.
Then the big moment. At precisely 3:26 pm (PDT), we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, paying the $5.00 toll at the other end. Michelle kept asking, “Have we crossed the San Andreas Fault yet?” I casually answered, “Nope. You’re right on top of it now … you are in the danger zone.” It got really quiet in the back seat. Actually, there was good reason to be nervous. Once believed invulnerable to earthquakes, new computer simulations have shown that the bridge is susceptible and might collapse in an earthquake of magnitude 7.0 or greater on the nearby San Andreas or Hayward Faults. The U.S. Geological Survey predicts with 70 percent probability that a 6.7 magnitude quake will hit the Bay area by 2030. As a result, the government has initiated a $392 million project to retrofit the bridge against earthquakes. When completed, it will be able to withstand an earthquake of magnitude 8.3 or maybe more.
Caught in rush hour traffic, we crawled up Robinson Street to Lombard Street, to Van Ness Street, to Eddy Street and finally to our hotel – the Rennaissance Parc 55 Hotel. The four of us emptied the car and checked into rooms 1261 and 1263. The rooms were free. I used Marriott points. Laura and I stood at our window and took in the skyline of San Francisco – up close. Jutting out, above the other buildings was the landmark Transamerica Building.
The kids flopped onto their beds and vegged-out. Tam and I stepped across the street to Hana Zen Sushi. We had a very relaxed meal in the street-side café. Then we picked up a take out order and delivered to the girls. Afterward, Tam and I went for a walk around Union Square, stopping at the Virgin Music Superstore and Nordstroms. Finally, at 9:00 pm, we settled in. We were a long way from Bigfoot country.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Alcatraz
Fisherman's Wharf
Open the curtains at the usual 6 am, the tip of the Transamerica Building had disappeared into the fog during the night. This was the classic San Francisco that I remembered.
7:05 am. I was carrying a forty pound bag of dirty laundry to Vel’s Cleaners located six blocks from the hotel. When I got there, it was closed. A sign in the window said that it would be open at 8:00 am. So I trudged back to the hotel, stopping at the Hilton Hotel Krispy Kreme shop to bring something back for the girls.
7:55 am. I was once again carrying the forty pound bag of dirty laundry over my shoulder. This time, Laura came with me. We arrived at the cleaners precisely at 8:00 am. They were still closed. We waited for ten minutes. Some pretty shady characters began loitering around us. It was not the greatest neighborhood. Five more minutes, still nothing. We returned to the Parc 55 with the dirty laundry still in tow. Laura and I negotiated our way through three hundred homeless people waiting for the local mission to open up for breakfast. Some of these people were really hurting. We stepped quickly around and over people. It served as a good reminder for both of us to be grateful.
Tam was disappointed that we failed with our assignment. She grabbed the bag, handed it to the concierge and offered him $100.00 to get the laundry done. He took the bag and the money.
The four of us hastily got into a cab and headed for Pier 41. Our cab driver, Hiatham Alawdi, seemed perturbed that he had to take us and ignored any attempt at conversation. Gratefully, he got us to the pier within fifteen minutes and we all bailed out and went to the Alcatraz Gift Shop.
The gift shop was hilarious. There were lots of black and white striped shirts and hats. Tin cups went for $4.00. Fake fiberglass ball and chain items were on sale for $19.99. Alcatraz Triathalon T-shirts were hot items. Bright orange “Property of Alcatraz “ jumpsuits were big movers too.
There was a huge sign on a tent, located just outside the gift shop. It announced: “Darwin Coon – Former Alcatraz Inmate – Here Today!!” Darwin Coon spent four years (1959 – 1963) on The Rock for bank robbery. He was inmate number #1422. On this day, he was a born again Christian and author. Everyday, he came down to this tent and autographed his book for tourists. We enjoyed spending a few minutes with Darwin and he gladly signed two books for us, including one to Gull Lake High School in which he inscribed:
"Crime does not pay … school does!"
Darwin Coon #1422
Darwin Coon #1422
I turned around and saw thirty people waiting in line to get his autograph and to buy his book. I asked his assistant how many books he sold each day. She said between 250 and 500. At $11.99 a pop, this guy was laughing all the way to the bank!
Meet Darwin Coon, Former Alcatraz inmate
Yesterday – a bank robber
Today – a businessman
We had 9:30 am tickets for the Blue and Gold ferry to Alcatraz Island. This was the first trip of the day. Frigid winds blew in from the Pacific Ocean, whipping the cold mist into our faces. We hadn’t gotten on the boat yet. The ride, thankfully, was short, only five minutes. After a brief introduction to the island by the park ranger, we watched a twelve minute video at the visitor’s center.
From the barracks at sea level, we walked a steep zig-zag path up thirteen flights to the cellhouse at the top of the hill. Since the island is a National Wildlife Refuge, we were almost overcome with the stench of bird poop of all kinds – gulls, herons, cranes, and pelicans. By the way, the term “Alcatraz” came from the Spanish word for pelican.
The main cell-house was built between 1909 and 1912 as a military detention facility. Many of its builders were among its first inmates. In 1934, the military relinquished its ownership of the prison, giving it to the United States Department of Justice.
During the next thirty years, 1,545 men served time on Alcatraz. Of course, a few of them were notorious – George “Machine Gun” Kelly, Robert “Birdman of Alcatraz” Stroud, Alvin “Creepy” Karpis, and Al “Scarface” Capone.
At the top of the hill, we lined up (like prisoners) and filed in one by one into the main cellblock. The inside seemed in better condition than the outside of the building. Stepping from the entrance onto the main floor, we could see down the entire length of the cellblock. Looking up, we could also see all three floors of cells, with skylights running the length of each corridor. The cellblocks were given the letters A, B, C, and D. D block was an isolation unit used for solitary confinement. The corridor between cellblocks A and B was called Michigan Avenue. The corridor between cellblocks B and C was called Broadway. A clock at the end of the cellblock marked an area called Times Square.
There were 600 cells in the prison. They were all identical. Each one was approximately six feet wide and nine feet deep with a lidless toilet and a tiny sink. The bed consisted of one thin mattress on a bare steel frame.
Michelle …
Right where she ought to be
Most of the bottom-floor cells were open, so Michelle and Laura would periodically step inside and look around. “I could handle this as long as there is TV” Laura stated matter-of-factly. Still, it was like ancient history to the girls. Alcatraz had closed twenty five years before Michelle was born.
For me, however, Alcatraz was made real by the TV shows and movies that I had watched over the years. I recalled the classic film Escape From Alcatraz starring Clint Eastwood. Standing in front cell number 138 (Frank Morris) I could visualize ol’ Clint digging into that back wall with his spoon.
Of all of the recorded escape attempts, the one that took place on June 11, 1962 involving Frank Morris, John Anglin and his brother Clarence is the most shrouded in mystery ... and the most celebrated. Dummy heads were fashioned from toilet paper and hair from the barbershop and placed with pillows under their beds. They crawled through holes they had chiseled in the back of their cells. Then they climbed a ventilator shaft to the roof and slid down a steam pipe. They used raincoats as ingenious flotation devices.
The bloodiest escape attempt occurred on May 2, 1946 when six inmates attempted to break out of the main cellhouse. They overpowered several guards and took them as prisoners. Three inmates were killed in a subsequent gun battle and the other three were executed.
The girls enjoyed the tour so much that they wanted to investigate the lower levels to see the showers, the band practice room, and the recreation yard. They especially loved chasing the baby mouse they found near the West Gun Gallery.
There used to be several stand-alone buildings such as the post exchange, officer’s club, and warden’s house. They were all virtually destroyed during a nineteen month American Indian occupation that took place from 1969 to 1971.
We escaped from Alcatraz Island, returning to Pier 41 at 11:45 am. By that time, former inmate Darwin Coon had a line of people one hundred deep, waiting for him to sign his book. What a genius!!
Next door, at Pier 39, there was a huge array of shops, restaurants, sidewalk showmen, and panhandlers. The new Hard Rock Café had moved here in the past year or so. We ate lunch there. Afterward, we wandered the pier with a million other people and they followed us all the way down the Embarcadero, through the Hollywood Wax Museum, and to the Ghiardelli Factory Store.
The line for the cable cars was nearly a quarter-mile long. So instead, we flagged down a cab and told the driver to take us down the famous winding section of Lombard Street. As we were sepentining down the street, I told the kids that this was the “crookedest street in the world.” John, the cabbie belched, “No its not! The crookedest street is actually an alley behind the hospital on the other part of town!”
Thank you, John.
Perhaps this would be the best time to share with you how disappointed Tam and I were with many of the people we ran across here in San Francisco. Several times, we encountered ambivalent (if not downright hostile) people. Incompetency and irritability was everywhere. The whole city seemed pissed off. John then proceeded to drop us off at the wrong hotel and told us to get out. Fortunately, our hotel was only a few blocks away. Luckily, it was mostly downhill too.
After a brief respite to watch U.S. Open golf highlights, Tam and I walked over to the San Francisco Centre Mall for a quick bite and to check out the upscale shopping. We returned to the Parc 55 with Chinese carryout food for the kids. We all settled in and watched TV.
Michelle found a show called the Escape From Alcatraz Triathalon. Competitors swam from Alcatraz Island to the Presidio where they rode eighteen miles through the military base on bicycles. Then they ran the streets of San Francisco. It was considered one of the toughest races in world due to rough ocean currents and the extreme slope of the hills. Actor, and local resident, Robin Williams was participating in the event (only the bicycle portion) as part of a team competition.
The girls at Fisherman’s Wharf
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Lombard Street
Haight Ashbury
Sea Cliff
Stanford University
Stanford University Coin Laundry
Father’s Day. The fog was so thick that I could not see the Transamerica Building from my window at all. We had room service breakfast. While we waited, we watched an all-day marathon American Chopper on the Discovery Channel.
This was “field trip” day. Our goal was to visit some sights in the Bay area and tie up a few loose ends before plunging into California’s wilderness. Our first stop was Lombard Street – “the crookedest street in the world.” I confirmed this on the internet and in Fodor’s Travel Guide. The alley behind the hospital is actually called the ”twistiest street in the world.” No joke.
This time, Tam drove down the splendid, flowering, winding road while I video taped it. Michelle and Laura were not impressed. They thought the whole thing was dumb. I made them pose for pictures anyway.
Next, we cut across Broadway into Pacific Heights and turned south on Divisidero Street to Haight Street. Laura and I jumped out and took pictures at one of the most famous street-corners in America – Haight / Ashbury. The little shops surrounding us were full of tie-die shirts and posters of Hendrix, Joplin, and Morrison. It was like time stood still there. Michelle and Tam drove around the block while I took the pictures. They counted one crack addict and two dudes smoking pot on the curb.
On the northwest corner of the peninsula was the swanky upscale neighborhood of Sea Cliff. Elegant homes were sprinkled along the Pacific Coast, with ocean views to the west and the Golden Gate Bridge to the east. We were here for another reason, however. This was where Robin Williams lived. We narrowed it down to about six houses but we never saw him.
Nearby, we followed Point Lobos Road to the Great Highway paralleling the Pacific Ocean. The fabulous Cliff House Restaurant overlooking Seal Rock was closed and undergoing major renovations.
We continued south several miles to Palo Alto for collegiate reconnaissance work. Stanford University, the elite institute of higher learning is located in Palo Alto. It was among the top of Michelle’s priority colleges. She certainly was setting lofty goals.
On October 1, 1891, after six years of planning and building, Stanford University opened its doors. Jand and Leland Stanford established the school in memory of their only child Leland, Jr., who died of typhoid fever at fifteen years old. Stanford’s first class consisted of 555 students. In 2003, the number of undergraduates totaled 6,654. Stanford only accepts twelve percent of its applicants, making it one of the most selective schools in the world.
As Michelle and I stood on the campus quad, in the absolutely gorgeous morning, we looked around and saw nothing but Asians. Asian students. Asian parents. Asian kids. No kidding. I saw the look on Michelle’s face change. Just for a second, Michelle began to get a little nervous about the goals she had set and wondered aloud about whether she could make it or not. Then just as quickly, I saw her steel herself, pull her shoulders back, lift her chin up and walk into the school bookstore.
She bought a couple of shirts, notebooks and pencils for school the next fall. She also bought a few books on the SAT test and on how to get into Stanford. At the checkout, there was an Asian lady buying the same books. Standing beside her were her two children – both less than ten years old!! She was buying them shirts and notebooks too! Man, it’s competitive out here!!
For lunch, we all grabbed some Thai food at Krung Siam Thai Cuisine in downtown Palo Alto. We were so full afterwards that we had no room for dessert at the very first Mrs. Fields cookie store, located next door.
The highlight of the day was spending two hours at the Stanford University Coin Laundry. Who knows … maybe we did our laundry in the same machines as some great Nobel Laureate. Feeling cleaner, and smarter, we drove back to San Francisco. The kids pointed out hundreds of rainbow-colored gay pride flags lining Market Street. Fighting traffic, and a barrage of one way streets, we finally made it back to the hotel where we enjoyed room service dinner and the final round of the U.S. Open on television.
We all repacked our stuff into suitcases that seemed to get smaller by the minute. Tam went down to the local drug store to pick up some Deep Woods Off.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Altamont Pass
Modesto Valley
Iron Door Saloon
Yosemite National Park
El Capitan
The Ahwahnee
I went downstairs to have the valet pull the car up and encountered several hundred people in the lobby chanting repeatedly, “Health care for ALL!!” They were representatives of the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) and thousands of them were in town for their annual convention. Many hotel guests were not happy with this hostile display and others were intimidated by it. Somehow, none of it surprised me, at least based on what I had seen of the city in the past three days. This was what San Francisco had become, unfortunately.
Some of these people were holding re-election signs for San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown with the slogan “A different kind of leadership.” Exactly. We had had enough. We were ready to leave ... but we couldn’t. A vagrant had walked up and stood in front of the car. We sat there, waiting in what seemed an eternal stare-down, until she flipped us the bird and shuffled on.
Tam floored it and we were soon on the Bay Bridge. We left San Francisco without regret. Sadly, the city was going through some tough times – and it showed.
We blasted into central California on Interstate 580, climbing Altamont Pass and into the Modesto Valley. Miles and miles of walnut groves, corn fields, and vineyards eventually gave way to vast rolling hills covered with scrub oak trees.
Cresting a hill, an oasis – a beautiful emerald lake swung into view. A sign said Lake Don Pedro. Actually, it was the Don Pedro Reservoir, nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. A single boat, towing a skier, was slicing through the crystal water. After crossing a long arched bridge over the lake, we began to climb a series of switchbacks up the mountainside. We had literally driven for thirty minutes and could still clearly see the bridge we had crossed. The kids were feeling slightly nauseous when we crested the hill (at an altitude of 3,000 feet) near Big Oak Flat.
We thought it might be good to stop and stretch our legs, so we pulled over at Groveland. Today a wide spot in the road, Groveland was a gold-boom town born during the gold rush of 1849. The town was first called Savage’s Diggings but the townspeople later changed the name to its present one. Between 1890 and 1930, Groveland thrived as a major stagecoach gateway to Yosemite National Park. A legacy of those more adventurous times, the Iron Door Tavern and Grill still operates. The Olin tribe walked into the tavern and found it very authentic – old patina-covered wood walls, stuffed animals, wood floor and stone fireplace. Most of the furnishings were easily a hundred years old. The tavern’s greatest claim to fame is that the legendary stagecoach robber Black Bart dined here regularly.
Black Bart (real name Charles Bolton) was the most notorious highwayman in California. Between 1875 and 1883, he robbed the Wells Fargo stages twenty-eight times. He is reverently remembered as a “gentleman’s bandit” because he graciously helped the old ladies out the stages when he was robbing them. In fact, he was eventually arrested when he inadvertently left his lace handkerchief at the site of his last robbery. The handkerchief led authorities to a hotel in San Francisco, where they found Black Bart and took him into custody.
I thought that the Iron Door Tavern and Grill was great. The food was excellent. The atmosphere was really fun too.
From Groveland, we plunged into the woods, twisting and turning between monster trees and huge granite boulders. We entered Yosemite National Park via the Big Oak Flat entrance.
Yosemite became a national park in 1890. Its 1,169 square miles of parkland is 94.5 percent undeveloped wilderness, accessible only by foot or horseback. The western boundary is 2,000 feet in altitude whereas the eastern boundary rises to 13,000 feet along the Sierra crest.
The Big Oak Flat Road wrapped itself along the emerging mountainsides, periodically revealing sweeping views of the great valley beyond. We could see lingering remnants of forest fire damage that occurred in 1990 and scorched 24,000 acres. Suddenly, around another corner – WHAM – Half Dome!! The smooth and cleaved icon of Yosemite was clearly visible from a distance of about eight miles. Then, just as quickly, we turned away and drove down into Yosemite Valley under a canopy of pines.
Naturalist John Muir described the Yosemite Valley as, “A revelation in landscape affairs that enriches one’s life forever.” Photographer Ansel Adams added, “I knew my destiny when I first experienced Yosemite.”
Once in the valley, we were surrounded by such total beauty, of such magnificent size, that I was literally dumbfounded. It was impossible to fully describe what we were seeing. I tried to take a photograph of Tam and the kids in front of El Capitan but the thing was so big that I couldn’t get it all in.
El Capitan is the largest exposed granite monolith in the world, rising 3,593 feet above the valley. Only a mile or two away, to the east, was the instantly recognizable Half Dome, reaching 4,733 feet above the valley floor (8,842 feet above sea level.) Between the two was the highest waterfall in North America – Yosemite Falls - with a total drop of 2,425 feet.
It was like a naturalist’s Disneyland. Hiking, canoeing, bicycling, horseback riding … even watercolor classes were available to visitors in the park.
An old granite stone gate and a withered sign marked the entrance to the hotel – The Ahwahnee.
Considered the masterpiece of the national park lodges, the Ahwahnee was designed by architect Gilbert Stanley Underwood in 1926. It was to be a luxury hotel with ninety-nine rooms and an enormous and elaborate indoor dining portico. To reduce its vulnerability to fire, the building was constructed entirely of stone and concrete … but you wouldn’t know it. Much of the concrete was shaped and stained to look like redwood. Although the hotel was proposed at a cost of $525,000, it actually came in at $1,250,000. None of the materials came from within the park because all natural resources were protected.
The term “Ahwahnee” is Native American for “Land of the gaping mouth.”
The official grand opening of the Ahwahnee was July 11, 1927. It was a private complimentary celebration for VIP guests. The next day, after the special guests had left, hotel staff noticed that much of the rare artwork, Indian baskets, and even bedspreads were missing. The items were never recovered. During World War II, the Ahwahnee served as a Naval hospital. In the three years it was in that capacity, more than 90,000 servicemen passed through the facility.
We pulled our rent-a-car under the large green awning in front of the hotel. A bellman helped us remove everything from the car. I mean everything! He picked up wrappers and individual M & Ms from the back seat. He showed us a picture of what happens to cars that smell even a little bit like food. The picture was of an unrecognizable car, doors ripped clean away from their hinges, windows smashed, seats in shreds. This is what happens to a car when a bear smells food in it. We decided to leave one of Michelle’s dirty socks in the car as an extra defensive precaution.
The four of us proceeded under the timber and canvas portico. The building was in very good condition considering its age (much better than the Old Faithful Inn). In fact, the lodge was undergoing a million-dollar roof renovation and scaffolding was present around the entire perimeter of the structure. The inside, however, was lovely; stained glass windows, original Indian tapestries, rare pottery, and polished antique floors.
The Ahwahnee
Jewel of the National Park lodges
The dining room was so elegant that gentlemen were required to wear jackets. Many people loved it because it is so stuffy ... but some past visitors didn’t. Can you imagine:
- President Herbert Hoover being denied entry into the hotel by a doorman because he was wearing inappropriate fishing attire!!
- Lucille Ball, Desi Arnaz, and Judy Garland getting chastised by hotel management because they were conducting a late night concert on the Steinway in the Great Lounge in 1947!!
- After being rankled by the formal dress-code, Red Skelton showed up for dinner in the Grand Dining Room in a coat, a tie … and no shirt!!
This is not to say that some people didn’t get first-class treatment. Queen Elizabeth visited the Ahwahnee in 1983, as have the King of Belgium, the Queen of Nepal, and the Shah of Iran.
When President John F. Kennedy visited the hotel during peak season in 1962, a special orthopedic bed was flown in by helicopter and delivered to his private suite. All other hotel guests on the second and third floors were evicted for security reasons. When Kennedy requested trout for dinner, fly fishermen were dispatched to catch them in nearby Mirror Lake.
The heavy-metal band Metallica stayed here as well as music legends Bob Seger and Joan Baez. John Fogerty surprised guests at a hotel wedding when he produced an acoustic guitar and did an hour-long unplugged set of his classic hits … accompanied by the hotel harpist!
Believe it or not, in the midst of all this splendor, Michelle and Laura were griping about their experience at Yosemite. Michelle spouted, “Come on, how many trees and rocks and waterfalls do we have to look at? When do we get to do something fun?” Tam and I let them go swimming while we walked around the hotel and took pictures. I didn’t know which way to aim the camera. There was something great in every direction.
Leaving the kids in their room (A0109) after their swim, Tam and I walked the mile or so to Yosemite Village. We checked out the Ansel Adams Gallery and the NPS Visitor Center.
Walking another half-mile to Yosemite Lodge, we could hear a rumble of thunder over Half Dome. Only minutes before, the sky was bright blue. It rumbled again, rolling into the high Sierras. The two of us grabbed a decent buffet dinner and picked up two small pizzas to go. Then we boarded a Yosemite shuttle bus, hoping to return to the Ahwahnee quickly. Instead, we made a forty-minute loop around the entire valley floor before getting to the hotel.
The kids ate the pizzas so fast that they couldn’t tell if they were cold or not.
The sun sets early when you are deep in the valley and surrounded by four thousand foot mountains.
Late afternoon in Yosemite Valley
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Yosemite Falls
Mirror Lake
Half Dome
Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias
Do you know how difficult it is to sleep when there are four thousand foot high granite walls surrounding you on all sides? Laughing? I’m not joking.
On July 10, 1996, a huge rock slab (at least 150 feet high, 30 feet thick, and 400 feet long) broke off the granite wall above Happy Isles Peak, less than one mile from the Ahwahnee. Estimated at 80,000 tons, the slab slid down a 300 foot slope before it began an 1,800 foot (160 mile per hour) freefall. When it impacted the valley floor, the air blast created one hundred mile per hour winds, uprooted trees, destroyed buildings, and spread granite dust over a fifty mile area. Luckily, no one was killed.
The first thing I did when I got out of bed was open the blinds to make sure that Half Dome was still there. It was, basking in the glow of another glorious sunrise.
Tam didn’t sleep well either. She was worried that a bear might come through our window ... even though we were on the second floor.
I went down to the lobby to get a newspaper and a diet soda. I noticed something very interesting. Several people were waiting in line to use the pay phones. I hadn’t seen that in years – since the advent of cell phones. The granite walls surrounding us on all sides rendered them useless. I had to laugh.
Room service soon arrived, was eaten quickly, and the Olin family hit the road – literally. We took a shuttle bus to Yosemite Lodge and rented old-fashioned bicycles. These were the one speed beauties with foot brakes. The four of us followed very well maintained bicycle paths, stopping at Yosemite Falls and the park museum.
Tam at Yosemite Falls
The museum focused primarily on Native Americans living in this region centuries before white man arrived. One of the earliest tribes to inhabit the valley were the Southern Sierra Miwok Indians. In time, they became known as the Awahnichi.
There was another small group of Indians in the valley before the Miwoks, and they were known as the “Yohemite” tribe. Roughly translated, it means, “some of them are killers.” The Yohemites were eventually marginalized by the Miwoks and the white man. The United States Army Mariposa Battalion arrived in the area in 1851.
One of the first settlers to arrive in the area was Galen Clark. In 1856, at forty-two years of age, Clark was told by his doctor that he only had six months to live. So Galen Clark made the decision to spend his final days in Yosemite. That he did! Fifty-three years of final days. During that time, Clark worked to preserve and protect Yosemite’s public treasures.
Galen Clark was buried in Yosemite Cemetery. We found his old granite tombstone amongst Indians and several settlers who had died unexpectantly at young ages (by drowning, falling off mountains, and disease.)
We jumped back on our bikes and rode to Mirror Lake. It turns out that California’s extended drought has turned Mirror Lake into Mirror Swamp. What was one of Ansel Adams’ favorite spots to take photographs was hardly worth the trip.
After stopping for a breather at Curry Village, we rolled back to the bike-stand. That was good, because my rear-end was beginning to get sore. We had covered almost every inch of bikeway in Yosemite Valley and pedaled more than twelve miles (no small feat, considering we were at 4,000 feet..)
Famished, we hammered lunch at the Yosemite Lodge food court.
Just after noon the four of us piled into the car and headed for the southern reaches of the park. Michelle navigated while Tam drove down Route 140 toward Wawona. Cresting a hill, just before the Wawona Tunnel, we saw huge crowds in a parking area at the side of the road. They were all pointing and snapping pictures. I looked back and could see why. This was the famous Tunnel View scenic pull-off. Here, the visitor could virtually see all of Yosemite’s major landmarks in one place. When Theodore Roosevelt visited this vista, he called it “Inspiration Point.”
This was as close as I have ever come to a “naturalist religious experience.” The huge and powerful El Capitan and windblown Bridalveil Falls perfectly framed the magnificent Half Dome in the distance. A bright afternoon sun added dimension and detail to the crevices on the gray-white granite.
In one word – MAJESTIC!!
Pow, pow, pow … my camera was capturing the image for eternity. Vertical, horizontal, with people, without people, wide angle, telephoto. Still, I knew the pictures could never fully absorb the grandeur in front of us.
Wawona was the location of the first headquarters of the park when the U.S. Army was in charge of administration between 1890 and 1906. At the site of the present day Wawona campground, it was named Camp A. E. Wood.
Just south of Wawona, near the border of Yosemite National Park, is the famous Mariposa Grove of Sequoia trees. Discovered by Galen Clark in 1857, he thoroughly counted and measured the enormous trees. There are approximately five hundred mature big Sequoias within the two hundred fifty acres of the grove.
We parked the car at the trailhead and began what would be an arduous march up the mountainside (Sequoias grow at elevations between 5,200 and 7,000 feet.) About half a mile from the car, I noticed that Laura was traversing the treacherous trail in high-heeled sandals and carrying a large feather boa she had purchased in San Francisco. I thought it was a nice touch. The Lower Grove trail took us to several notable trees, all of which had been named:
Fallen Monarch – Having fallen centuries ago, it reveals the massive root structure that is normally not seen underground.
Bachelor and the Three Graces – Four large trees in a dense stand. All of them are over two hundred feet tall
Grizzly Giant – The largest, oldest, and most massive tree in the world! Its trunk is almost forty feet wide. One limb, half way the tree, is six feet in diameter, making it larger than any tree east of the Mississippi River.
California Tunnel Tree – This tree replaced the huge Wawona Tunnel Tree (which fell in 1969). The tunnel was cut in 1895. Of course, we all walked through it.
Laura and Michelle counting the rings
These trees are two-thousand years old
At this point in the trail, Tam and Laura opted to return to the car. Michelle and I continued marching up the mountain – past 6,000 feet and then 6,500 feet into the Upper Grove. Here, we saw Faithful Couple (two Sequoias grafted together to produce a single trunk thirty six feet wide.) Further up the mountain was Clothespin Tree (a tree with the inside burned out, making it look like a giant clothespin.) By the time Michelle and I made it up to those trees, we were huffing and puffing and sweating like pigs.
Returning to the car, we walked through several acres of forest fire ravaged hillside. The damage was so fresh that we could still see hand-dug trenches and tire marks in the dirt. Our legs ached as we joined Tam and Laura in the parking lot. We had walked seven miles up and down a severe mountain grade. We were glad we did it.
Tam and Laura had an experience that they shared with us, too. A huge buck stepped out from some trees and stared them down for several minutes before strolling off into the deep forest.
Sequoia forests are very different from Redwood forests. Sequoia groves are open and airy, with a great deal of sunlight. The ground is covered in pine straw and pinecones. Sequoia limbs are at least forty or fifty feet in the air.
Redwood forests are dense, dark, rich, and humid. The ground is covered with all kinds of plant life (most ferns). The canopy is so dense that very little sunlight makes it to the forest floor.
An hour or so later, we were arriving at the Ahwahnee and noticed a medivac helicopter idling in a field and two ambulances parked on the road beside it. We later discovered that a climber had fallen near El Capitan and was gravely injured. The medical teams were waiting until the climber was brought down off the mountain. Apparently, this happens frequently at Yosemite.
Back at the hotel, the kids splashed around in the pool – completing their bicycle, hike, and swim triathalon. Tam and I collapsed on the bed and cooled our feet.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
San Joaquin Valley
Carmel By The Sea
17 Mile Drive
Pebble Beach Golf Links
Lone Cypress
Monterey Bay
Hertz Rent-A-Car would be glad to know that the bears did not tear our car to shreds during our stay at Yosemite. However, the car did seem to shrink quite a bit. The swelling luggage and gift bags were making it difficult to close the rear hatch.
The sun had not yet risen over Half Dome when we pulled out of the Ahwahnee parking lot at 7:00 am. The only signs of humanity were two grizzled mountain climbers inventorying their gear in the back of a Jeep.
We followed Route 140 out of the park, paralleling the Merced River. For nearly forty continuous miles, we drove downhill. Making excellent time, we passed through Mariposa and stopped for breakfast in Merced.
The town of Merced is in the middle of nowhere. Actually it is in the middle of the agriculturally famous San Joaquin Valley. For miles in every direction, we could see flat grassy plains. This is the part of California that most tourists never see.
The valley was for many years a “no mans” land between the gold-rush mountains and the rapidly populating Pacific coast. Controlled irrigation gave potential to these thousands of acres, opening the door to farmers, ranchers, and developers. The area became a magnet for immigrant laborers from all over the world, thus creating a high degree of cultural diversity. Californian author John Steinbeck based his classic novel “Grapes of Wrath” on the life of local migrant farm workers in the central valley.
Crossing the Diablo Mountains on Route 152, we joined California Route 1 for the first time and arrived at one of Tam’s all-time favorite places – Carmel-By-The-Sea. Having been there on several occasions, Tam and I have many great romantic memories of this tiny village.
What we found in Carmel on this day, however, was disappointing. Yes, the old town looked the same. But almost all of the small, independent art shops were gone – replaced by the big commercial galleries all selling the same stuff, and at very over-inflated prices.
As we walked up and down San Carlos and Dolores Avenues, I shared with Laura my theory on art shopping:
We did find the one gallery that sold works by local and independent artists, but the selection was very limited.
After only a few minutes in the village, it had become quite clear that the old artist colony had become more of an elitist enclave. Gone was the easy-going and casual atmosphere that made Carmel special. It had been replaced with the honking horns of Mercedes Benzes and the snobbery of society women with thousand-dollar handbags. For example: The city council recently issued an ordinance preventing ice cream parlors from selling cones, because children might drop them, leaving unsightly puddles on the village sidewalks and streets. Only cups were permitted. I don’t know if I would want to live in a town that didn’t allow ice cream cones.
It took us only an hour to scope every gallery in Carmel. Laura did find a flashy pink skirt-top thing that she immediately paraded throughout the village.
We stopped at Clint Eastwood’s Hog’s Breath Inn for lunch in the outdoor courtyard. We sat in the shade and beside the welcome warmth of one of the outdoor brick fireplaces. Michelle and Laura ate “Dirty Harry” burgers. I used the bathroom at the restaurant and saw a great piece of graffiti on the wall. It said, “Hey Clint! Go ahead, make my dinner!”
There was a really cool store for dogs that we spent some time in before leaving downtown. We bought Daisy some snacks and a custom life-preserver for boat rides.
At the end of Ocean Avenue is the beach at Carmel Bay. Tam and I remembered taking many romantic photographs among the Cypress driftwood. On this day, literally hundreds of beachgoers cluttered the sloping sand. In the shade of that old Cypress were eight amateur painters. Michelle and Laura glimpsed their works in progress and turned to us with their jaws open. “Man, they’re terrible!” they whispered loudly. Laura announced, “I could do way better than that!” In all honesty, she probably could.
Back in the car, we turned north on San Antonio Street and entered the famed 17 Mile Drive through the Carmel Gate. Almost immediately, we stopped at the Pebble Beach Golf Links. I dropped a load of dinero on golf shirts, hats, and other gear (including a few birthday gifts for Tam’s Dad). Michelle and I stood on the first tee and talked about the legends of golf that had played these hallowed grounds. She looked me right in the eye and said that she would be back to play this course – in a tournament.
We stopped at the Lone Cypress along the rocky Pacific coast. When I first saw this tree, it was leaning severely away from the stiff ocean winds, like most Cypress trees. However, in order to save this tree, preservationists had attached cables to it and gradually pulled it into a vertical posture. They might have saved the tree, but the thing looked like an oak tree now. It didn’t look like a cypress anymore.
Threading between the mansions and the twisted, ghostly, and otherwise unadulterated Monterey cypress trees, we eventually exited at Pacific Gove and arrived at the Monterey Marriott Hotel.
Once famous for whaling and sardine-canning, Monterey has become a major attraction on the peninsula. Full of history and natural beauty, it offers a tremendous array of activities to the visitor.
Monterey was the boyhood home of author John Steinbeck. It was also California’s first state capital. It is home to the Monterey Jazz Festival, a huge three-night affair that annually attracts more than 500 of the best musicians in the world. But the biggest draw is the Monterey Bay Aquarium on Cannery Row. More than 700 varieties of marine animals are on display, some in open pools that spill out into Monterey Bay.
The four of us ate dinner along Cannery Row at Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Company. We had the best table, right on the bay, and could see the sea lions frolicking in the tide. Bloated with shrimp, we walked along the plethora of galleries, snack bars, and one surf shop that the kids ran into like a shot.
Tam and I agreed that Monterey was more enjoyable than Carmel in almost every way.
Nightfall arrived and the kids were in bed watching Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson as “Starsky and Hutch” on pay-per-view. Tam did three loads of laundry, and I updated this journal.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
The sun had not yet risen over Half Dome when we pulled out of the Ahwahnee parking lot at 7:00 am. The only signs of humanity were two grizzled mountain climbers inventorying their gear in the back of a Jeep.
We followed Route 140 out of the park, paralleling the Merced River. For nearly forty continuous miles, we drove downhill. Making excellent time, we passed through Mariposa and stopped for breakfast in Merced.
The town of Merced is in the middle of nowhere. Actually it is in the middle of the agriculturally famous San Joaquin Valley. For miles in every direction, we could see flat grassy plains. This is the part of California that most tourists never see.
The valley was for many years a “no mans” land between the gold-rush mountains and the rapidly populating Pacific coast. Controlled irrigation gave potential to these thousands of acres, opening the door to farmers, ranchers, and developers. The area became a magnet for immigrant laborers from all over the world, thus creating a high degree of cultural diversity. Californian author John Steinbeck based his classic novel “Grapes of Wrath” on the life of local migrant farm workers in the central valley.
Crossing the Diablo Mountains on Route 152, we joined California Route 1 for the first time and arrived at one of Tam’s all-time favorite places – Carmel-By-The-Sea. Having been there on several occasions, Tam and I have many great romantic memories of this tiny village.
What we found in Carmel on this day, however, was disappointing. Yes, the old town looked the same. But almost all of the small, independent art shops were gone – replaced by the big commercial galleries all selling the same stuff, and at very over-inflated prices.
As we walked up and down San Carlos and Dolores Avenues, I shared with Laura my theory on art shopping:
- If an art gallery has twenty works of art or less, everything will be 20 percent overpriced.
- If an art gallery is playing classical music in their store, everything will be 30 percent overpriced.
- If an art gallery has a private showing room, everything in the store will be 40 percent overpriced.
- If an art gallery offers you a cappuccino, everything in the store will be 50 percent overpriced.
- If a salesperson in one of the above galleries wants to give you a private showing with music and a cappuccino – RUN, don’t walk – to nearest exit!!
We did find the one gallery that sold works by local and independent artists, but the selection was very limited.
After only a few minutes in the village, it had become quite clear that the old artist colony had become more of an elitist enclave. Gone was the easy-going and casual atmosphere that made Carmel special. It had been replaced with the honking horns of Mercedes Benzes and the snobbery of society women with thousand-dollar handbags. For example: The city council recently issued an ordinance preventing ice cream parlors from selling cones, because children might drop them, leaving unsightly puddles on the village sidewalks and streets. Only cups were permitted. I don’t know if I would want to live in a town that didn’t allow ice cream cones.
It took us only an hour to scope every gallery in Carmel. Laura did find a flashy pink skirt-top thing that she immediately paraded throughout the village.
We stopped at Clint Eastwood’s Hog’s Breath Inn for lunch in the outdoor courtyard. We sat in the shade and beside the welcome warmth of one of the outdoor brick fireplaces. Michelle and Laura ate “Dirty Harry” burgers. I used the bathroom at the restaurant and saw a great piece of graffiti on the wall. It said, “Hey Clint! Go ahead, make my dinner!”
There was a really cool store for dogs that we spent some time in before leaving downtown. We bought Daisy some snacks and a custom life-preserver for boat rides.
At the end of Ocean Avenue is the beach at Carmel Bay. Tam and I remembered taking many romantic photographs among the Cypress driftwood. On this day, literally hundreds of beachgoers cluttered the sloping sand. In the shade of that old Cypress were eight amateur painters. Michelle and Laura glimpsed their works in progress and turned to us with their jaws open. “Man, they’re terrible!” they whispered loudly. Laura announced, “I could do way better than that!” In all honesty, she probably could.
Back in the car, we turned north on San Antonio Street and entered the famed 17 Mile Drive through the Carmel Gate. Almost immediately, we stopped at the Pebble Beach Golf Links. I dropped a load of dinero on golf shirts, hats, and other gear (including a few birthday gifts for Tam’s Dad). Michelle and I stood on the first tee and talked about the legends of golf that had played these hallowed grounds. She looked me right in the eye and said that she would be back to play this course – in a tournament.
We stopped at the Lone Cypress along the rocky Pacific coast. When I first saw this tree, it was leaning severely away from the stiff ocean winds, like most Cypress trees. However, in order to save this tree, preservationists had attached cables to it and gradually pulled it into a vertical posture. They might have saved the tree, but the thing looked like an oak tree now. It didn’t look like a cypress anymore.
Threading between the mansions and the twisted, ghostly, and otherwise unadulterated Monterey cypress trees, we eventually exited at Pacific Gove and arrived at the Monterey Marriott Hotel.
Once famous for whaling and sardine-canning, Monterey has become a major attraction on the peninsula. Full of history and natural beauty, it offers a tremendous array of activities to the visitor.
Monterey was the boyhood home of author John Steinbeck. It was also California’s first state capital. It is home to the Monterey Jazz Festival, a huge three-night affair that annually attracts more than 500 of the best musicians in the world. But the biggest draw is the Monterey Bay Aquarium on Cannery Row. More than 700 varieties of marine animals are on display, some in open pools that spill out into Monterey Bay.
The four of us ate dinner along Cannery Row at Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Company. We had the best table, right on the bay, and could see the sea lions frolicking in the tide. Bloated with shrimp, we walked along the plethora of galleries, snack bars, and one surf shop that the kids ran into like a shot.
Tam and I agreed that Monterey was more enjoyable than Carmel in almost every way.
Nightfall arrived and the kids were in bed watching Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson as “Starsky and Hutch” on pay-per-view. Tam did three loads of laundry, and I updated this journal.
California Dreamin' (Part 2)
(Includes video footage of the trip)
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Pacific Coast Highway
Bixby Bridge
Big Sur
Hearst Castle
Santa Barbara
Beach House Surf Shop
Regretfully, due to tight scheduling, we had to leave Monterey early. Tam wished that we could have spent more time there. I agreed. But there was still much to look forward to … we were about to enjoy one of my favorite parts of the whole trip – Big Sur.
Leaving the Monterey Peninsula on Route 1 (now called the Pacific Coast Highway), through Carmel Highlands and down the coast, we entered “heaven on earth,” the hundred-mile dramatic coastal drive along the edge of the mountains as they plunge to the ocean. This is considered by many to be the greatest and most beautiful drive in America.
I think it is the most beautiful place in the entire world!!
Just before we entered Pfeiffer State Park, we stopped for fuel and breakfast at a roadside gas station that turned out to be a real gem. Despite the fact that gas was $3.39 per gallon, the home-made bakery items were outstanding. Michelle came back from the outhouse at the edge of the woods all excited, saying it was the nicest, cleanest bathroom she had ever been in.
On the road again, paper bags were being ripped open, bagels were being handed out, and maps were being unfolded as we whistled past the Post Ranch Inn. Tam and I had stayed there many years ago in a private casita (the Molera casita) a thousand feet above the pounding ocean surf. It was one of the most romantic experiences we ever shared. Then we zipped past Ventana, Nepenthe, and the Hawthorne Gallery – all places that Tam and I remembered fondly.
I made Michelle and Laura get out for pictures at Hurricane Point, with the Bixby Creek Bridge in the background. The wind was blowing so hard that it made the shot less than perfect. Maybe that’s why they called it Hurricane Point.
Still, there were probably six more times that I made Tam stop so I could take more pictures. One time, Tam stopped and I opened my car door to get out. The wind was blowing so hard that it blew our reservations for Hearst Castle right out of the door pocket and over the cliff. Great, just great. Laura and Michelle were laughing their heads off in the back seat. It was funny … I had to laugh too!
Tam must have been anxious, because she drove that coastal highway like a maniac. I don’t think she ever saw the ocean. I also noticed that it was getting quieter and quieter in the back seat. I semi-jokingly asked if anyone was getting carsick. Michelle murmured, “I am…” Laura blurted, “I feel great!” Luckily, we were almost out of the rough stuff and the road was beginning to smooth out.
Just north of San Simeon, at Point Piedras Blancas, Michelle and I noticed several dozen seals lying on the beach, motionless. For a few brief moments, we wondered if they had washed-up – dead. Then suddenly, we saw several more lounging on the sand, with a growing crowd of people gathering around them. Tam screeched to a halt and we all jumped out and got up-close and personal with three dozen giant Elephant Seals. They were sleeping together, playing in the sand, sparring in the surf, and otherwise enjoying the sunny morning. A lady volunteer was educating bystanders and keeping everyone a safe distance from the seals. She said that a few days ago, a tourist got too close and a bull seal ripped his thigh to shreds. What’s worse is that the guy was fined $1000 for bothering them.
A stone’s throw further south from this gathering was the entrance to William Randolph Hearst’s opulent jewel – Hearst Castle. William Randolph Hearst was a very astute businessman and the most powerful newspaper publisher in America. His father and grandfather were very successful in acquiring California real estate at the close of the Mexican War. By the late 1800s, the family held more than 300 square miles of land along the California central coast.
Hearst selected and worked closely with renowned architect Julia Morgan on almost every aspect of design. Construction began in 1919 and never ended while Hearst was still alive. For thirty years, and at the stupendous cost of ten million dollars (the most expensive home ever built in the United States), the estate arose on the hilltop that Hearst named La Cuesta Encantada (the Enchanted Hill). The 115 room mansion was a hodgepodge of Italian, Spanish, Moorish and French styles “that would strike horror into the soul of any architectural purist.” It was like an architectural Disneyland.
Still, Hearst didn’t care what others thought about his project. He enjoyed playing host (along with his mistress actress Marion Davies) in sharing his home with many of the elite names of the day. Visitors included Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Charlie Chaplin, and the Marx Brothers.
In 1947, work was halted on the estate when Hearst’s failing health precluded him from staying in the home. Years after his death, in 1958, his family donated 127 acres of the property, including the house, to the State of California. The Hearst Corporation still owns several thousand acres surrounding the estate and raises beef cattle on the ranch.
Waiting for our 11:40 am tour, we looked at an exhibit that included huge pictures of women in elegant ball gowns and flapper dresses. Laura got worked into a lather. She hoped to find one for sale in the gift shop. We also ate lunch before the tour – ribs, hot dogs, and hamburgers, all made with Hearst Ranch beef.
A comfortable bus ride brought us to the summit of Enchanted Hill. We silently stood and admired for a moment the most lavish home ever built in America.
Starting at the poolside staircase, we met our docent, John Porter. He turned out to be a very interesting and entertaining guide. John brought us to one of the three guest houses … Casa del Sol. This guest house had four bedrooms, each outfitted with 500 year old beds, gold leaf wood carved ceilings from Italy and rare Persian rugs. In the guest courtyard were flower gardens and gaudy Venetian sculptures.
John took us past three thousand year old Egyptian statues during the short walk to Casa Grande (the main house). In the great living room (one of sixteen living rooms) there were huge seven hundred year old tapestries, considered by some to be the greatest in the world. Along the walls were rows of ancient wood-carved church seats used by Anglican monks centuries ago.
In the dining room was a massive wood carved table that could seat fifty people. In the center of the table were bottles of ketchup and mustard. Mr. Hearst liked the symbolism of this.
Laura, of course, loved the whole darned thing; the house, the art, the over-the-top decorating … everything. I thought it was, as most visitors do ... over the top.
It was almost 1:30 pm when we left San Simeon. We had to drive 150 miles to Santa Barbara. Tam drove hard, through Pismo Beach, San Luis Opisbo, and tens of thousands of acres of mountains recently destroyed by a huge wildfire at Gaviota Pass. Wow! The entire area as far as I could see was completely consumed two weeks before we came through. Not one blade of grass survived. The hillsides were scorched black and looked more like the moon than anything on earth. Road crews were repairing guard rails that had melted in the fire. The utility company was stringing new power lines. Highway 101 was closed for three days at the peak of this fire.
We turned east and paralleled the Pacific Ocean for several miles as we approached Santa Barbara. In the distance, I pointed out several deep sea oil derricks. The kids had never seen them before. Michelle spotted a pod of whales spouting off along the shore.
Santa Barbara traces its history back to the earliest days of Spanish settlement in Upper California. In 1602, conquistador Sebastian Vizcaino sailed into Santa Barbara Bay and named it for the saint born on that day. But it was almost two centuries later that Father Fermin Francisco de Lasuen established the famous mission in 1786. Today, Santa Barbara is an enclave for the super-rich, and a vacation spot for those who pretend they are super-rich.
At 4:15 in the afternoon, we pulled onto State Street in downtown Santa Barbara and found thousands of women power-shopping in the chic stores and boutiques that line both sides of the street. The value of all the handbags I saw while driving down that street was greater than the net worth of most European countries.
We continued toward the ocean to our primary destination (and perhaps the best store of its kind in all of California) … the Beach House Surf Shop. Out in front of the store were dozens of surf boards for rent. Inside the huge building were hundreds of surf boards for sale, including some gorgeously restored longboards from the 1960s. There were boards leaning against the walls, stacked in the back room, and hanging from the ceiling. There were boards of all types, longboards, short boards, wood boards, fiberglass boards, old boards, and new boards too.
Michelle’s number one priority was to buy a surf board in California. Well, this was the place. Neither Michelle nor I knew what we were really looking for, so we enlisted the help of a really cute tall blond sales clerk named Carter. Carter looked like he had been surfing all his life … and that’s about it. Still, he knew everything about boards and found Michelle a superb bright orange custom made “squishy.” A squishy is a board with a slightly thicker body for better flotation and riding in mild surf conditions (such as Florida). Tam and I bought it for her birthday. Although the board itself wasn’t too expensive ($300) the cost to ship it back home was horrendous.
Mission accomplished for one of Michelle’s big goals on this trip!
Laura and Tam were busy shopping amongst the thousands of swimsuits, sunglasses, T-shirts, shorts, and other surfer apparel. They were very successful too. The car was now so full that we had to find a pack-n-ship location in downtown Santa Barbara. For a half an hour, we sorted through everything on the sidewalk and threw stuff into cardboard boxes, taped them up, and shipped them home.
Carter (the surfboard sales guy) gave us a terrific recommendation for dinner. The Fish House Restaurant was just around the corner on Cabrillo Street, overlooking the beach and the Santa Barbara Marina. What a superb choice! It was possibly the best meal of the entire trip.
The Santa Barbara Hotel is located on State Street, right in the heart of the shopping district. We threw the bags at the bellman and hit the streets. I found an awesome bootleg record store.Laura bought a really cool handcrafted mesh shawl. After two solid hours of shopping, I returned to our room. The girls showed up two more hours later, bags in hand.
It had been a long day and I was pooped. Reading Santa Barbara Magazine in bed, I learned some cool stuff to share with you:
Friday, June 25, 2004
Leaving the Monterey Peninsula on Route 1 (now called the Pacific Coast Highway), through Carmel Highlands and down the coast, we entered “heaven on earth,” the hundred-mile dramatic coastal drive along the edge of the mountains as they plunge to the ocean. This is considered by many to be the greatest and most beautiful drive in America.
I think it is the most beautiful place in the entire world!!
Tom and Tam at Big Sur, California
Just before we entered Pfeiffer State Park, we stopped for fuel and breakfast at a roadside gas station that turned out to be a real gem. Despite the fact that gas was $3.39 per gallon, the home-made bakery items were outstanding. Michelle came back from the outhouse at the edge of the woods all excited, saying it was the nicest, cleanest bathroom she had ever been in.
On the road again, paper bags were being ripped open, bagels were being handed out, and maps were being unfolded as we whistled past the Post Ranch Inn. Tam and I had stayed there many years ago in a private casita (the Molera casita) a thousand feet above the pounding ocean surf. It was one of the most romantic experiences we ever shared. Then we zipped past Ventana, Nepenthe, and the Hawthorne Gallery – all places that Tam and I remembered fondly.
I made Michelle and Laura get out for pictures at Hurricane Point, with the Bixby Creek Bridge in the background. The wind was blowing so hard that it made the shot less than perfect. Maybe that’s why they called it Hurricane Point.
Still, there were probably six more times that I made Tam stop so I could take more pictures. One time, Tam stopped and I opened my car door to get out. The wind was blowing so hard that it blew our reservations for Hearst Castle right out of the door pocket and over the cliff. Great, just great. Laura and Michelle were laughing their heads off in the back seat. It was funny … I had to laugh too!
Tam must have been anxious, because she drove that coastal highway like a maniac. I don’t think she ever saw the ocean. I also noticed that it was getting quieter and quieter in the back seat. I semi-jokingly asked if anyone was getting carsick. Michelle murmured, “I am…” Laura blurted, “I feel great!” Luckily, we were almost out of the rough stuff and the road was beginning to smooth out.
Just north of San Simeon, at Point Piedras Blancas, Michelle and I noticed several dozen seals lying on the beach, motionless. For a few brief moments, we wondered if they had washed-up – dead. Then suddenly, we saw several more lounging on the sand, with a growing crowd of people gathering around them. Tam screeched to a halt and we all jumped out and got up-close and personal with three dozen giant Elephant Seals. They were sleeping together, playing in the sand, sparring in the surf, and otherwise enjoying the sunny morning. A lady volunteer was educating bystanders and keeping everyone a safe distance from the seals. She said that a few days ago, a tourist got too close and a bull seal ripped his thigh to shreds. What’s worse is that the guy was fined $1000 for bothering them.
A stone’s throw further south from this gathering was the entrance to William Randolph Hearst’s opulent jewel – Hearst Castle. William Randolph Hearst was a very astute businessman and the most powerful newspaper publisher in America. His father and grandfather were very successful in acquiring California real estate at the close of the Mexican War. By the late 1800s, the family held more than 300 square miles of land along the California central coast.
Hearst selected and worked closely with renowned architect Julia Morgan on almost every aspect of design. Construction began in 1919 and never ended while Hearst was still alive. For thirty years, and at the stupendous cost of ten million dollars (the most expensive home ever built in the United States), the estate arose on the hilltop that Hearst named La Cuesta Encantada (the Enchanted Hill). The 115 room mansion was a hodgepodge of Italian, Spanish, Moorish and French styles “that would strike horror into the soul of any architectural purist.” It was like an architectural Disneyland.
Still, Hearst didn’t care what others thought about his project. He enjoyed playing host (along with his mistress actress Marion Davies) in sharing his home with many of the elite names of the day. Visitors included Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Charlie Chaplin, and the Marx Brothers.
In 1947, work was halted on the estate when Hearst’s failing health precluded him from staying in the home. Years after his death, in 1958, his family donated 127 acres of the property, including the house, to the State of California. The Hearst Corporation still owns several thousand acres surrounding the estate and raises beef cattle on the ranch.
Waiting for our 11:40 am tour, we looked at an exhibit that included huge pictures of women in elegant ball gowns and flapper dresses. Laura got worked into a lather. She hoped to find one for sale in the gift shop. We also ate lunch before the tour – ribs, hot dogs, and hamburgers, all made with Hearst Ranch beef.
A comfortable bus ride brought us to the summit of Enchanted Hill. We silently stood and admired for a moment the most lavish home ever built in America.
John took us past three thousand year old Egyptian statues during the short walk to Casa Grande (the main house). In the great living room (one of sixteen living rooms) there were huge seven hundred year old tapestries, considered by some to be the greatest in the world. Along the walls were rows of ancient wood-carved church seats used by Anglican monks centuries ago.
In the dining room was a massive wood carved table that could seat fifty people. In the center of the table were bottles of ketchup and mustard. Mr. Hearst liked the symbolism of this.
Laura, of course, loved the whole darned thing; the house, the art, the over-the-top decorating … everything. I thought it was, as most visitors do ... over the top.
It was almost 1:30 pm when we left San Simeon. We had to drive 150 miles to Santa Barbara. Tam drove hard, through Pismo Beach, San Luis Opisbo, and tens of thousands of acres of mountains recently destroyed by a huge wildfire at Gaviota Pass. Wow! The entire area as far as I could see was completely consumed two weeks before we came through. Not one blade of grass survived. The hillsides were scorched black and looked more like the moon than anything on earth. Road crews were repairing guard rails that had melted in the fire. The utility company was stringing new power lines. Highway 101 was closed for three days at the peak of this fire.
We turned east and paralleled the Pacific Ocean for several miles as we approached Santa Barbara. In the distance, I pointed out several deep sea oil derricks. The kids had never seen them before. Michelle spotted a pod of whales spouting off along the shore.
Santa Barbara traces its history back to the earliest days of Spanish settlement in Upper California. In 1602, conquistador Sebastian Vizcaino sailed into Santa Barbara Bay and named it for the saint born on that day. But it was almost two centuries later that Father Fermin Francisco de Lasuen established the famous mission in 1786. Today, Santa Barbara is an enclave for the super-rich, and a vacation spot for those who pretend they are super-rich.
At 4:15 in the afternoon, we pulled onto State Street in downtown Santa Barbara and found thousands of women power-shopping in the chic stores and boutiques that line both sides of the street. The value of all the handbags I saw while driving down that street was greater than the net worth of most European countries.
We continued toward the ocean to our primary destination (and perhaps the best store of its kind in all of California) … the Beach House Surf Shop. Out in front of the store were dozens of surf boards for rent. Inside the huge building were hundreds of surf boards for sale, including some gorgeously restored longboards from the 1960s. There were boards leaning against the walls, stacked in the back room, and hanging from the ceiling. There were boards of all types, longboards, short boards, wood boards, fiberglass boards, old boards, and new boards too.
Michelle’s number one priority was to buy a surf board in California. Well, this was the place. Neither Michelle nor I knew what we were really looking for, so we enlisted the help of a really cute tall blond sales clerk named Carter. Carter looked like he had been surfing all his life … and that’s about it. Still, he knew everything about boards and found Michelle a superb bright orange custom made “squishy.” A squishy is a board with a slightly thicker body for better flotation and riding in mild surf conditions (such as Florida). Tam and I bought it for her birthday. Although the board itself wasn’t too expensive ($300) the cost to ship it back home was horrendous.
Michelle gets her surfboard ...
with some assistance from Carter,
the cute surfer sales guy
Mission accomplished for one of Michelle’s big goals on this trip!
Laura and Tam were busy shopping amongst the thousands of swimsuits, sunglasses, T-shirts, shorts, and other surfer apparel. They were very successful too. The car was now so full that we had to find a pack-n-ship location in downtown Santa Barbara. For a half an hour, we sorted through everything on the sidewalk and threw stuff into cardboard boxes, taped them up, and shipped them home.
Carter (the surfboard sales guy) gave us a terrific recommendation for dinner. The Fish House Restaurant was just around the corner on Cabrillo Street, overlooking the beach and the Santa Barbara Marina. What a superb choice! It was possibly the best meal of the entire trip.
The Santa Barbara Hotel is located on State Street, right in the heart of the shopping district. We threw the bags at the bellman and hit the streets. I found an awesome bootleg record store.Laura bought a really cool handcrafted mesh shawl. After two solid hours of shopping, I returned to our room. The girls showed up two more hours later, bags in hand.
It had been a long day and I was pooped. Reading Santa Barbara Magazine in bed, I learned some cool stuff to share with you:
- Herb Peterson, the inventor of the Egg McMuffin still lives here and owns all six McDonalds restaurants in the city limits.
- Michael Jordan holds his basketball camp here every summer and then tends bar at O’Malley’s Pub each night.
- Volleyball god, Karch Kiraly, grew up here and comedian John Cleese is a current resident.
- And best of all … there are no parking meters anywhere downtown.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Hollywood
Warner Brothers Studios
Santa Monica
Shutters On The Beach
Fog had rolled in during the night. This was typical for this time of year. A marine layer of clouds will roll in and eventually burn off in the afternoon. Locals have a name for this ... they call it “June Gloom”.
Everybody was in the car at 7:45 am, except Laura. She wanted to ride the antique elevator again before she left.
The Hotel Santa Barbara was first built in 1876 when the village was still a sleepy pueblo. In 1925, an earthquake destroyed all of downtown Santa Barbara, including the original hotel. A new hotel was built of reinforced concrete, one foot thick walls and a five foot wide foundation. At the time, it was the strongest building within fifty miles. For the next thirty years, it was a favorite of old Hollywood celebrities. Gable and Lombard were frequent guests. After a slow decline, the Hotel Santa Barbara was renovated in 1975 and again in 1996. Everything was updated – except the elevators.
We outran the fog by the time we got to Burbank on the Ventura Highway. After a disgusting breakfast at Carl’s Jr, we set out to find Gate 3 at Warner Brothers Studio. Without any detailed maps, I got us lost and tensions ran high for about ten minutes.
Finally, we found a Warner Brothers gate. It was the actor’s entrance. Close, but we were forced to turn around and drive three blocks to Gate 3 – the VIP Gate. A few minutes later, we were on a stretched golf cart with our tour guide Dean Ricca and cruising around the soundstages and back-lots of Warner Brothers studios.
For the record, Dean was an actor and member of the Screen Actors Guild. His big movie break was acting as a WB tour guide in the film: Looney Tunes – Back In Action. Other than that, Dean had spent six years giving tours.
Unfortunately, before we boarded our golf cart, I had to lock my camera into a security box under a seat at the rear of the cart. Therefore, it was impossible to photograph any of the active sets on the lot.
Our “Super Deluxe VIP Tour” took more than five hours and gained us access to virtually every point of the studio. Some of the highlights were:
- Watching construction of the “Ocean’s 12” set, including the fabrication of dozens of fake renaissance sculptures and paintings, the selection of furniture for the sets, and the creation of costumes.
- Touring the Everybody Loves Raymond and Friends live studio audience sets.
- Watching audio dubbing for the TV show North Shore.
- Walking through both the Property and Lighting Departments.
- Touring all outdoor sets; with an in-depth look at the ER County Hospital.
- Eating lunch at the studio commissary.
- Witnessing the uncrating and unveiling of the brand-new Batmobile to be used in the upcoming Batman movie. We were among maybe the first twenty people to see it, other than its builders.
The actors were on summer hiatus and were not in the studio. The Ocean’s 12 actors were expected on the set in two weeks. Actors starring in one hour TV series would arrive next week. The live sitcom actors weren’t expected until August.
We did run into the guy that had just won the Oscar for best musical score for the latest Matrix movie.
A huge moment happened when Dean let Laura run wild in the four acre costume department. She went straight to Civil War ball gowns and draped them over herself. I wandered through the entire building and found Cool Hand Luke’s blue jeans, Christopher Reeve’s Superman outfit, Sandra Bullock’s gown from Miss. Congeniality, dozen of Japanese suits of armor from The Last Samurai, and Dustin Hoffman’s prison outfit from the movie Papillion.
There was nothing in the entire studio inventory worn by Clint Eastwood. Why? Because his contract stipulates that he keeps all of his costumes.
Michelle’s favorite part of the whole tour was seeing a special display of props used in all of the Harry Potter films.
Michelle on the set of “ER”
After the tour, we drove a few blocks to a store called It’s a Wrap! The entire boutique was full of wardrobe used in Hollywood television and movie productions. Michelle and Laura tried on clothing from General Hospital, Starsky and Hutch, ER, and Catch Me If You Can. Laura found a gold-mine of formal gowns from All My Children, but they were too expensive. Just for fun, I tried on a few of Kelsey Grammer’s old things from Frasier. Michelle picked up a few items from the Matt Damon movie Eurotrip and an apron that Ben Stiller wore in Starsky and Hutch.
By now, it was six o’clock and we were ready to head for the barn. We cruised down Hollywood Boulevard and Sunset Strip to Santa Monica and our hotel, Shutters on the Beach. After checking in, we walked past the original Muscle Beach to the Santa Monica Pier. At the end of the pier, there was a Mexican restaurant called Maria Sol. We ate dinner while the sun set and mariachi musicians serenaded us.
The girls worked out briefly on Muscle Beach on the way back to the hotel while Tam and I gazed past them at the ocean and the pier, lit by the amusement rides.
Back in our room, we watched Starsky and Hutch (again) in an attempt to see the apron that Ben Stiller wore (and Michelle bought.)
Saturday, June 26, 2004
Limousine Celebrity Tour of Los Angeles
Grauman's Chinese Theater
Sunset Boulevard
Chateau Marmont
Playboy Mansion
Greystone Mansion
Westwood Cemetery
Venice Beach
The phone rang at 9:20 am. Our driver, Chris Fuller (of Tour de Jour Limousine Service) was waiting in the lobby for us. Laura and I went downstairs to meet him while Tam and Michelle finished getting ready.
Chris was tall, lean and maybe in his late thirties. He was dressed neatly but casually – the perfect tour guide. He told Laura and me to wait briefly while he pulled his Yukon Denali up to the door. I stood at the hotel front door and opened it politely for someone to walk in…
In an instant I was face to face with … Ken Burns, renowned documentary film producer. He was sweaty from jogging in a black T-shirt with the word “Jazz” on it. He nodded at me when he entered the lobby and disappeared around the corner. Excitedly, I started to explain to Laura who he was. I went through the litany of films that Ken Burns had produced; The Civil War, Lewis and Clark …
“Um, Dad,” Laura mumbled. I continued,” … Frank Lloyd Wright, Baseball …”
“Dad.”
I continued blathering, “Oh yeah, and he did an awesome series on the evolution of Jazz music.”
“Dad. He’s right behind you.”
Sure enough, he was standing there, newspaper in his hand, waiting for the elevator. He heard every word I said. He smiled.
I prayed that Tam and Michelle would step out of that elevator and see him. The door opened and he stepped in. Five seconds later, the girls stepped out of the other elevator.
We had hired Chris to give us a tour of the Hollywood area, with an emphasis on celebrity homes and hangouts. The first few minutes were a little lame – Greta Garbo this, Clark Gable that. Then, driving north on Robertson Street, Chris pointed to a designer clothing shop named Kitson and said that Jennifer Aniston frequently shopped there. Michelle and Laura got instant whiplash.
We turned onto Melrose Avenue and cruised east. In a particularly seedy section of town, Chris stopped in front of a store with a giant eyeball painted on the concrete wall above the door. This was Von Dutch, the hottest clothing designer among the MTV generation. Michelle almost jumped out of her seat. This was the hangout for Hillary Duff, Chingy, Lil John, and Ashton Kutcher.
Just a few blocks further on Melrose, we stopped in front of a dumpy-looking stucco building with no signage on it. This was Dolce, the hippest restaurant in Los Angeles (owned by Ashton Kutcher.)
Behind the restaurant was an upper-middle class residential area. We pulled up to a non-descript house. We didn’t recognize it until Chris reminded us that the Cunningham family lived there. It was the Happy Days house. One block away was the relatively modest home of former Friends star David Schwimmer.
Eventually, we turned onto Hollywood Boulevard. Chris dropped us off at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. This was Hollywood at its most shameless … and best! The stars on the sidewalks, the handprints in the cement, the guys hawking free passes to television game show tapings, people dressed up like Michael Jackson, Superman, Marilyn Monroe, Homer Simpson, Frankenstein, Bugs Bunny, Elmo, Spiderman, and of course Elvis. All of them were there to promote the industry … and to make a buck.
After posing with Spiderman and Marilyn Monroe, we walked several blocks along the Walk of Fame. Michelle’s favorite star was Britney Spears. Laura’s favorite was for the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen (who had just received their star two weeks earlier.)
Across from the Kodak Theatre was a store that sold original movie props. The girls picked up a few items from The Grinch and Legally Blonde 2.
Chris picked us up and asked how it was. He raised an eyebrow when we told him how much fun we had posing with everybody at the Grauman’s “cheesefest.”
Our tour continued into the Hollywood Hills with several stops on Thrasher Avenue at the hilltop homes of Courtney Cox, Tobey Maguire, and Leonardo DiCaprio. I noticed that the maid’s car in front of Tobey Maguire’s house had several Spiderman dolls on the windows. Michelle’s personal favorite was DiCaprio’s house. She could see his bedroom windows clearly from the street.
At one point, Chris stopped on top of a scenic vista and told us the story of the HOLLYWOOD sign. In 1923, a couple of real estate developers hatched a scheme to sell properties in the hills surrounding Los Angeles. They built a huge sign, consisting of 50 foot high white letters that spelled out HOLLYWOODLAND to promote this venture. For years, it was noticed only as a giant eyesore by many in the community.
But in 1932, a young actress named Peg Entwistle, who had failed in her dreams to achieve stardom, jumped from the letter “H”, committing suicide. This helped to create the legend that the Hollywood sign has become. Still, for many years, the sign was neglected. The “H” even fell off in a storm in 1949. The Kiwanis Club tried to fix the sign in the 1960s. Soon after that, one of the “O”s crashed down the hill. Fortunately, help was on the way in the unlikely form of Hugh Hefner. He hosted a giant party at the Playboy Mansion during which each of the letters was sold for $28,000 a pop. Gene Autry bought an “L”. Rock star Alice Cooper bought an “O”. And Hefner, of course, bought the “Y”. As a result, a Hollywood icon was saved.
We turned onto a side street from Sunset Boulevard and stopped. Behind huge bushes and a giant iron gate was the home of heartthrob Johnny Depp. His infamous Viper Room lounge was literally walking distance away. Of course, the Viper Room was where Depp partied with actor River Phoenix a few years ago, the latter staggered outside and convulsed on the sidewalk. He died an hour later of a massive drug overdose.
Similarly, the nearby Chateau Marmont Hotel is where John Belushi overdosed after partying with Robin Williams and Robert DeNiro at the Roxy Lounge on Sunset.
The non-descript West Hollywood Hyatt Hotel on Sunset Boulevard was better known as the “Riot Hyatt” during the 1960s and 1970s:
- Jim Morrison would get high and then hang by his fingernails from his penthouse patio. After several warnings, he was permanently evicted from the hotel.
- The rock band Led Zeppelin rode motorcycles down the halls of the fifth and sixth floors after a concert one night.
- Rolling Stone guitarist Keith Richards loved throwing television sets from the top floor suites onto cars in the parking lot below.
Nowadays, this Hyatt is like any other Hyatt, except that a trendy dim sum restaurant named Chi is located inside the lobby. It is owned by music superstar Justin Timberlake.
Chris took us to lunch at of his favorite local spots – Chin Chin. The dim sum and salads were awesome! Another celebrity, football quarterback, Warren Moon, came in with his wife and sat down next to us.
The tour continued in Beverly Hills. We visited the hillside home of Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt. It was as tight as Fort Knox. The 15,000 square foot Spanish-style Wallace Neff designed home could barely be seen over the brick wall and high hedges. Security had been very high since Jennifer and Brad caught a man in their bed a few months before.
Other less important homes were more accessible; Frank Sinatra’s old house, Jimmy Stewart’s house, Lucille Ball’s house and several others.
One house was very unique. It belonged to one of the hottest families in America. The averaged-sized home had wooden doors at the street. On those doors were plaques that read:
Never mind the dog, beware of the owner!
Yes, this was the home of Ozzy Osborne, his wife Sharon and their two kids. The home had become world-famous due to their family-reality series on MTV. Michelle got out so she could have an up-close view of the house. The Osbourne’s prankish teenage son had set up a trap for tourists who get too nosy – a sprinkler system set off by motion detectors at the front gate. This was featured on the TV show and Michelle wanted to give it a try. Chris suggested that she not. He said that it really worked and that many times he had driven by and witnessed fans dancing deliriously in the sprinkler shower.
Both kids got out for pictures in front of the Playboy Mansion. I looked really hard over the fence … couldn’t see a thing.
One mansion that we did get to see up-close was the Greystone Mansion. Now a public park, the mansion was built in 1928 by oil tycoon Edward Doheny for his son. It is the largest home ever built in Beverly Hills at 46,000 square feet. It has 55 rooms and is set on 16 acres of beautiful gardens. Under very suspicious circumstances, the son was shot dead, along with another man in the house. His wife supposedly found them both in the same room. Rumors flew that perhaps there had been an affair but no one was really sure what kind it was – with the wife, between the men – no one knew for sure. The widow lived alone in the house until 1955 when she willed it to the city of Beverly Hills. The city, at first, didn’t want it. But the discovery of a large aquifer underneath the estate finally motivated the city to take it.
The mansion is regularly used for on-location filming. It was used for the following movies: Air Force One, Ghostbusters, Indecent Proposal, The Bodyguard, The Witches of Eastwick, and most recently, Spiderman. The Dark Shadows creepy TV soap opera was filmed here. Elton John made the music video “I Want Love” in a single four-minute continuous shot featuring actor Robert Downey, Jr. in the mansion. Actors Kirk Douglas and James Woods were actually married at the mansion.
In 2000, a huge Democratic political fundraiser took place at Greystone Mansion. Sponsored by Steven Spielberg, David Geffen, and Jeffery Katzenberg, it was attended by hundreds of stars and President Bill Clinton.
Back on Sunset Boulevard, in Brentwood, we drove past the spot where O.J. Simpson did the dirty deed. The entire apartment complex had been redone to remove any hint of the murder that took place there. We also drove past the old Mezzaluna Restaurant, where Nicole Brown Simpson ate just before the tragic killing. It had been converted into a coffee shop.
Chris also took us to the tiny little chalet where Marilyn Monroe died – and a Hollywood legend was born.
Appropriately, as a final stop, we visited Westwood Cemetery. It was a tiny little graveyard in the middle of the business district. In it was a virtual who’s who of Hollywood deceased. Jack Lemmon had just arrived and his headstone said:
Right next to him was Carroll O’Connor. Five feet away were Walter Matthau and the blank headstone of George C. Scott.
Some pretty sad stories played out at our feet. Actor Brian Keith shot himself one month after his daughter overdosed. They are both there. His old butler from Family Affair, Sebastian Cabot lies nearby.
Singer Minnie Ripperton is there. She died of breast cancer at 30 years of age.
Natalie Wood Wagner lies at rest after falling off her yacht near Catalina Island.
Bob Crane’s headstone features a classic Hogan’s Heroes portrait. He was killed while involved in some bizarre sex-bondage activities in Phoenix.
Here is a partial list of the stars interred at Westwood Memorial Park: Eve Arden, Jim Backus, Richard Basehart, Les Brown, Sammy Cahn, Truman, Capote, Ray Conniff, Eva Gabor, Armand Hammer, Louis Jourdan, Burt Landcaster, Dean Martin, Roy Orbison, Donna Reed, Buddy Rich, Robert Stack, Dorothy Stratten, Mel Torme, Billy Wilder, and Beach Boy Carl Wilson.
It is very expensive to stay at Westwood. Peter Lawford was once buried here but his family could no longer pay the upkeep. The family didn’t even have the money to remove him, so they worked a deal with the National Enquirer. In return for paying for exhumation, cremation, and burial at sea, the magazine got exclusive rights and pictures of the whole event. Only in Hollywood!
Of course, the biggest celebrity in the park is Marilyn Monroe. She is walled up in a mausoleum at the back of the cemetery. Every week for forty years, ex-husband Joe Dimaggio sent flowers to her gravesite. On this day, a dozen red roses were in the flower holder.
Just above Marilyn is interred a man who paid $250,000 to be placed next to Marilyn. He was a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. There is an empty slot right beside Marilyn. Chris told us that it was purchased in 2003 … by Hugh Hefner. He will lie there in tribute to his first pinup girl and the star who launched his magazine.
On the way back to the hotel, we asked Chris what brought him to Los Angeles from Minneapolis. He said that he was an actor and did mostly commercials. He said that he auditioned for Friends ten years ago but lost out to Matthew Perry. Matthew Perry is now a multi-millionaire and Chris Fuller is driving the Olins around Hollywood in a GMC Yukon. Funny how these things turn out.
We were hardly at the hotel for five minutes before Michelle and Laura clawed at us to go to Venice Beach. There was still a lot of daylight left, so why not?
Before we even got to Venice, we noticed some big event going on along the beach so we checked it out. Believe it or not, the Santa Monica High School has a Surf Team! This was a school surfing tournament! Hundreds of parents and students sat in lawn chairs, just like we would for a baseball game or soccer match. Surfers wore school colors too! It was really fun.
Michelle scoped for boys. She said that they were ok, but not great.
I mentioned earlier that Portland, Oregon was like Bohemia. Well, let me tell you, Venice Beach is like a really wild circus! We walked at least ten miles up and down the Venice promenade, taking in some of the wildest sights and sounds ever created by humanity.
A whiff of hemp was in the air. Makeshift bands were playing music of all types. Belly dancers swished in the grass. Even volunteers would stroll up, take off most of their clothes and belly dance in public. There was a really freaky erotic male dancer selling something, I’m not sure what. There were palm readers, tarot card readers, philosophers, and poets. Laura had her handwriting analyzed. The analyst said that Laura was creative, intelligent, and patient. It was a very positive analysis indeed … and worth a good-sized tip.
For literally miles, the promenade was lined with tables and tents. Everything under the sun was being sold – tattoos, kites, incense, jewelry, anti-Bush bumper stickers, T-shirts, Bob Marley paintings, even hemp clothing. Laura asked if it was legal to “smoke your shirt.” I told her that somebody had probably tried it.
Further down the beach were basketball courts with bleachers jammed with people. It was an organized tournament for Los Angeles area pick-up teams. Man, it was fantastic! With hip-hop music blasting in the background and an announcer doing very loud play by play, these guys were huge and fast. It was “showtime”!
Only a few yards away, bodybuilders were working out on the beachside weight equipment. Blond chicks on rollerblades with massive breasts and tiny bikini tops cruised by. Michelle would look at them and then look at me, incredulous. “Hey, it’s California.” I mumbled, watching them go by.
Just then a real celebrity rolled up on skates. It was Harry Perry with his beard, white robe, turban, and electric guitar. He is an icon along Venice Beach and the west coast version of New York’s “Naked Cowboy.” We took several pictures and he sold me a T-shirt.
Finally, we turned around and headed back to the hotel, but not before buying a T-shirt that said, Governor Schwarzenegger ... My governor can kick your governor’s ass!
As the sun set over the Pacific Ocean, we ate pizza and hot wings on the beach. Although the scenery was great, the food was terrible.
Back in the room, we watched the movie Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star. Several scenes were filmed on Hollywood Boulevard and the kids recognized the places they had been only hours before.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Shopping
Beverly Hills
Rodeo Drive
Santa Monica Pier
The Lobster
Plop! The Sunday Los Angeles Times arrived at our doorstep. I brought it into our hotel room and tossed it on the bed, flipping through it mindlessly while the rest of the tribe got ready.
I gave the family the choice of visiting the Ronald Reagan Library in Simi Valley or shopping in Beverly Hills …
A few minutes later, we pulled up to Kitson on Robertson Street. Essentially, this was a glorified T-shirt and blue jean store. However, because of its popularity with select Hollywood celebrities, prices were stratospheric. Can you imagine $125 for a simple T-shirt? Or $400 for a well worn pair of jeans? Tam and the girls picked around at stuff for fifteen minutes and then left.
Next was Von Dutch. This hole-in-the-wall on Melrose Avenue was so popular that it has its own “bouncers.” The clothing here was in the style of “biker-chic.” A pair of torn blue jeans and a couple of sewn-on Von Dutch patches were fetching $250. Once again, the girls were disappointed.
I drove down Santa Monica Boulevard and turned onto Rodeo Drive. Slowly, we scanned the storefronts, reading every name – Bulgari, Cartier, Van Klief Arpels, Gucci, Tiffany, Versace, Chanel, Prada, and Louis Vuitton. We also watched the people cruising the sidewalks … the rich, the trying-to-be-rich, the pretending-to-be-rich, the nannys, and people like us observing the parade from their cars. In all honesty, I couldn’t get away from that area fast enough. For Tam, however, the lure seemed to linger for a few minutes.
We stopped at Century City Mall briefly for lunch and then returned to Santa Monica and Venice. Tam dropped Laura and me off on the beach promenade so Laura could buy a custom-made saxophone/clarinet instrument she had seen the day before.
Walking back along the promenade, we saw a demonstration of the Brazilian martial art Capoeira, put on by the Santa Monica Capoeira Club. Watching the practitioner’s movements was like watching a tribal dance of some sort, punctuated by punches and kicks. It was a beautiful, athletic, and aesthetic art form.
In the meantime, Tam and Michelle drove back to the hotel. While parking the car, they noticed some activity across the street. Gawkers were standing and pointing. It was actress Daryl Hannah, leaving our hotel after enjoying a Sunday brunch.
For dinner, we ate at one of Santa Monica’s top restaurants – The Lobster. With a fabulous view looking down the pier, we enjoyed artfully prepared seafood and talked about our great trip. From there, we walked onto the pier and rode the West Coaster roller coaster and the arcade games. Michelle and I won a really outrageous psychedelic fir hat and a Duke University basketball at the free throw arcade. Laura wore that crazy hat all the way home!
California Dreamin' (Part 3)
(Includes video footage of the trip)
Monday, June 28, 2004
Anaheim
Grand Californian Hotel
California Adventure Park
Driving up Anaheim’s Harbor Boulevard, we had no idea that the first great masterwork of Walter Elias Disney was just beyond the walls. This urban setting was the antithesis of the one for it’s counterpart – Walt Disney World, in Florida.
We pulled into the Grand Californian Hotel and found a resort very similar to Disney World’s Wilderness Lodge. Instead of log construction, however, the architecture was mission or craftsman style. It was only 10:00 am and our rooms were not ready, so we wandered out the side door of the hotel into Disney’s California Adventure Park.
Our first stop was Soaring Over California, a simulated flight through California (in front of a giant IMAX screen). With our seats moved in coordinated fashion with the film and gave us the sensation of real flight. Furthermore, wind, rain, cold, and even smells were included to bring more realism to the experience. We could smell the Redwood Forest more in the movie than we did in real life. Is that weird or what?
No ... it’s Disney.
What blew my mind was that we had visited almost every scene in the movie in the past two weeks – the Redwoods, San Francisco, Yosemite, Carmel, Napa Valley, Los Angeles, Big Sur, Hollywood, Santa Barbara, and finally … Disneyland. It was awesome that the kids recognized everything they saw, first hand. I felt so proud that I had been able to give my family such a great experience.
Right around the corner, we were part of the interactive audience in a live version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. This attraction was just like the TV show, complete with stages, lighting, camera crews, and even the smarmy game show host! Every audience member could participate by pressing buttons on a keypad in front of each seat. The scores of all 650 audience participants are periodically tabulated and displayed on the big TV screens. Going into the last question, Tam was in sixth place! But she missed the last question (a trick question) and disappeared into oblivion.
Laura could hardly wait to try the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror and ran through the park in the direction of the the haunted high-rise. Michelle followed, but a little more cautiously. Thirty minutes later, they proudly stepped out – conquerors!
The crowds were small and we whipped through the MuppetVision3D and Bug’s Life attractions without waiting They were identical to their Florida counterparts.
California Screamin’ was a take-off (and improvement on) the Santa Monica pier rollercoaster that we rode two days earlier. A Disney cast member tells riders over the PA, “Like … Hey dudes, ready to catch some gnarly waves?” The coaster starts by launching the riders with a cable slingshot up the first hill. During the entire ride, fast-paced surf music is played through stereo speakers inside individual headrests.
We ran through the park to keep our VIP reservations with the Aladdin Musical Spectacular. Afterwards, we walked the length of the park (again) to make our 6:00 pm dinner reservations at Yamabuki Japanese Steakhouse. The restaurant, located in the Paradise Pier Hotel, was actually across a busy Anaheim street.
Tam couldn’t wait to do laundry, so we all walked back to our hotel and went to our rooms (#6309 and #6311) for the first time. The accommodations were awesome! We had two large bedrooms with a huge connecting suite. Our windows overlooked Disneyland park. We also had access to a special VIP Concierge Suite down the hall.
Still, Michelle and Laura weren’t done with California Adventure yet. We got right onto the Grizzly River Run water ride. It is considered “the wettest ride in the world.” The three of us boarded our oversized innertube with a German couple. They were dressed in designer denim from head to toe. Big mistake! The ride was a huge soak-fest, particularly at the end when a giant geyser erupted underneath our tube. Shooting forty feet in the air, hundreds of gallons of water splashed down on everybody. I think that we all heard the word “shit” in German. I’m almost certain of it.
The girls and I were so wet that we decided to go back to the hotel for dry clothes. Back out we went, to ride the few rides we missed earlier in the day.
No, we weren’t done yet. The legendary Disney Electrical Parade was followed by the Disneyland Fireworks Display.
At 10:00 pm, Tam joined us for a major late-night shopping spree at Downtown Disney featuring Build-A-Bear, Quiksilver, Legoland, and the Disney Store. It was nearly midnight when we crawled back to our rooms.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Disneyland
When the kids went to bed, they begged us to wake them up early because they wanted to maximize their time at Disneyland. At 7:00 am, Michelle begged us to give her another half an hour of sleep.
At 8:30 am, we walked through the turnstiles at Disneyland.
Entering the park felt very strange. It was very familiar but very different at the same time. We had been to Walt Disney World so many times that we knew every detail of the park. As we hurried down Main Street, many of those details were the same. At the same time, the scale of the whole thing seemed off … it was smaller. Every building was two-thirds of the size of the ones in Florida.
I also picked up on the notion that Disneyland was slightly more subdued, less over-the-top than the Magic Kingdom. For example: although the Pirates of the Caribbean rides were similar between parks, the California ride has no pirate castle to walk through prior to boarding the boats. Also, the setting for California’s ride was New Orleans while Florida’s was the Caribbean.
The same with the Haunted Mansion. Here the mansion was an old New Orleans plantation home. Florida’s mansion was a stereotypical movie set haunted house. The rides inside were identical, however.
Then we rode Splash Mountain. There was nothing like Splash Mountain at Disney World. I’ve got to say that the ride was really weird! It started out as kind of a twisted “Small World” boat ride. First, there were little creatures playing happily … with lots of upbeat music and cheer. Then the automated animals become scared and freaked out, and the music gets ominous, reaching a crescendo just as our boat went down a huge – and I mean huge - water slide! Michelle got drenched. Laura was smart and hid behind her sister and did not get a drop. Then, next thing you know, we were riding along again and all the animals were happy, smiling, and waving goodbye. It was like going on a little kiddie ride gone mad. Michelle got so wet on that ride that she had to buy a new shirt.
The Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coasters are identical in both parks. Still, the kids were a little spooked because a passenger was killed on this ride a few months prior. The attraction was shut down for months while they repaired it. We enjoyed the ride without incident (but we learned that two days later, three more people were seriously injured and the ride was shut down again.)
The Matterhorn Bobsleds were rough as a cob. Our coaster actually derailed briefly several times during the ride. The Autopia car-drive attraction was better than the same ride at Disney World.
We did a couple of walk-in attractions, Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln and The Enchanted Tiki Room, before we entered the Indiana Jones Adventure. We had no idea what to expect, so we were pretty impressed with the huge underground tombs and catacombs that we passed through as we walked to the ride staging area. We jumped into a huge, oversized Hummer and sped off into the dark on an exciting and thrilling adventure. Spiders and scorpions surrounded us. Walls caved-in. Indiana Jones appeared several times, showing us the way to safely. The ride was – AWESOME!!
Properly worn-in by the Indiana Jones ride, we immediately ran to Star Tours, a Star Wars virtually reality trip. Basically, the ride is an enclose flight simulator with a large screen in front. The rider is tossed around inside the machine like a load of Tam’s laundry while the film enhances the experience. We all staggered out of the capsule. Michelle was beginning to feel nauseous.
I could tell it was dinner time because the grouchiness factor had reached a high level. For thirty-two hours, we had been hammering Disneyland, with only six hours of sleep.
We caught our breath back at our suite for an hour or so before the girls finally talked me into going on the Tower of Terror with them. I was never a great fan of “falling” rides. This one seemed particularly menacing because it went up and down several times. At the same time, I didn’t want to be a “wussy.” So I checked my gut one last time and got in line.
Forty minutes cueing up outside the Hollywood Tower Hotel, we finally made it into the lobby. It looked like any 1940s hotel lobby, although it was covered in cob-webs. Then a door slammed open and bellman appeared, with big black rings under his eyes. He ushered us into a library which went pitch-black. A small black and white television came on, with Rod Serling telling us about the tragic history of the hotel and how the service elevators were haunted – often taking guests into … the Twilight Zone!!
A false wall suddenly slammed open and we were led to an elevator with thirty four seats in it. We buckled in. I noticed that beside every seat were shiny and well-worn hand grips.
My God, what had I gotten into?
The elevator launched upward at high speed several stories. The doors opened and we could see ourselves in front of huge mirror, then our images morphed into ghostlike apparitions. The doors slammed shut. We literally dropped one floor, lifting off our seats. The doors opened again. We could see down a long hotel hallway. That image faded to black, leaving only the familiar Twilight Zone door at the end of the hall.
Instantly, we were catapulted up ten stories. The doors opened. For a split second, we had a beautiful view of Disneyland at dusk. Then snap! Our elevator made a four story free-fall. Caught itself. Then we launched back up to the top, paused, and free-fell all the way to the bottom. This was repeated several times until …
The doors flew open and another bellman pointed the way out. Every passenger received a sticker that said, “I took the DARE!” I did, and I’m glad. The ride was incredible!!
We hardly had time to enjoy the moment before Laura heard the opening notes of the Disney Electrical Parade and took off at a full sprint. We sat in the same spot as the night before.
Afterward, we returned to our room so we could watch the Disneyland fireworks display. Michelle kept one eye out the window and the other on the television. Her heartthrob, Jesse McCartney, was starring in a new TV show called Summerland. The show is based in Malibu, California and Jesse plays a hot young surfer. All of this was right up Michelle’s alley. She had secretly been hoping that she would meet him in California, just like she did in New York City, the summer before.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
At 8:30 am, we walked through the turnstiles at Disneyland.
Entering the park felt very strange. It was very familiar but very different at the same time. We had been to Walt Disney World so many times that we knew every detail of the park. As we hurried down Main Street, many of those details were the same. At the same time, the scale of the whole thing seemed off … it was smaller. Every building was two-thirds of the size of the ones in Florida.
I also picked up on the notion that Disneyland was slightly more subdued, less over-the-top than the Magic Kingdom. For example: although the Pirates of the Caribbean rides were similar between parks, the California ride has no pirate castle to walk through prior to boarding the boats. Also, the setting for California’s ride was New Orleans while Florida’s was the Caribbean.
The same with the Haunted Mansion. Here the mansion was an old New Orleans plantation home. Florida’s mansion was a stereotypical movie set haunted house. The rides inside were identical, however.
Then we rode Splash Mountain. There was nothing like Splash Mountain at Disney World. I’ve got to say that the ride was really weird! It started out as kind of a twisted “Small World” boat ride. First, there were little creatures playing happily … with lots of upbeat music and cheer. Then the automated animals become scared and freaked out, and the music gets ominous, reaching a crescendo just as our boat went down a huge – and I mean huge - water slide! Michelle got drenched. Laura was smart and hid behind her sister and did not get a drop. Then, next thing you know, we were riding along again and all the animals were happy, smiling, and waving goodbye. It was like going on a little kiddie ride gone mad. Michelle got so wet on that ride that she had to buy a new shirt.
The Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coasters are identical in both parks. Still, the kids were a little spooked because a passenger was killed on this ride a few months prior. The attraction was shut down for months while they repaired it. We enjoyed the ride without incident (but we learned that two days later, three more people were seriously injured and the ride was shut down again.)
The Matterhorn Bobsleds were rough as a cob. Our coaster actually derailed briefly several times during the ride. The Autopia car-drive attraction was better than the same ride at Disney World.
We did a couple of walk-in attractions, Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln and The Enchanted Tiki Room, before we entered the Indiana Jones Adventure. We had no idea what to expect, so we were pretty impressed with the huge underground tombs and catacombs that we passed through as we walked to the ride staging area. We jumped into a huge, oversized Hummer and sped off into the dark on an exciting and thrilling adventure. Spiders and scorpions surrounded us. Walls caved-in. Indiana Jones appeared several times, showing us the way to safely. The ride was – AWESOME!!
Properly worn-in by the Indiana Jones ride, we immediately ran to Star Tours, a Star Wars virtually reality trip. Basically, the ride is an enclose flight simulator with a large screen in front. The rider is tossed around inside the machine like a load of Tam’s laundry while the film enhances the experience. We all staggered out of the capsule. Michelle was beginning to feel nauseous.
I could tell it was dinner time because the grouchiness factor had reached a high level. For thirty-two hours, we had been hammering Disneyland, with only six hours of sleep.
We caught our breath back at our suite for an hour or so before the girls finally talked me into going on the Tower of Terror with them. I was never a great fan of “falling” rides. This one seemed particularly menacing because it went up and down several times. At the same time, I didn’t want to be a “wussy.” So I checked my gut one last time and got in line.
Forty minutes cueing up outside the Hollywood Tower Hotel, we finally made it into the lobby. It looked like any 1940s hotel lobby, although it was covered in cob-webs. Then a door slammed open and bellman appeared, with big black rings under his eyes. He ushered us into a library which went pitch-black. A small black and white television came on, with Rod Serling telling us about the tragic history of the hotel and how the service elevators were haunted – often taking guests into … the Twilight Zone!!
A false wall suddenly slammed open and we were led to an elevator with thirty four seats in it. We buckled in. I noticed that beside every seat were shiny and well-worn hand grips.
My God, what had I gotten into?
The elevator launched upward at high speed several stories. The doors opened and we could see ourselves in front of huge mirror, then our images morphed into ghostlike apparitions. The doors slammed shut. We literally dropped one floor, lifting off our seats. The doors opened again. We could see down a long hotel hallway. That image faded to black, leaving only the familiar Twilight Zone door at the end of the hall.
Instantly, we were catapulted up ten stories. The doors opened. For a split second, we had a beautiful view of Disneyland at dusk. Then snap! Our elevator made a four story free-fall. Caught itself. Then we launched back up to the top, paused, and free-fell all the way to the bottom. This was repeated several times until …
The doors flew open and another bellman pointed the way out. Every passenger received a sticker that said, “I took the DARE!” I did, and I’m glad. The ride was incredible!!
We hardly had time to enjoy the moment before Laura heard the opening notes of the Disney Electrical Parade and took off at a full sprint. We sat in the same spot as the night before.
Afterward, we returned to our room so we could watch the Disneyland fireworks display. Michelle kept one eye out the window and the other on the television. Her heartthrob, Jesse McCartney, was starring in a new TV show called Summerland. The show is based in Malibu, California and Jesse plays a hot young surfer. All of this was right up Michelle’s alley. She had secretly been hoping that she would meet him in California, just like she did in New York City, the summer before.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
San Diego
Hotel del Coronado
Tijuana, Mexico
Reluctant to leave Disneyland, we waited until 10:59 am to check out of our room. Tam got more laundry done while I sent out a large box of booty back to Michigan.
The Olin caravan pulled out of the Grand Californian Hotel and continued south on Interstate 5 through Irvine, San Clemente, and San Juan Capistrano. The scenery and weather began to change, becoming more arid and desert-like.
We did lunch at a Jack-In-The-Box beside the freeway. This hamburger chain now is the parent company of my old Mexican franchise Qdoba Mexican Grill. The place was organized, clean and well-run. Portion sizes and menu selection seemed small, however.
We rolled into San Diego at 3:00 pm, passing through downtown and then taking the curved Coronado Bay Bridge to Coronado Island. Within minutes, we pulled underneath the red Victorian peaked roof of the Hotel del Coronado. This was Laura’s type of hotel!
Three doormen met us underneath the portico and helped us empty the car. We walked up the red carpet into the historic hotel lobby. The lobby was made by the finest craftsmen of the day. The dark mahogany woodwork and trim was finished to the smallest detail. A large cage elevator was the centerpiece of the lobby. The front desk clerk told Laura that it was one of the oldest elevators in the world (Otis Elevator, Serial Number 60).
Our room, Signature Suite 3358 was on the third floor, facing the ocean. It featured: a king bed, two queen pull-outs, two televisions, a really great private outdoor porch … and one bathroom. The view, of course, was spectacular! The same one we had in 1992, when Mom, Dad, and family stayed at the hotel as part of an Archway Cookies corporate meeting in Palm Springs.
A large aircraft carrier group was arriving in town, with two destroyer escorts. Military planes of all types were coming and going. The Mexican coastline was clearly visible to the south. Hundreds of people were on the beach; sunning, swimming, and surfing.
In typical Olin style, we didn’t lie around on the beach. We jumped into the car and headed south, to Tijuana, Mexico. Several people had warned me about Tijuana. They said it was dirty and crowded by day. They said it was dangerous at night. Still, being this close to Mexico, it was downright mandatory that we go there.
Tam drove south, once again, on Interstate 5 until we reached a sign that announced “Last stop in USA.” We pulled off into a secure parking lot (Border Station Parking) and paid the $7.00 fee. From here, we took a blue bus that looked more like it belonged to the Department of Corrections than for tourists.
There is no line of cars leaving the USA. As a matter of fact, the Mexican customs agent waived us through without even looking up from his sandwich.
Just like that, we were in Mexico.
The standard of living had to have dropped by fifty percent within ten feet of the border. All signage changed to Spanish language. It was like entering another world. The girls were staring out the windows, mesmerized by the staggering poverty. Michelle was visibly shaken by the change. Laura was more fascinated by it.
We continued driving several blocks into the business district of Tijuana, finally reaching the city bus station. We got off and were immediately swarmed by merchants. Some were smiling. Some were shouting and pointing. Some spoke broken English. Some spoke only in Spanish. Michelle clung tightly to my arm. We hadn’t left the bus station yet.
Once we hit Tijuana’s main street, “Avenida de la Revolution” everything ratcheted up by a factor of ten. Cabbies approached us. Restaurant hawkers shoved menus in front of our faces. On every street corner there was a burro, painted with black stripes like a zebra. They were available for pictures – for only five dollars … or maybe two dollars, if you haggled enough.
Laura put on a sombrero at one store. That’s just about the same as buying it. We grabbed her and hustled down the street.
Several blocks from the bus station was the Tijuana Hard Rock Café, my primary destination. For me, once inside, it was like a safe haven, wherever I was in the world. Not sure of the food quality, we ordered tortilla soup and spring rolls. Laura and I loved it. Michelle and Tam hardly touched theirs. Suddenly, I had this scary vision of four people with explosive diarrhea all sharing one bathroom. We bought lots of Hard Rock pins and T-shirts before striking back out into the Mexican onslaught.
Tam noticed that there were tons of stores selling pharmaceuticals not available in the United States. They were also selling popular medicines at well below American prices. Big signs would list: Cipro, Lipator, Retin-A, Zithromax, Viagra and dozens more. Tam thought for a moment about buying some Retin-A but she didn’t want to get caught at the border.
Laura finally got us to relent and she pulled me into a shop where she negotiated for a hanging rope chair.
A very small girl approached us, offering little toys and small candies in her cardboard box. I smiled and used my eloquent Spanish with her. I thought that I said, “I would like to take your picture, please.” When I said it, she got a grief-stricken look on her face and ran off around the corner. On second thought, maybe I actually said, “I want to eat your picture.” If I were three years old, I think I would have run away too.
Michelle was becoming more comfortable shopping in Mexico ... she bought four pair of designer Guess jeans that normally sell for sixty or seventy dollars, for twenty-four bucks each. Michelle loved this notion of haggling with vendors for prices. She picked out a jewelry stand and negotiated for a butterfly necklace – working the price down from $35 to $25. I think she could have had it for $20. It was probably actually worth $10.
Returning to the United States took infinitely longer than leaving it. We were in a special bus lane that moved relatively quickly. We drove past several thousand cars waiting to get through the border crossing. Some cars were actually being slowly pushed to the border to save gasoline. There were a handful of food vendors doing very good business among the people waiting three or four hours.
In one particularly poignant scene, a concrete bench straddled the U.S./Mexico border. On it was a large bronze plaque marking the official boundary between nations. On the American side slumped an old, destitute Mexican. Perhaps, this was as close as he would ever get to the American dream.
Our bus pulled up to a building and we all disembarked and went inside. We went through a line and were interviewed by a U.S. Customs agent. She asked us if we were with our children, “even in the bathroom.” We answered affirmatively and were waved through. The four of us re-boarded the bus, which eventually returned us to our car.
As dusk began to fall, we enjoyed dinner at the Tent City Restaurant, located behind the Hotel del Coronado. In 1900, a large vacation tent city sprung up along the beach behind the illustrious resort. Using cast-off bed linens from the hotel, thousands of middle-class visitors would come out to enjoy the day in one of the tents. Today, that area is full of restaurants and fancy gift shops.
Night fell on the grand and glorious beach and Pacific Ocean. We all sat on the porch and enjoyed the cool breeze and the coastal lights. The rocking chair was put to good use by all four of us. Laura and I shared a good hour together, talking about all kinds of things as we watched the lights of military ships slowly moving in the dark.
The kids were reluctant to go to bed. I sensed some trepidation on their part. They were hearing sounds and seeing things. You see, the Hotel del Coronado is haunted. As a matter of fact, our room was in the “haunted wing” of the hotel. On November 24, 1892, Kate Morgan, a beautiful, well-dressed 24 year-old woman, checked into the hotel. She registered as Miss Lottie A. Bernard and carried no luggage. Five days later, Kate’s lifeless body was found on an exterior hotel staircase leading to the beach. She had a single gunshot wound to the head – self-inflicted.
Today, there are several areas of the hotel that appear to be haunted. Guests have experienced everything from flickering lights to bedcovers being mysteriously pulled off beds. Kate Morgan’s room was #3327. Our room was just down the hall - #3358. It was like living in a real-life “Tower of Terror”.
Still, the only thing that seemed haunted in our room was the toilet, which kept emanating a foul odor that smelled like Mexican death.
Thursday, July 1, 2004
San Diego Zoo
Old Town San Diego
Pacific Ocean
The Navy Seals were at it early, jogging with full pack down the beach. Groups of twenty or so trudged through the soft sand. Two or three stragglers followed behind and they were closely followed by a Navy observation vehicle. In the distance, a gray helicopter carrier was zig-zagging in the Pacific, doing Naval exercises. An F-18 Hornet circled over the hotel and made an approach to North Island Naval Air Station, located only a mile up the beach.
The Hotel del Coronado was built between 1887 and 1888 by two Midwestern businessmen – Elisha Babcock (a retired railroad executive) and H.L. Story (of Story and Clark Pianos). Two years earlier, they had formed a syndicate called the Coronado Beach Company. They purchased the entire Coronado peninsula for $110,000. Building the hotel was difficult; materials and labor were scarce. To speed up work, extra laborers were hired to facilitate 24 hour construction shifts. Unfortunately, architectural plans were never fully developed, so the craftsmen often used their own discretion during the project. Built entirely of wood at a cost of one million dollars, it is one of America’s last remaining Victorian-style resorts. In 1977, the Hotel del Coronado was designated as a National Historic Landmark by the National Trust for Historic Preservation.
Laura was up like a shot. She knew what we were planning for this day. Michelle, was still a lump under the sheets, only her left foot was visible. She had been up all night, watching the movie Some Like It Hot. In 1958, director Billy Wilder used the Hotel del Coronado as the location for the classic film comedy starring Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, and Tony Curtis. The American Film Institute recently named the movie as the number one comedy of all time.
Of course, this was not the only movie filmed at “The Del”. In 1977, the action movie The Stunt Man with Peter O’Toole and Barbara Hershey was filmed at the hotel. They even built a false parapet on the building and blew it up during one stunt. Clark Gable stayed at the hotel while filming the 1931 movie Hell Divers.
The hotel is very proud and boastful of its illustrious past. Pictures line walls in the lobby with celebrity photographs and plaques.
Tam kicked Michelle out of bed at 9:00 am and we all walked out to our car. Employees were busy putting up flags and patriotic bunting on the entry portico. I asked if this was for the July 4th holidays. Actually, these were preparations for the arrival of President George W. Bush, scheduled to arrive in three days.
The first U.S. President to visit the Hotel del Coronado was Benjamin Harrison in 1891. President Bush would be the tenth to stay here. The largest presidential state dinner ever held outside of the White House was in the hotel’s Crown Room, when Richard Nixon hosted Mexican President Gustavo Diaz Ordaz and one thousand invited guests in 1970.
Our Mitsubishi SUV was pulled underneath the “presidential” portico. The car was filthy, inside and out. Somewhere in L.A., somebody had written in the dirt on our back window, “Pimp my ride – X man.” We treated that graffiti like a badge of honor, however, and left it on the tailgate for the rest of the trip.
What is the first thing one thinks of when they hear the word San Diego? For many people, it is the San Diego Zoo. Located in historic Balboa Park in the city’s downtown, the zoo has achieved world-wide acclaim.
The San Diego Zoo was first established in 1919 when a traveling exposition brought several animals to the city. For decades, the zoo floundered. In 1953, a new zoo director (a veterinarian) by the name of Charles Schroeder arrived, and for the next twenty years, built the park into one the preeminent facilities of its type in the world. The San Diego Zoo maintains and displays 4,000 rare and endangered animal species and 700,000 plants in one hundred acres of artificial canyons and mesas. The zoo draws more than three million visitors per year.
More importantly, the San Diego Zoo is one of very few facilities that specializes in the reproduction of endangered species. It is one of only four zoos in the world that has successfully reproduced Chinese Giant Pandas. It also played an important role in the reintroduction of the near-extinct California Condor to the west coast.
We unfolded the park map and started to the left – the reptile house. Laura could literally point at any animal and know what it was by sight. Through the entire park, Laura knew detailed information about dozens and dozens of animals. For the next four hours, we covered every inch of the zoo: Gorillas and giraffes, polar bears and porcupines, buffaloes and bats, lions and lizards, spiders and sea lions.
Among the highlights were the Giant Pandas. A ten month old cub named Mei Sheng had climbed forty feet into the top of a tree and fallen asleep. Another great moment was when a polar bear decided to take a swim, making a huge belly-flop in the water. It was also heartwarming (and humorous) to see (from underwater) a mamma hippo and her baby huddle in a pool.
For dinner we decided to go to Old Town. This six square block area just north of downtown is the location of the first European settlement in southern California. The first of the California missions was built in Old Town in 1769 by Father Junipero Serra. He named it San Diego de Alcala.
We decided to eat at the Casa de Bandini. This award-winning restaurant is also an historic landmark. It was originally an adobe hacienda, built in 1829. We were escorted through the restaurant and outside onto a crowded dining area. The mariachi band was warming up while Tam and I enjoyed margaritas and the kids slurped Shirley Temples. The chips and salsa were great, for starters. Then came huge portions of food. We dove in but none of us could finish (very unusual).
We leisurely walked through the shops in Old Town, picking up a last few items for friends and family. You know, even after eighteen days of travel together, I don’t think any of us wanted it to end. Thankfully, at the last minute, Laura found the ultimate ball gown shop – The Johnson House (something she had been looking for during the entire trip). Unbelievably, Michelle discovered the Old Town Surf Shop. I didn’t know the Franciscan monks were into surfing.
Back at the Hotel del Coronado, the Olins splashed in the Pacific Ocean one last time at sunset. The setting sun made for some awesome family pictures.
Friday, July 2,2004
Return Home
Up early, we packed the car for the last time and dumped everything at Northwest Airlines curbside check-in. We caught the 8:30 am flight to Detroit. Our flight covered almost two-thirds of this country. For a moment, I filled up with great pride, thinking about what we had accomplished … that we had successfully seen virtually all of the United States of America – together, as a family. What a tremendous blessing.
During the winters of 1904 to 1910, a guest named L. Frank Baum stayed at the Hotel del Coronado to avoid the cold Chicago weather. A writer, Mr. Baum created many works while enjoying the fantasy-like atmosphere of the Del. His most famous book was The Wizard of Oz. Even though no one is really sure whether or not he wrote the book while staying at the hotel, the resort is quick to take some of the credit for it. In fact, there are several shops in the area selling Wizard of Oz-related merchandise. And many people still refer to Coronado as the Emerald Isle.
In some ways, our trip had been like the whirlwind that Dorothy endured in the novel. And like her, we had seen some pretty amazing things in the 2,187 miles that we traveled in the past nineteen days.
We saw all kinds of lions and tigers and bears … oh my. We saw Bigfoot, even if it was a fifteen foot high wood carving. And we saw and did much, much more. But in the end, though, I think we all agreed that there was truly “no place like home.”
California Dreamin' (Part 4)
(Includes video footage of the trip)
FAMILY TRIP SUMMARY:
BEST DAY
- Tom: Yosemite – Bike riding in Yosemite Valley, Sequoias
- Tam: Monterey, Big Sur / Disneyland
- Michelle: So many. First day, last day. All of Hollywood / Disney
- Laura: San Diego Zoo
BEST EVENT
- Tom: Fabulous vistas – Mt. St. Helens, Oregon Coast, Yosemite, Golden Gate, Big Sur, etc.
- Tam: Disneyland / Getting 50th State
- Michelle: Tower of Terror / Mt. St. Helens
- Laura: Tower of Terror! Wow!
BEST HOTEL
- Tom: The Ahwahnee
- Tam: Grand Californian at Disneyland
- Michelle: Grand Californian
- Laura: The Carter House Inn
BEST MEAL
- Tom: The chowder bucket at Mo’s West
- Tam: The Fish House – Santa Barbara
- Michelle: The Fish House – Santa Barbara
- Laura: The sushi restaurant at Disneyland
FUNNIEST MOMENT
- Tom: Getting soaked on the Grizzly River Run water ride
- Tam: Laura’s one-liners all during the trip
- Michelle: My fake scream in the Haunted Mansion got laughs
- Laura: When our Hearst Castle reservations blew out of the car and over the cliff at Big Sur
WORST MOMENT
- Tom: Paying for everything!!
- Tam: Pizza on Venice Beach
- Michelle: Waiting in lines / Leaving Disneyland.
- Laura: When I woke up on the last day
COMMENTS
- Tom: We saved the best trip for last!!
- Tam: I really enjoyed Mt. St. Helens, the view from above the Golden Gate Bridge, Monterey Bay (needed more time there), and the San Diego Zoo polar bears. It was a great trip!
- Michelle: I loved the Blue Bayou Restaurant inside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride! I wish that we would have spent an extra week on this trip!
- Laura: I would have liked it if we spent more time at Disneyland and Mexico.