March 31, 1999
Descending south from Flagstaff, Arizona, one passes through three towns in about 30 miles. Sedona, Cottonwood, and Jerome are unique and very different from each other.
Sedona is the most famous. The road to Sedona wiggles through Oak Creek Canyon, another of Arizona's spectacular by-ways. The town lies in a valley surrounded by rust-red mountains that are best viewed late in the day when the richness of their color multiplies dramatically Sedona is a tourist and retirement community and the contractors have their hands full keeping up with the demand for expensive homes and new restaurants, all built in the southwestern style. Even the local McDonald's looks like a hacienda.
There are many artist studios and galleries as well. Outside town, art classes are taught in the middle of rock-studded fields. Photographers using large cameras perched on heavy tripods wait for the perfect light to capture their images.
Cottonwood is next to Sedona but far away in both beauty and bucks. The waiters who serve the expensive meals in Sedona's pricey restaurants are likely to live in Cottonwood. Wal-mart is Cottonwood's favorite store and, with its familiar blue and grey cement-block facade, it successfully avoids the southwestern look.
Getting to Jerome requires a ride up Mingus Mountain. On the side of the mountain are the stacked streets of what once was a busy mining town. During the 1940's the mining companies moved out as the quantities of copper and silver became too sparse to bother with. Nearly deserted for 30 years, the town became a home for many of the "hippies" of the 70's who were thrilled to find spectacular views from the windows of buildings that could be purchased for very little cash.
Today Jerome has a mining museum and relics of its mining history can be found on every street. The town is filled with shops that sell fudge, Indian jewelry, paintings and sculpture. Most stores have windows that allow the visitor to view the valley thousands of feet below.
April 13, 1999
(California: The bad news and the good news):
The Bad News:
1. One of my favorite singing groups during my early years was "The Beach Boys." They sang, "The west coast has the sunshine and the girls all get so tan." I'm here to tell you that it's all propaganda. During my first two weeks in Southern California, I saw very little sunshine and the girls were all pale. It rained (or snowed) most days. Outside San Diego, ten illegal Mexican immigrants froze to death and 140 were treated for hypothermia (true!) My ride through the mountains to the San Diego Zoo on the motorcycle featured a landscape covered by a foot of snow.
2. Gas prices: I paid $1.86 a gallon for gas. I saw prices of over $2 per gallon.
3. Freeways: Embarrassing to be moving at 75 m.p.h. and have mini-vans, driven by moms and filled with kids in car seats, fly by at 85.
The Good News:
1. Everything is there. The ocean, the mountains, and the desert. Laguna Beach was magnificent. The mountains (and canyons) have spectacular motorcycle roads. The desert has wonderful golf courses.
2. The Reagan Library. It was such an interesting place to visit that I felt guilty for not voting for him. Great exhibits including a huge section of the Berlin Wall.
3. The Getty Museum. Filled with paintings and sculpture and ancient furnishings, it offered a spectacular view of the city of Los Angeles to the south and the Pacific Ocean to the west.
4. Did I mention the great motorcycle roads? California, I am told, has more registered motorcycles than all the other states put together. And for good reason. I took three great rides with Don, a native Californian I met in Texas, and they were thrilling. He said there were at least 100 more canyon roads he could show me. I can't wait! And I pray for "Beach Boy" weather.
April 18, 1999
In the 1930's, Route 66 covered 2200 miles and was the main East-West highway in America. Unlike the straight and boring and fast superhighways that have replaced it, Route 66 conforms to the curves of Mother Earth. The speed limit on U.S. 40 is 75. On Route 66, 45 is the speed limit and, in the mountains and canyons, sharp bends bring that speed down to 15 m.p.h. Abandoned roadside gas stations and food stops are evidence of the effect the interstate has had on Route 66 businesses.
In the northwest corner of Arizona, Route 66 is a great way to get to Oatman, an old gold mining town that now welcomes tourists with shops and staged gunfights. Wild donkeys, the descendants of the pack animals used by miners a hundred years ago, roam the streets and feed on carrots sold by the local stores.
The ride back to Kingman, AZ took me along the Colorado River on Rt. 95. I crossed a bridge over the Colorado into Laughlin, Nevada, located at the very bottom of that state where it is squeezed into a point between Arizona and California. Fifteen minutes later I drove back into Arizona over the Davis Dam. Thirty miles of Route 68 took me over the 3600 ft. Union Pass and home to the campground in Kingman.
April 22, 1999
Sure, the tour was interesting. Hoover Dam is one of the engineering wonders of the world. But one fact sticks in my mind. Sixty-three men died building the dam in the 1930's. The last man to die was the son of the first man who died years earlier. Half a century later, when the viewer sees tons of concrete and huge electric generators, that fact brings home the human contribution to the Hoover Dam.
Water, usually taken for granted in the northeast, is a big problem in the southwest. At any given time, there is too little water or too much. The dry desert landscape comes from a paucity of water. Floods, caused by heavy rain or snow melting in mountains miles away, bring great destruction. The Hoover Dam was built to save water when it is plentiful and store it (in the 150 mile long Lake Mead that was created by the dam). Water is released into the Colorado River in a controlled fashion that eliminates flooding and provides enough water to irrigate fields and supply drinking water to much of the southwest. The electricity that is generated is an added benefit that has, over the years, paid the whole bill for the construction of the dam.
April 24, 1999
It's Disneyland with slot machines. Las Vegas is a big amusement park complete with roller coasters and colorful lights. Escalators on every corner move people over the "strip" from casino to casino to more efficiently extract their money with what the city fathers refer to as "gaming."
I invested two dollars on slot machines and won ten dollars. That was enough gambling for me, but I watched others play blackjack and pump nickels and quarters into machines. Most are a serious bunch, especially the slot machine players who sit with grim faces and a bucket of coins that they empty into the machines with alarming speed.
The Las Vegas shows were more interesting to me. I went to "Splash" at the Riviera Casino first, a traditional Las Vegas variety show complete with topless showgirls, comedians, jugglers, a magician, and trick motorcycle riders. Lots of fun. The next night I saw "Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance" at the New York-New York Casino. Spectacular but a bit over-done. The dancing was outstanding. The recorded music was too loud. The fireworks were unnecessary.
Vegas has some terrific golf courses and I did get to play one. Badlands Country Club is half grass, half desert. The player who misses the fairway gets to find out what it's like hitting a ball from gravel and rocks, cactus and creosote bushes. I found more excitement there than in the casinos.
May 1, 1999
I still remember the old black and white t.v. program, "Death Valley Days," sponsored by 20 Mule Team Borax. My memories included monochrome images of bleak landscapes, incredible heat, and the total absence of water.
The real Death Valley was quite different. I arrived on a cool day (in the 60's) and my first motorcycle ride ended in a drizzle. Only one day was hot, about 95 degrees, and that day I refreshed myself with a ride 5000 feet up the Panamint Mountains on the west side of the Valley. There the temperature dropped to 65. I played golf on the Furnace Creek Golf Course, an oasis of bright green in the middle of Death Valley.
That doesn't mean Death Valley's reputation is not accurate. The temperature in July has reached 137 degrees at Badwater, 282 feet below sea level (the lowest spot in the U.S.). Ninety-nine percent of the valley floor is salt and sand and rocks. Only the toughest plants live in these harsh conditions.
There is great beauty, however, in Death Valley. Examples: The dazzling white salt flats that shimmer in the heat. The layers of color in the mountains that enclose the valley. Snow covered Telescope Peak, over 11,000 feet above the valley.
Scotty's Castle, on the northern edge of the park, was a surprise. Imagine building a vacation home in Death Valley. Albert Johnson, a Chicago millionaire, built his Mediterranean-style desert hideaway in 1922. The park service gives tours now.
The ride around to Rhyolite, an abandoned gold mining town, took me along route 95 on the Nevada side of Death Valley. This barren road featured the first brothel I have ever seen. These businesses are legal in Nevada. The Shady Lady Ranch, painted bright pink, sat about 200 yards off the highway. A large sign proclaimed that they were open for business.
Rhyolite was a booming town in the early part of this century. Now it is deserted. Stone skeletons of buildings are all that is left of this place where over 8,000 lived. All the wood structures and beams were removed years ago since wood is quite valuable in the desert.
May 2, 1999
I have watched some great golfers play on the spectacular Pebble Beach Golf Course, one of the greatest courses in the United States. Of course, that was on television. I always wanted to play the course myself and take the scenic 17 Mile Drive around the beautiful Monterey Peninsula. Two other famous golf courses are situated here, Spyglass and Cypress Point.
My first disappointment concerned playing the course. I discovered what it cost. Can you believe $350?! I knew it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but at that price I could fly to Scotland and play the Old Course at St. Andrews. I wasn't going to play Pebble Beach.
The second disappointment came when I drove the bike up to the toll booth at the start of the 17 Mile Drive. "Can I help you?" asked the attendant. I told him I wanted to do the famous 17 Mile Drive. "Motorcycles are not allowed. This is a private community," he explained. He showed me where to U-turn out of their private community.
I must admit that the ride through the rest of Monterey and Pacific Grove and Carmel was magnificent. It included Cannery Row, made famous by John Steinbeck. Shops and restaurants fill the fish cannery buildings now. The Pacific Ocean, a shining coke-bottle green, crashed along the rocky coast. Purple flowers covered much of the area between the beaches and the homes built to face the sea.
Then, the lunch at Nancy's Cafe in Seaside was a pleasant surprise. Clam chowder (with shrimp) that would satisfy a New Englander. Pasta with chicken in a garlic, mushroom, and tomato sauce. Delicious. ($7.95!!)
And I did get to take a picture of the 18th hole at Pebble Beach from Scenic Road in Carmel. Not such a bad day after all.
May 10, 1999
It's finally getting to me, the reason why so many rave about the state of California. Here are two reasons:
1. U.S. 1 along the Pacific Coast is one of the most spectacular roads in the country. I started at Monterey and drove south through Big Sur heading for San Simeon. For a New York boy who is very familiar with flat, sandy beaches that slope gently to the Atlantic Ocean, it's a thrill to drive on a road cut 500 feet up the side of a mountain that enters the Pacific directly.
The state of California spends lots of money keeping the road in good repair and very little money on guard rails. An editorial in a local paper concluded that the drivers who plunge off the edge of this road every year should have been more careful and that the beautiful view would be diminished if safety barriers were constructed. The clear view makes for a very exciting, white-knuckle producing ride.
Just off U.S. 1 in San Simeon is the home of the William Randolph Hearst Castle, a magnificent structure that the newspaper millionaire built in the 1920's. Today visitors can select from four different tours (step only on the tour carpets, don't touch anything, no gum chewing) to see what life was like for the super-rich before the I.R.S. got in the way. I wonder if they'll be giving tours of Bill Gates' home in 75 years.
2. I know Yosemite National Park from the photographs of one of my heroes, Ansel Adams. I own some of his black & white pictures of this place, perhaps the most beautiful of all of the National Parks. The 30 mile drive from the south entrance ends at a tunnel that feeds into a parking area with the most spectacular view of any parking lot in the world. The valley below is bordered by rock walls over a thousand feet high. To the right is Bridal Veil Falls. Ahead is the peak of El Capitan, still topped with snow. Observers are silent, no words adequate to describe this panorama.
The rest of the day I rode the motorcycle through this fantasy land stopping to take tons of pictures. Early May is the best time at Yosemite. No crowds. Melting snow fills the waterfalls and the streams producing their most energetic performances of the year. Every blossoming tree and bush is in top form.
May 11, 1999
Before I started on my exploration of this big country, I did a whole lot of research on the subject of living in a recreational vehicle. I read a dozen books and a hundred magazine articles about this life-style. I spoke with one experienced couple working as hosts in a Suffolk County campground. Overall, though, I was pretty ignorant about "life on wheels."
Since I started on Sept. 1, 1998, I've had over eight months to learn. I'm going to share with you some of the lessons I've learned and answer some of the questions people have asked me about this experience. It's all too much for one e-mail message, so I'll spread it out over a few messages.
Today's question: Just who does this RV traveling?
Everyone. I have met people from most states. Folks from the midwest and the northwest are more prevalent, though. New Yorkers are rare, especially when you get to campgrounds in the southwest and west. Most are older than me, which is a bit disconcerting since I spent the last 30 years working with teenagers. But lots of younger people are starting to travel in a recreational vehicle because early retirement is becoming much more common.
In most communities people with similar bank accounts live together in the same neighborhood. This is not true with RVers. A gas station attendant and his wife with a 20 year old camper may be parked next to a retired C.E.O. and his wife in a half-million dollar rig. I can't think of too many other places where these two couples would come together to converse for hours. A campfire can become a wonderful social equalizer.
I've met other teachers as well as bankers, air traffic controllers, pilots, retired military folk, stock brokers, doctors, lawyers, you name it. Most are married couples, some are unmarried couples, few are singles like me. And that's a good subject for my next bit on RVers.
May 13, 1999
The largest living thing in the world is a Giant Sequoia tree that lives in Sequoia National Park, located a just few hours of spectacular driving away from Yosemite. The tree even has a name, the General Sherman tree. This General Sherman is about 2600 years old and weighs 2.7 million pounds. There are redwoods that are taller and other trees that are older but nothing living has more mass.
Standing in front of this huge tree is quite a humbling experience. It was there before Shakespeare wrote his plays, before Columbus went exploring, before Christ was born. It has weathered hundreds of forest fires, storms, earthquakes. When it became part of a national park, it was saved from the men who would have loved to cut it down to make about a billion number two pencils.
The General Sherman is just one of hundreds of Giant Sequoias in this national park. Some stand alone, others in majestic groups. John Muir, the pioneering American conservationist, described it well: "When I entered this sublime wilderness the day was nearly done. The trees seemed to be hushed and thoughtful, as if waiting in conscious religious dependence on the sun, and one naturally walked softly and awe-stricken among them."
May 17, 1999
There are three ways to get into Yosemite National Park and the town of Mariposa, California, sits at the base of the central route (140). Mariposa sponsors a Bluegrass Festival every year and, since some of the most enjoyable experiences on my journey have included music, I decided to spend two days sampling some California Bluegrass.
Day One: (May 15) - Banjo music makes me smile. Seven groups that include banjo music (and mandolins, guitars, bass fiddles, and violins) induce all-day grins. Most listeners brought their own lawn chairs. They wore faded t-shirts from previous bluegrass festivals. They stayed for the informal "jam sessions" that the musicians gathered for each night after the scheduled performances were done.
Day Two: (May 16) - Bluegrass Gospel Music under the trees on a cool, sunny California morning is a more religious experience than that found in most churches. Some of the audience members had finished the 5K run that took place earlier and now relaxed in their running togs, enjoying the music.
When the music stopped for the noon lunch break, I hopped on the motorcycle and headed for route 140 which follows the Merced River all the way into Yosemite Valley. The river was swollen with galloping water that had plunged from Yosemite's waterfalls. It was filled with excited white-water rafters and kayakers.
I arrived in the magnificent Valley for my third visit and had a chance to preview summer crowd conditions. Tons of people and delayed traffic. I can only imagine what it will be like when schools are closed and summer vacationers arrive.
May 19, 1999
When I thought about touring America, right from the start I knew that I wanted to do it on a motorcycle. A three week motorcycle jaunt to Maine and Nova Scotia a couple of years ago taught me that an entire year on the bike would be too tough. It's a whole lot more tiring to ride a motorcycle than drive a car. But there are so many benefits. Here's why you should consider seeing the U.S. from the seat of a motorcycle:
1. Because you are not encased in an envelope of steel and glass, you see and smell and hear so much more. Riding through an orange grove or a field of wild flowers is an outstanding olfactory experience (as is riding near a huge cattle stockyard or by a dead skunk.) There is no roof to obscure the sky or the mountain or the tunnel roof or the giant redwoods or the eagle flying above you.
2. Because the bike is smaller and more maneuverable than a car, driving on narrow and curvy country roads is easier and safer. And more thrilling too. A California canyon road which plunges down, slopes up, and greets the driver with a new switchback every 100 yards is a free roller coaster ride on a motorcycle.
3. Because the bike gets 35-40 miles per gallon of gas, it's cheaper. My Coachmen Recreational Vehicle gets 10-12 m.p.g. With gas prices going up ($1.65 per gallon in California) it's easy to see that getting three times as many miles out of a gallon gas can save a lot of money.
4. Because the bike is an unusual way to travel the country, it attracts people who are fascinated by it. It becomes a great way to meet new people who approach and ask questions.
5. In every state in the union, a motorcyclist driving toward you from the other direction waves to you. Even most of the tattooed tough-guy Harley Davidson riders. Would a Hell's Angel ever wave to you while you were driving in your Chevy?
May 21, 1999 (San Francisco)
I don't know why I expected the Golden Gate Bridge to be "golden." Imagine my surprise when I saw it painted rustoleum red. The view of the bridge from the prison cafeteria windows on Alcatraz Island was wonderful on this clear day.
The short boat ride to Alcatraz brought me to the place where Al Capone and other incorrigibles spent years looking longingly out those windows. The tour of the retired federal prison took me to the cell of the "Birdman of Alcatraz", to the cells of the only three prisoners to successfully escape from "The Rock", and to the solitary confinement cells. A million visitors take this tour each year making it the most popular urban National Park. I wonder how the men who spent years suffering there would feel about that.
I took a self-inflicted ten mile walking tour of Fisherman's Wharf, Ghirardelli Square, Telegraph Hill, Coit Tower, and the steep zig-zag of Lombard Street. I saw the noisy sea lions lounging on floating docks at Pier 39 and had a delicious meal at one of the great seafood restaurants on the Embarcadero.
It was an exhaustingly full day in a very clean and thoroughly charming city.
May 22, 1999
Day two in San Francisco was motorcycle exploration day. I left the campground in Pacifica, a suburb of San Francisco about eight miles south, and headed for Great Highway, the road that hugs the Pacific Ocean side of the city. A right turn took me into the most beautiful inner-city park I have ever seen. Golden Gate Park is filled with grass, trees, a golf course, tennis courts, a polo field, a couple of lakes, a music concourse, and a Japanese tea garden.
A return to the coastal route took me under to Golden Gate Bridge to Fort Point, built just before the Civil War to guard the Golden Gate entry into San Francisco Bay. It was a great spot to watch surfers ride the waves that surged right under the Golden Gate Bridge. The fort served as the construction center of operations during the building of the bridge (1933-37).
Then it was time to ride the bike over the bridge. The winds were gentle (not true on the return trip a few hours later) and I went about ten miles to the cutoff for Muir Woods National Monument. The route in was a five-star motorcycle road, narrow, twisting, steep. I was glad I wasn't driving the motorhome.
Muir Woods was donated to the Federal Government in 1908 by a wealthy ex-congressman. It was one of the only old-growth redwood groves that had not been harvested by loggers. A hike along Redwood Creek, the center of the grove, is quietly awe-inspiring. Many of the redwoods are over 200 feet tall, some over 300 feet, many over a thousand years old.
The highlight of the return ride was the Golden Gate National Park vista point on the north side of the Golden Gate Bridge. The road snakes up the side of a small mountain and ends 600 feet above the water. Looking down, the city of San Francisco is framed between the towers of the bridge, a fabulous sight. What a day to forget to bring my camera!
I finished the day with a ride into the city, through Chinatown, to the Ansel Adams Photography Center. Ansel Adams is my hero in the photography world and here I saw some of his fine work and an exhibit on Polaroid photography.
May 23, 1999
Imagine a town where one side of Main Street is filled with quaint shops and the other side of the street is a grassy field that leads to cliffs that overlook the Pacific Ocean. A town with four bakeries and two bookstores, lots of cafes and art galleries and bed & breakfast hostels. A town with no fast food joints and no supermarkets. A place where yellow poppies and white lilies grow wild all the way down to the beach.
Mendocino is that place. There are no new structures; nearly every lovingly restored building dates back to late 1800's and early 1900's. The wooden water towers, erected before "city water" was available, are still there. The narrow horse and wagon streets are paved but still narrow. This picturesqueness made it the perfect place to film "East of Eden" with James Dean.
I camped a few miles down the road in Caspar Beach. I knew it was a unique campground when I saw the sign: "No wetsuits in the shower." Most of the other campers were either abalone gatherers or sea-kayakers. Since those activities call for entering the 47 degree water in the lagoon in front of campground, wetsuits were quite necessary. The fish table, not far from my motorhome, got a good workout each night as the abalone gatherers removed the succulent meat from the large shells.
I traveled about 180 miles north from San Francisco along the Pacific Coast Highway to get to these two places. It continues to be one of the most beautiful roads in America and I look forward to more of it as I make my way up to Redwood National Park, near the top of California.
May 27, 1999
I removed the visor on my motorcycle helmet in order to drive along the "Avenue of the Giants" on the way to Redwood National Park. I needed to look up, way up, and the visor would not let me see the tops of the trees that were over 300 feet tall.
There are many places to see the redwoods in Northern California. They're all over the northern coast but one does not get tired of them. John Steinbeck once said: "The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always...from them comes silence and awe. The most irreverent of men, in the presence of redwoods, goes under a spell of wonder and respect."
Indeed, driving on a road bordered with these huge trees is like entering a cathedral. They block out the sky and it grows dark. They smother sound and it becomes quiet. There is a damp freshness in the air.
Redwood National Park is combined with several California State Parks to preserve the redwoods, protecting them especially from the lumber industry. Harvesting the redwoods is big business. The attitudes of many residents is captured in the name of a local high school marching band, "The Fighting Lumberjacks." The parks are necessary to save the redwoods from those who call conservationists "tree-huggers."
June 2, 1999
It was entirely appropriate that I travel 350 miles from Redwood National Park, home to the world's tallest trees, to the U.S. Volleyball Open in San Jose, Calfornia, host to some of the tallest athletes in the country. It's not often I have seen so many six foot-four inch players in one place. And those were just the girls.
I was in San Jose to watch my son compete in the U.S. Open. Steve plays volleyball with great passion and his team is ranked #1 in the "A" Division this year. I watched and cheered as they won all of their first day matches, one a come-from-behind thriller.
Later we watched the "Open" Division matches. These are the best players, all great athletes, many on the U.S. National team, some simply gigantic (6-9, 250 lbs.) They hammer the ball with startling power. I can't imagine trying to block a slammed ball from one of these giants.
The Open has a place for players of all ages; there is even a 65 and over division. More than 400 teams were entered in this year's competition and 28 courts are kept busy from morning 'til night for four days.
Traveling this big country by myself can get lonely, so you may understand why spending a day with my son 2000 miles away from home was a wonderful gift.
June 8, 1999
Donner Pass, at 7300 feet, is the highest spot on Route 80 in California. It's named after the Donner party that was trapped there during a cruel winter in the last century and was forced to resort to cannibalism to survive. I camped 40 miles west of the pass because four inches of snow had fallen there and, in spite of the fact that June had arrived, it was snowing still. The next morning the road was clear and I drove through the winter snowscape to Reno.
Reno is not like Las Vegas at all. While Vegas is dominated by the casinos, they are easy to ignore in Reno. There is no neon-lighted "strip." It was more like Huntington, L.I. Lots of shopping malls, Home Depots, Comp USA's. The snow-capped peaks of the spectacular Sierra Nevada mountains that look down on Reno are its most notable feature.
A short motorcycle trip (40 miles) from Reno brings one up the mountainside to Lake Tahoe, famous for its cleanliness, its blueness, and its outstanding skiing. While the lake was magnificent, the area was jammed with tourists. I circled the lake in about two hours. It's surrounded with many hugely wealthy communities. Sprinkled among them are some more modest hamlets populated with, I imagine, those who must provide services to the rich.
A different road down the mountain took me through Carson City, the capitol of Nevada. It was a small town that just happened to have the State Capitol Building and the State Legislature Building. They were just about the only two structures in Carson City that were more than one story high.
The next day the bike took me to Virginia City, the place where some of the richest gold and silver strikes in the 1800's occurred. Virginia City is another western town that is trying to make money on its past, but the city fathers have tried to do it in the least offensive manner possible. No staged gunfights. A minimum of t-shirt shops. There are tours of the mines, tours of the historic homes built by rich gold miners, rides on the restored railroad that served the mines. Most of the stores on main street have been here for over a hundred years and much effort has been made to keep them looking authentic. The rolling boardwalk in front of the stores requires great attention to avoid tripping.
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