|Longer Than Wide|
Steve Hunter (camp host at Hot Springs Long-term Visitors Area - west of Yuma) said anyone travelling in these parts was missing something if they didn't go to Julian for apple pie.
It wasn't as if I *needed* any, so I rationalized with "It's my patriotic dooty."
I exited I-8 at Ocotillo where a banner advertised for help wanted in the windfarms...in case you need a job of work. (What other kinds of jobs *are* there?)
|Wind Farm - Help Wanted|
It was sunset when I topped a ridge and spied a track disappearing over a knoll. I went to the edge of a precipice overlooking the valley (top picture) with spectacular 360-degree views.
Entering Julian the next day I noted the elevation of 4500 feet and shuddered with horror at the patches of roadside snow. If not for the beckoning pie I'd have turned around then and there.
Setting my cap, I strode the boardwalk with numerous others -- an assortment that included boisterous teenagers throwing snowballs and oldsters in walkers venturing to cross the busy main street. The place was hot!
Given the temperature (cool) and presence of white stuff (snow), I steeled myself to eat and run. I wasn't ready for a night of freezing temperatures just yet.
I selected the venue by whim and took a table at the back near the register.
Tastes vary as do results (see mileage ratings for vehicles) so I'll simply say it was not Mom's or The Julian Pie Company. While not bad, it wasn't quite worthy of a troo patriot. The apples were over-cooked and the cinnamon was so strong there wasn't room for another flavor. There just ain't nuthin' like Mom's (my Mom's, that is).