El Capitan State Beach

The weather was perfect. Temps in the mid-sixties, the slightest of breezes and clear skies at night. Mostly up-scale Mercedeses and Ram vans, the loudest noise was, one evening, my own expulsive cry of ecstasy.

A few of the sites, thanks to the vegetation, offer a modicom of privacy. But the proximity of others meant Smith remaining leashed 'til after dark. We've reached an understanding, or so she's led me to believe, and I've learned, upon hearing the squeak of her paws as she slides down the dewslickened windshield, to open the window. Stepping from the outside mirror, she slips her Lurpacness through. Having breakfasted at 3:30, she, without ado, settles to her morning rest.

According to the camphosts, the beach sand is taken away by winter storms leaving it a madman's pavement; ranging from pebbles through cobbles to small boulders.

The variation of types and their colors are a feast! Very few, if any, shells, however. Over the course of the summer, they say, the sand returns.

TV Tower Road

Crossing through Los Padres National Forest on highway 101, there's really only one place to stay. The narrow, winding road, is cut out of the cliffside

and it's not until you reach the ridgetop, with views of Amtraks (that silvery sliver in the middle right)

and the Pacific Ocean, that there's a level spot big enough to lie down on.

Valentine On 58

It's out there, somewhere between Santa Margarita & McKittrick.

Pozo....Let's Go See

I read Waiting for Godot when I was 16 and immediately adopted it as my "bible." I've yet to hear of a Pozzo but Pozo was close enough; I had to go see.

An irrepressible YESS! escaped at the sight of the large blue highway sign saying NEXT SERVICES 70 MILES.

Highway 58 snakes through the Panza Mountains of central California from McKittrick to Santa Margarita and, due to its tight turns, top speed is around 25 mph. It can take *days* to get from he'ar to they're. The loops are so tight you can look across the "ravine" and see if anyone is gaining on yuh. There rarely is; all the more reason.

Pozo Road is a narrow, paveless lane with occasional chunks of hillside spilling out acrosst. Signed NOT SUITABLE FOR CAMPERS OR TRAILERS, it mirrors 58 and goes around to the South then rejoins it east of Santa Margarita.

After cresting the first divide, Pozo Rd descends to La Panza campground. La Panza's sites are aligned along a small stream in a valley of oaks. The stream, which serves as the access road, meanders past nicely spaced pit toilets...the all-important distinction so necessary for those troubled by plein air pooping.




Guess I'm gonna hav tuh breakdown and use the tripod. Yet another indicator of age...shakey hands & fuzzy pics.

Empty when we arrived, I was suckered into settling in at the back. During the night others arrived. Perhaps you can elucidate for me the mindset that prompts someone to greet the dawn, still dark at 5:30, with half an hour of shooting.

Less than a mile further west is a junction with dispersed sites and other options. It's been a lifelong frustration...I never seem to go *quite* far enough. Like the Who, we won't get fooled again!

The Pozo Saloon has hosted some of the biggest names in music including Joe McDonald and Willie Nelson & Friends. There's a giant stage out back large enough to support a WALL OF SOUND. And they have a good stout on tap.

Trona Pinnacles

Toying with the idea of crossing over into Death Valley, I practiced my self-titillation at the southern end of Panamint Valley. A nice stopping place a few miles south of Trona, The Pinnacles are anomolous tufa in a sea of sedimentary.

It rained for two days occluding the view. So we waited. With a strong showing of azure and some white fluffies for contrast, the road was a hopscotch of puddlea (how's THAT for a plural?) & ponds. As a topper, there's a steep hill and a small sea (without the rain probly an unnoticeable depression) just before the info plaques.


TO THE RIGHT

TO THE LEFT

Along the way we'd waved to a Honda Accord, but they didn't stop to say whether they'd walked the last half mile down the escarpment or over the great water.


TO THE NORTHWEST

I kept Smith leashed as there were people about. It's a popular spot with dispersed camping allowed throughout the area.



PHOEBE!!! (Named after the Gates' daughter)

Borax Visitor Center - Boron, California

Yahsar, iz troo, dee winterz iz ruff. Day juss ain't much tuh entratane onez se'f. So we unz is scrapin' duh bottom ub de barrel fo' sumpin' tuh reeport. Mebbe you'unz kin find sum humor in h're sumwherz.

It was the promise of a Visitors' Center (WiFi!!!)  that drew me off the four-lane. There was nothing at the end of the off ramp but in the distance I could see some buildings; I went that way.

An empty guardhouse delineated the entrance to the grounds. As I drove in I puzzled at the why and wherefore of a Visitors' Center in an industrial locale. But countless doses of LSD have left me with an Insat'able Curtiosity.

The speed limit signs were funny: 37 1/2, 14 mph --  *someone* had a sense of humor. There was an electronic sign displaying the "accident free" days.

I toured the parking area, noticing the Health & Safety building and, stopping at the stop sign at the exit, noticed the large sign hanging over the road to the left....VISITOR  CENTER.

The broad avenue, wide enough for a Euclid, led up and up to the tippy top of a man-maded promontory. There, overlooking The Pit, were two quonset huts gussied up to evoke memories of Death Valley Days -- including Ronald Reagan as a strapping Pioneer.

They start you off right with an example of necessary measures. I recalled a contractor who built super highways telling me about some of the stupid things the dump truck drivers had done. Obviously, as the picture below attests, they're experienced. With double bumpers you can ignore the emergency brake and no one'll get hurt.

Inside are great rock samples; exquisite models of the plant equipment; an entire wall of things you'd never imagined (footballs!!) that include borax in their making. The wall text says there's a full-time staff tasked with finding new uses.

The gift shop includes an unusually fine selection suggesting there's someone with an eye for quality - the gems and settings are FAR superior to anything you'll see along the highway. It's worth the trip....but no Wifi

Incredible Valentine!!

As you're no doubt aware, modern science, while ignoring the fact that there are already plenty of people here, has pursued techniques for adding to the population when the usual method is unsuccessful.

Choosing as I did (TMI TMI alert!) to get vasectomized at age 22, I'm prone to the gimlet eye when confronted with the holiday snapshots of the 40-50 people that now constitute some of the "families." Many have had several children, often with a series of wives, and their children carry on the tradition: a tradition of FAMILY VALUES (It's okay as long as the relationships are serial, dontchyuhknow? Polyamory still falls under the "queer" rubric, though.) and lack of social conscience. Thank god there are some who aren't opposed to supporting other peoples' offspring.

So it was with astonishment that after years-long attempts by a friend's daughter and her husband to become pregnant I felt my eyes fill with tears as I read the text announcing the heard heartbeat heralding the successful in vitro fertilization. At least I know, unlike many of the children I met when I had my business providing after-school programs, this one will be loved.

Happy Valentine's Day!