Location: Rosa’s Roticeria, Santa Cruz
Miles: 734.1
Thanks for the suggestion, Lee and John!
Lunch
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Tag Archives: travel
A Big Day, part 2: Highway 1
On the way up to the city, the sky was clear and the air was warm most of the way up. I was hoping for the reverse on the way back down, but I didn’t see the sun until I was almost to Santa Cruz. No matter, it was a great drive.
At the top of the route, the road clings to the side of a cliff as it winds its way down from the city. There was some traffic, but not too much and I really felt the connection between me and the machine I was controlling. It’s not that uncommon that I feel the car shift and move as I apply throttle or brake, but today everything was there; I was finding the right path through the curves, and as I pressed the throttle I could feel the push increase in exact proportion. I was shifting without thinking, and everything felt very smooth.
After the winding road, I got stuck in traffic, which was probably a good thing, as there were police everywhere. Just then “It’s Not a Race” by Gwenmars came on the CD player, and that helped me relax and enjoy the ride. South of Half Moon Bay the traffic disappeared, but for the rest of the trip it was I who pulled over to let others pass. I was cruisin’, the scenery was lush, good tunes were playing, and I was alone with my thoughts.
Rolled into Santa Cruz still unfed, grabbed my computer and headed here.
A Big Day, part 1: Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence
Location: Mission Dolores Park, San Francisco
Miles: 595.1
For those of you who are as little in the know as I am, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (photo) is a community organization of gays and lesbians. But that’s not the half of it. today was their 25th annual Easter bash, which featured, among other things, the Easter Bonnet contest, the first Hunky Jesus contest, and music by Polkacide. Aside from all that, there was world-class people watching, as the sisters are out to put on a show.
This was truly an “Only in San Francisco” kind of event. I will do my best to get pictures up as soon as possible. Many of the sisters were in flamboyant costume, but as this was outdoors in a public park most of the costumes were not terribly risqué. Just as well for my own comfort.
The Easter Bonnet contest was a lot of fun; I thought the guy with the huge feathered headdress (think Vegas) with the bunny tied to it with leather straps was going to be the winner, but then I realized that the dude with the hat made entirely of chocolate had a basin of melted chocolate in the middle in which he was dunking strawberries. After he won he let the kids in the crowd devour his creation. In the words of the MC’s: “Martha Stewart couldn’t do that!”
The Polkacide gig was very good – a better sound mix than they usually get despite the hasty setup – but short. The crowd was definitely getting into it, there was much twirling of partners and shaking of booties. They had another brief set later, but I left. I was getting hungry, as all I had eaten today up to then was an ice cream sandwich. It was starting to get blustery as well, and I wanted to take a top-down flight down the coast before it got too cold. (Remember the days when there was no such thing as too cold? Those days are over, my friend.)
Right. Back to the Sisters. The drive is the next entry. I spent a lot of time around behind the stage, both because I was hanging out with John and the Polkaciders, and because that is where the most interesting people were. Neil, the clarinet player for Polkacide had a basket filled with the traditional fake grass and the not-so-traditional painted beers. In honor of the event, the band dressed up more than usual, which for some of the members is saying a lot. One guy (I’ll fill in the name later) was in a red sequin body suit. Yikes.
Before I left, one sister, dressed in white, face painted white with absurdly long eyelashes, patted me on the ass and said “Somebody better put that to use.” I think he did it just because I had been around the backstage for a while and obviously was keeping my space. That or he thought I was hot. Nah. I was taken by surprise, and I have no idea what my expression was like when I turned to look at him. Hopefully honestly surprised rather than fearful, or, worse, blank. Of course, now I have thought of several things I could have said, each one better than the last.
Soon thereafter I left, leaving forever the mystery of the White Sister’s intentions, and leaving unsaid all the cool things I could have said. Strangely, I spent the day slightly worried that some man would ask me to dance of just be too familiar, yet if straight women never hit on me, why should I think a gay man would? In point of fact, there were Sisters carrying around buckets for donations for their causes, and I swear they were avoiding me. Finally I had to chase one down and practically tackle him to make my meagre donation. I’m guessing it was my fashion senselessness. Or maybe the sheer power of my personality intimidated them.
It was the fashion sense.
Plans Taking Shape
I’ll be here in beautiful Scott’s Valley and environs for a few more days, maybe ten. Then I’ll head over to Tahoe, and from there down to Yosemite to catch Old Faithful and all that stuff. After that I’ll spin through Death Valley on my way to Vegas, then down to San Diego to take care of all the odds and ends I need to close. Then a drive over to New Mexico, dispose of the car, fly to San Angelo, fly to Durham, then from there to Prague.
Plan your parties accordingly!
Nothing is in stone, and you will notice a distinct lack of dates. If the road is friendly and the sun is shining, A visit to Bob is still very much an option.
Big Sur
View JHT – Big Sur in a larger map
Miles: 518.5
Location: Santa Cruz Diner, Santa Cruz, CA.
Number of RV’s I got stuck behind: 0(!)
The morning was cloudy and came an hour too soon, but the smell of bacon finally pulled me out of hibernation, and it was just what my poor stomach needed after I sent so much wine down my gullet yesterday. After breakfast and a quick game of Scrabble, I said my goodbye-but-hopefully-not-forevers and hit the road, heading north up Highway 1.
By the time I passed the Madonna Inn the sky was clearing and the day was looking promising. I passed a cool-looking cemetary in Morro Bay, just to the north of San Louis Obispo, and I turned around to get some pictures. Many of the fancy graves had occupants named Madonna. Coincidence? Unlikely. I’ll put some pictures up at my Web site and link to them here – as soon as I figure out the best way to do that.
The drive up Big Sur was excellent. There were actually times I was not stuck behind slower-moving traffic and could really drive. When I did come up on a line of cars, I would pull over for a few minutes and let them get ahead again. If the line wasn’t too slow, I would just putt along with them and concentrate on sightseeing instead. Eventually most people will pull off the road to let the Mario Andretti wannabes pass.
Got here with a case of Exploding Bladder Syndrome, so rather than go looking for John and Janice’s house, I stopped here for relief and a bite to eat. Some guy just threw some coins at a waitress – apparently he had tried to leave without paying and was mad because she wouldn’t let him. That’s her story, anyway, and he’s not here anymore to tell this reporter his version.
Wine Tasting
Miles: 315.3
Location: Grover Beach, just south of Pismo Beach in Central California.
Went wine tasting. It was good. I didn’t drive. That was good. Sentence, three words. Three words good. Right now the other five people in this house are all packed in the kitchen, making dinner. The ingredients going in are excellent; it remains to be seen they can compensate for having five (argumentative) chefs to make a meal for six people. Oooh, it’s complicated.
By the time I got up this morning (6:30), Mikie was heading out to go fishing with Art, who was already long gone (He gets up at 4:30, and he’s retired. How messed up is that?). When questioned by the distaff about what he would do with any fish he caught, he said, “It’s all catch and release.” Since none of us believed that he would catch anything, we were prepared to take him at his word.
When he showed up 45 minutes later with two fish in his bucket, No one seemed surprised that the “and release” part of his plan went out the window as soon as he managed the “catch” part. It seems Art decided that he would clean and eat the fish rather than buy a lobster for the big seafood dinner we were planning for the evening.
We spent the afternoon in the Templeton area visiting wineries. Had a lot of different wines, some very good, others not. We stopped by the pier to get our seafood but lobster season ended last week. We got a ton (… well, OK, 5 pounds) of shrimp and a load of clams as well. Dinner was good, and the wine drinking continued apace. Fun was had by all. Fell asleep watching Amazon Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death.
Hmm… A relaxing day, but not really the kind of entry that’s going to keep you glued to your set, is it?
Day 1 – Happy Birthday to me
Miles: 315.3
Location: Grover Beach, just south of Pismo Beach in Central California.
I’ll not bore you with the details, but let’s just say moving out of a home you’ve occupied for ten years is like when you’re a kid and the snow is melting, leaving some really good mud to squish way down in, only to discover that you can’t get your boot out. I never knew how many clothes I had, especially since I don’t buy clothes very often at all. Triska’s last legacy.
The problem was exacerbated when I was told that the boxes I had packed to ship to Prague were too large. They didn’t really seem that large to me, but then no one asked me. Suddenly I had even more crap to take care of – I had already taken three large garbage bags of clothes to Goodwill. The break wasn’t as clean as I wanted it to be, then, as I must go back to take care of a few boxes, and some other junk. If I had stayed another day I could have got more of it done, but I was getting antsy to get out of there.
So, finally, on the road, car loaded with new luggage poorly packed, I almost missed the turn to go north on 5, driving on habit. Yesterday I was imagining that the moment I drove away to be one of euphoria or excitement, but instead I felt nostalgia, melancholy and just plain tired. I couldn’t help but think how much I had liked living in that house, and in San Diego in general. I stopped off at the Chevron on Birmingham and I wondered how much two twelve-packs of Sheaffer would cost these days. Certainly more than $9.10. I was not tempted to drive by the Emmadome multi-sport complex; I just jumped back on the freeway and rejoined the stop-and-go traffic.
LA was LA. I regretted moving out of range of KPBS, but then I found other stations. North of LA, when the scenery becomes spectacular, it was dark, but the drive from there on up was pleasant. Got a little lost finding the house (East Grand is west of Grand, which made me think I was going the wrong way, so I turned around and then I was going the wrong way.)
Got here just in time to have a single Birthday Guinness before it wasn’t my birthday anymore. Bushed, I went to sleep.
So the trip did not have that Hollywood “Vegas, baby! Vegas!” opening scene. It started in a contemplative mood, as a sequel might, which is perhaps more appropriate.
Tomorrow the adventure begins
First, the posts will (hopefully) be more interesting as I spin for you the story of life on the road, unfettered by good judgement. Second, the updates will be less frequent. I’ll keep writing stuff, but there may be periods with no updates then all of a sudden, wham, several days worth of fascinating drivel.
Keep the comments going! That way you’re giving the next viewer new things to read even when I’m not around. Remember, this isn’t just about me, it’s about community. (*sniff*)
On another note, moving sucks. Took the second truckload of crap to the dump today. Got a nostalgia twinge when I was throwing away some old dog toys, but I’m ready to be gone.
Nostalgia Trip
I had the top down, and it was chilly out, but not cold. Traffic was light, making the four lanes seem very wide. Suddenly I was hit with the memory of the first time I had driven up that highway, when I was moving to San Diego.
It was a different convertible then, but the same chill air. I remember I had noticed how the wide, sprawling interchanges made such good use of the terrain to establish their different levels. I remember worrying that I had missed my exit, which was silly because I also noticed how much better-marked the exits are here compared with New Mexico.
Of course, once I got that feeling I started looking for the things that had changed in the last 17 years. I realized that almost every building I saw for the next few miles had not been there on my maiden trip; the first time through that canyon the freeway was all there was, and I have to admit I was quite taken with the bigness of it, the graceful sweep of the curves in the interchanges, and the way it fit into the canyon, occupying the space – consuming it – harmoniously. The road was a giant sculpture for driving on. Some environmentalist I turned out to be that night.
The road is now flanked by shopping centers, and condos crown the tops of the mesas. Miramar hasn’t changed visibly from the road – the military is the only organization in this town more powerful than the developers, and God Bless ’em for that. But the freeway isn’t as free any more; it’s very presence made the rest of the clutter inevitable. What was a graceful and thought-provoking rape of nature has now become part of just another meaningless urban jumble.
Part of the change is in me, as well. I no longer look at all the cars and wonder, “Where the hell are all those people going? Back then, when I was in a more sympathetic mood, especially late at night when, living near the freeway, I would stop and notice on those rare occasions when the noise had stopped – there was an actual gap in traffic leaving a silence so profound you had to comment on it, but not until the cars had started again – I would stop and think about what it meant to be on the road, to be going somewhere, with all the purpose of life that implies.
Now it’s just a big road with lots of cars, often too many, that I use when I have need. Maybe some time away from the big ribbon will restore my awe.
About ready to hit the road
Except for the fact that I am completely unprepared for the move, I’m pretty excited about getting Jer’s Homeless Tour underway. I’ll try to put regular updates here, but I’m not going to put endless minutiae here just to hear myself talk. Or so I promise now.
I have instructions around here somewhere telling me how to add reader comments to iBlog, so at some point I’ll try to get that going, along with jerssoftwarehut.com/. Lots of work to do there as well.
Two Beers
French – deux bières
Spanish – dos cervezas
Polish – dwa piwa
Czech – dve piva
Romanian – doua bere
Afrikaans – Twee Biere
Redneck: Cheap date!
German: Zwei Bier
Italian: Due birre
Russian: dva piva
Serbian: dva piva
Malay – “Dua bir”, or “dua gelas bir” although that’s rather clunky.
Mandarin Chinese: Liang ping pijiu (“lee-yang ping pee-jee-you”)
Danish – to øl
Swedish – Två öl
Latin: Duo cerevisiae
Finnish: Kaksi olutta
Portuguese: dois cervejas
Pig Latin: ootay eersbay
Canadian: 1/12th of a two-four.
Dutch: Twee bier
Flemish: Twee pintjes
Irish: Dha Beoir
Japanese: Ni-hai biiru
Esperanto: du bier
Swahili: pombe mbili
Turkish: Iki bira (ee-kee bee-rah)
Just thought you might want to know.
A Czech Tale
The first night we stayed with Marek (pronounced marrrk), and there is a story there, but not the story for today, children. It ended at 6 am with a long cab ride. Ask me for the story of Marek’s parents some time over beers. Weird.
So a couple more nights like this follow, and Phil and I are feeling pretty run down. We decide to head over to Telc (pronounced teltch), as it is a very nice little traditional czech (pronounced check) town with a very old town center. Phil (pronounced fill) called his focus-puller and cameraman friend Tomas (pronounced toMAHSH – it would be more obvious if I could type the accent marks) to see if he wanted to come out and play. He replied that he could join us for a while, but that he had been up all night playing bluegrass music with his old band, and he was very tired, so couldn’t stay out late. Whew! An easy night at last.
We met up with Tomas and his girlfriend Dasa (pronounced dasha) in the town square, and went to the restaurant owned by a friend of Marianna’s (probably not really spelled that way) named Ivan (pronounced eeVAHN). Dasha was heading back to Prague that afternoon, and once she was gone Tomas seemed much more interested in hanging out. He cancelled plans to go and edit a documentaty he is working on and invited us over to his house. Uh, oh (pronounced here we go again).
At his house we met his parents, who were really very cool. They gave is beer, and after a little conversation Tomas’s mother complained that we weren’t drinking them fast enough. Tomas and his father played some music for us, and dad showed us some of the american folk and bluegrass albums he had collected quite illegally during the communist times.
After a while Mom came back from the kitchen with some sausage and bread and cheese, a traditional czech snack. The sausage had been made from wild boar by a friend of theirs only the day before. I’m no sausage expert, but this was pretty tasty. Then dad got up and came back with a vodka bottle. Not to worry, he quickly said, this was not vodka but slivovitce (pronounced, more or less, SLEE-vo-vit-seh), a drink made from plums (was it plums? it’s all so hazy now) and very alcoholic. This had been made by a friend of his. It was pretty tasty, but I had to be careful – if I let my guard down for a moment, my glass was refilled. There was some other really sweet cherry booze that we tried also, but apparently it’s purpose is to give the women something to sip while the men drink their slivovice. Talk about your good hosts. There was also plenty of good conversation, with Tomas and Phil being very diligent with translations.
Well, of course after that there was nothing Tomas wanted more than to go out drinking. We went to a little bar near the center of town (the town is small enough that almost everything is hear the center of town), and bellied up to the bar. Tomas is the only czech I have been with that even considered sitting at the bar. Tomash was barely staying awake until a bunch of women showed up. Nothing came of that, but that got him going again and then there was the whiskey… It’s hard to find good scotch in the czech republic, but that night we did. We had a good time discussing movie stuff – My brother (for my sake) and Tomas (for his own) thought it would attract the women over to us if we were talking like we were going to film a movie in town. Of course it didn’t work, but we did come up with a really good steadycam shot involving two cranes and all kinds of people moving around. (Apparently cable cams aren’t good for shots that require tight sound synchronization. Who would have thought?)
So there you have it, just another day in Cesky Republiky (prounouced Cheskie rePOOblikie).
Jerry (pronounced jerry)
Another bad idea
While traveling around the Czech Republic, it occurred to me that all the postcards of the attractions were aerial views. That got me to thinking, and when I start thinking you know there will be blimps in the picture somewhere. So…
What if there was a tour company that took people all over Europe by blimp? It would be a big ‘ol blimp with enough room that the passengers could sleep in comfort and dine in style, and it would mosey about the countryside from one attraction to another. It would be a cruise ship of shorts.
Getting people on and off the blimp is an issue, of course, but with a big enough blimp you could have a hangar and a small plane to ferry people up and down.
Not much fun on a windy day, though, and who knows how people would feel about a giant blimp blotting out the sun?