Day 20: Change of Plans, Part B

Late the night before we had decided to make another shift in the trip. We had spent almost the entire day driving by things and through things but making hardly any stops, and this wasn't the way we wanted to spend our trip. We knew the weather was going to get worse the further north we went and that Rocinante wasn't that great in the snow; we found out outside of Flagstaff there wasn't a good way to sleep in the snow, since the slide-out with our bed would get covered and wouldn't slide back in. How else would we sleep? How would we move around and live in this tiny thing? And most of all, how would we get Rocinante out if we got snowed in? Really though, we were just too ambitious with our trip planning. We expected to see too much in 4 weeks, with 1 week to drive home, and we had to cut something out. So we cut out the North, the snow. No more Oregon. No more Washington. No more Canada... As disappointing as this was, it was also a relief, and I reminded myself of the Steinbeck quote I had written down at the beginning of the trip. There was no use trying to control this; all I could do was go with it and just be glad I was here, in sunny California. And it was sunny. The weather was perfect - around 80 degrees, bright and beautiful - and the scenery was gorgeous. So I tried to adapt, forget the fact that I brought sweaters and scarves (about 5), snow-proof gloves and boots for 30 degree below weather. My task for the day: to find flip-flops and a sundress.

We slowed down, put driving on hold for the day and rented a car to drive around Santa Monica and L.A. Our first stop was a classic, the Santa Monica Pier. It was early morning, so the amusement park with the infamous carousel wasn't open, and most vendors were just starting to roll out their sunglass and T-shirt carts. But there were a few people running, fishing, and some other tourists like us snapping photos and peering down into the Pacific. I had my fortune read by Zoltar, the mechanic psychic in a clear glass box (what movie was this on?): "A new turn of events will soon come about. A happy reunion with a loved one will make life all that you ever wanted it or dreamed it to be." Then a warning: "You have a very trusting nature and are easily taken in by so-called friends. Do not be so anxious to do favors unto others, as there is one who is just waiting to take advantage of your good nature." Sounded fairly accurate, I guess. Wish I had that set of lucky numbers in Vegas, though.

Part of our reason for stopping at the pier, and Santa Monica in particular, was because this was the official end of Route 66, and we thought there was a plaque commemorating this somewhere on the pier. It was nowhere to be found, though, and the guy working the counter in the postcard shop directed us to Palisades Park. Apparently there are several Palisades Parks in Santa Monica. The GPS wound us around a suburb until we arrived at the first one, beside a school. This was definitely not right. So my Road Trip book gave us a little direction (an intersection, at least), and we finally found it on a strip of park facing the water. It read: "Will Rogers Highway - Dedicated 1952 to Will Rogers, humorist, world traveler, good neighbor. This main street of America, Highway 66, was the first road he travelled in a career that led him straight to the hearts of his countrymen." I snapped my dad's photo to mark the final accomplishment of a lifelong dream of his (and cheered, silently, that it was over!).

Ok, so it was only partly over. Mostly. We did drive for a bit back east on Santa Monica Boulevard - in this town, another moniker for the old road. We didn't get far, though, with the number of stoplights and the heavy traffic, and here, there really wasn't anything to see. It just looked like L.A. Along the way, we stopped for lunch at a "famous" pizza place (wouldn't make our list of famous anything) and an outdoor shopping area for flip-flops and a sundress. There really was nothing of 66 left in its end-of-the-road town, so we made a few turns and rode the classic L.A. roads instead - Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood Boulevard. One road took us as high as and across from the Hollywood sign, also the site for Griffith Observatory. I didn't understand how they could have much of a view from that observatory; there was a thick, dense layer of brownish-pink smog that just hung, stagnant, atop of the city.

After we came back down the mountain, we drove by the Chinese Theatre and the Hollywood Walk of Fame and got out to see a few of the stars. I also found one of the best vintage clothing stores I've ever been in. It was one of those places where they collect all the good stuff and then mark up the price. And it was chocked full of good stuff, all organized by type and color, including a selection of new wigs and other costume pieces. The place was huge - I've never seen anything like it. I tried on a few of my favorite picks from the racks, but nothing fit quite good enough for the price tag.

We were tired and still had about an hour of driving through stoplights and traffic to get back to the campground in Malibu, so we left town as the sun set. We had a relaxing night with Rocinante parked on the edge of the Pacific, grilling steaks (yes, more steak), washing more laundry, and me catching up on some phone calls to friends. As long as we've been on the road, it's always good hearing from those back at home.

Day 19: The Cali Coast

Day 19 began our California coastal drive, and we made our first stop after about 30 minutes, in La Jolla. La Jolla is a a beautiful seaside town, situated atop rocky cliffs and overlooking brilliant blue coves. We stopped for breakfast at The Cottage, a spot known over the world for their homemade granola. We wanted a heartier breakfast, though, so my dad had an omelette and I ordered Chilaquiles, an egg dish with bits of tortilla, chiles, cheese, and maybe a few other unidentifiable ingredients. We also split a perfect pumpkin muffin and left with some pastries to go and the restaurant's cookbook.

We found out from one of the locals dining next to us how to find the Pacific Coast Highway and, after stopping to get a good driving map of the state, we drove along the waterfront of La Jolla and continued on northward, toward Santa Monica. We drove through a string of beach towns, all a little touristy but most still charming and quaint. Some I remembered from visiting Nicole several years ago. We pulled over at the marina in Oceanside, right outside of the marine base at Camp Pendelton. It was a pretty little cove full of boats. I got out and snapped a few quick pictures.

For lunch, we pulled off the road in Laguna Beach to make some sandwiches (see post, "A few notes about Rocinante," for more details of that dining experience). We parked in a row of metered spots at the top of a park overlooking the ocean, and after lunch, I took a short walk to see the beach and the large rocks jutting out from the breaking waves. There were people there, walking on the rocks and playing in the sand, and I wished I could have been one of them, but there wasn't time; we had to keep moving. I was thankful for at least having a few minutes to myself in the sun on such a beautiful, warm day and remembered everyone back at home in freezing winter temperatures.

We were trying to get to Santa Monica for the night, so we kept on driving, stopping for a bit in Venice Beach to see all the "weird people" who my dad had seen featured on Jay Leno. He stopped two of the first people we saw, and here is what he said, almost exactly: "Excuse me. Do you live here?" They said no. "Well, we just got here, and I've heard there are a lot of weirdos here. Do you know where they are?" They sure didn't, especially since this was their first day there too, and they had just arrived from Italy! What a great first impression of Americans! As we walked off, I told him they probably thought he was one of the weirdos. He asked another couple a few minutes later but phrased it slightly better, and they pointed us to the boardwalk. 

It was true, though, the place was full of weirdos. It was like some real-life circus side show. There were a lot of shiny, overly muscular, overly brown men parading around in speedos, and my favorite was the really old one with high-top black sneakers from the 80's, a huge mustache, and bones around his neck. He stood forever outside of a junk store holding a boombox with the antanae raised. There were basketball courts, paddle tennis courts (?), and a parking lot with one little section devoted to shirtless men hovering over their SUVs spraying them with bottles of cleaner to make the shiny even shinier. Then we saw some really crazy looking dude with all sorts of things fastened to him, rolling around on skates, playing some kind of electric-sounding guitar. Alien sidewalk art that you couldn't take a picture with unless you gave them money. Surfers. Bicyclists. Runners. Girls walking their little dogs and a man sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the boardwalk oogling and yelling out things like "Hey honey, you looking fine today, and I like that little pet you got there too. Come on over. I got a little something for you over here." This was like the extreme sport version of people watching.

Since there was no place to park for the night in Santa Monica, we had to go a little further north, to Malibu. We stopped at a seafood market on the way into town to pick up something for dinner and found a nice campground right on the edge of the Pacific. My dad grilled while I washed our clothes in the campground laundry room. It was a great night to be outside. The day had been in the 80's, but the night was cooler and the Santa Ana winds were blowing a warm, brisk breeze over the cliffs.

Day 18: San Diego

Since we had gotten to San Diego a little early and didn't have driving to do, I made raspberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast. It was nice to have a bit of a slower start to the day. The one thing we knew we were going to do in the city was go to the San Diego Zoo, one of the largest in the world and one more thing my dad wanted to check off on his life-long list of to-do's. The San Diego Zoo is part of Balboa Park, what was to me, one of the most impressive things about San Diego. This was my trip second trip to San Diego, but on my previous trip I had missed this 1,150 outdoor complex of gardens, museums, and other arts venues. Balboa Park was created as part of the 1915 International Exposition celebrating the completion of the Panama Canal, with buildings all built in Spanish Revival style by architect Bertram Goodhue.

I never have been a fan of zoos. In fact, on a class trip to New Orleans during high school, I ran out of an aquarium crying, I was so upset by the captivity. The fish swimming circles in the doughnut shaped aquarium really got to me. But since it was so important to my dad, I attended zoo day. They did have quite the menagerie, and the koala and panda bears were especially adorable. I was amused by the wombats and all the hairy pig-like animals and the strange looking tapir. To satisfy my dad's professional football obsession, we searched and searched for a panther in Cat Canyon... unsuccessfully. But my favorite part of the zoo was probably the Silver Leaf-langurs (monkey-like things) I caught cuddling and holding hands. And yes, it did make me miss Paul! Ha!

We had a good lunch and a glass of wine on the harbor at a little seafood restaurant that doubled as a fish market. This also gave us a view of another part of town, the waterfront filled with commercial boats and private yachts. The restaurant was next to a docked aircraft carrier that had been converted into a maritime museum. Along the shore was a tribute to Bob Hope, who spent every Christmas entertaining the military stationed overseas. There was also a giant statue recreation of that famous photo of the sailor grabbing a nurse for a kiss in the streets after World War II.

We came back from lunch to an unhappy Rocinante. We had to park her in a no parking zone outside the restaurant, since all the spaces were small and metered. If we would have parked legally, we would have taken up 4-5 meters and probably gotten stuck from cars on either side of us. So we came back to a ticket. And when we cranked her, we realized she was also sitting on empty. We had to find a station with diesel. Fast. We drove up and down the interstate searching, and finally the GPS found us a truck stop 14 miles down the road. And since we were driving south, our quick trip to get gas turned into a detour to the Mexico border and a meeting between Rocinante and a concrete pole during a u-turn there...

When we got ourselves straightened back out again (about 2 hours after leaving from lunch), we drove back into the city to visit Old Town San Diego. This was the first permanent settlement in California, established as 1 of 21 Franciscan missions by Father Junipero Serro in 1769. This state park now stands as a monument to the town's history, with restored buildings, living history demonstrations, small museums, restaurants and converted shops. We poked our heads in a few of the shops and museums (San Diego's first cigar shop was the most interesting.) and drank giant margaritas by a gurgling Spanish fountain as the sun set.

The closest place we could find to camp toward the north side of town was actually in La Mesa. We had decided to stay another night in town so that we could see some old friends of mine who had recently moved there, Paul and Erin Culp. They picked us up from the campground and we drove back into town for some more Italian. (We were still in search of my dad's favorite dish.) It was good to see someone we knew, someone besides each other! We had a great time at dinner, eating, talking, and getting a little tipsy over wine. It was so nice to have a little bit of home in California.

A few notes about Rocinante...

Yes, I love our little home on the road; she's a great vehicle, and even better in theory. But let's get real for a minute...

There are just some things that aren't meant to be taken on the road. A house is one of them. Week 1 of the trip the microwave kept spontaneously turning on, and it took us days to figure out it was the glass tray sliding around, pushing the door slightly ajar. (I don't know why this would be the cause, but it was.) I warned my dad that he should take it out while we were riding and store it safely somewhere. The next day, as we were bouncing over snowy, dirt, pot-holed roads in the campground/ghetto outside Flagstaff... (you can finish the story yourself from here, can't you?) Yes. The tray came flying out and shattered on the floor. There was glass in the sink, in the burners, in the bottom of the coffee maker, in the fruit basket, on the couch, and all over the floor of every "room" in the motorhome. And all we had to clean it up with were strange and ERRONEOUS inventions of compact cleaning supplies: a broom that folded down to be about a foot long with an attachable brush at the end that kept swinging around and detaching itself. A tiny little vacuum cleaner with a removable handle (also lots of fun), and a thin trash bag to put the shards of glass in (which also worked quite well).

The RV is known for its convenience, for the fact that it has everything you could ever need to live all under one motorized roof. But as convenient as it is to be able to pull over the RV and cook a quick lunch, try grilling a sandwich in a frying pan when all your butter slides down to one side. Or eating grapes when they keep rolling all over your plate. I love to be able to pee while riding, but honestly, it's not as easy thing to do and rather dangerous. And as much as I like being able to sit at the kitchen table while we're going down the road, so that I can spread out books and maps and plan our next stops, nothing can put me in a worse mood than all that stuff catapulting to the floor every 10 minutes, while my gut is thrust into the edge of the table. I can hardly read, I can hardly write, I can hardly type, with Rocinante bumping along on these broken up pieces of road we've been driving on. So what's the point, really?

Parking? Ha! I can't believe we've only gotten one parking ticket. We've had to make our own parking. And let me just say: there are a whole lot more hotels than there are campgrounds. Sometimes we drive thirty minutes out of the  way to stay for one night. Sometimes we have to cut our driving hours short because there's only one place to be found for hundreds of miles.

Was bringing this thing a good idea? You ask my dad and you get one answer; you ask me, you just might get another. Something like... "HELL NO!" Driving the old open highway wasn't a problem, but trying to get this thing through the cities, up and down mountains, and around these coastal towns, is a bit like trying to push a straw through a toothpick. 

So don't let my dad fool you. This RVing isn't all it's cracked up to be.

A tip for traveling...

Walking around in a moving RV is a lot like water skiing. Keep your knees slightly bent (to avoid the shock of the road) and shoulder-width apart (to prevent yourself from falling face forward). But even still, sometimes you will falter, and the floor is a lot harder than water.

Day 17: Change of Plans, Part 1

From Needles, we got back on Route 66 to finish driving the last stretch of the old road. The road here was bumpier and more desolate than any yet. We passed through a few towns, but aside from the pavement, there was nothing left of the old route to be seen. In Amboy, we saw a tree beside the road covered in shoes and a few odd pair of underwear. I don't know the story behind this, but there have been two other of these along 66, though this was the first we had seen. Amboy also had another inactive volcano crater, something else we've started seeing a lot of.

Right outside of town, we took a fifty-mile detour to Joshua Tree National Park, where the Mojave and Colorado Deserts converge. My dad wasn't too happy about spending this much time going away from the old road, but once we were there he was glad we did it. For me, the National Parks, Monuments, Forests, etc. have been the most rewarding part of the trip, and I only wish there was more time to spend in places like this. For him, it's the man-made; for me it's the natural. 

Joshua Trees are about one of the most strange looking plants I've ever seen. My dad explains them as looking like a cross between a palm and a cactus, but they are actually a species of yucca. Their bark is shaggy like fur, and the tree can grow over 4o feet tall, at the rate of one inch per year. There were Joshua Trees most everywhere, and my dad kept asking me if I wanted to dig one up to throw in the back of the motorhome. (He is, in fact, trying to find out if he can get one to grow back at home.) But the most interesting part of the park were the rocks. Again, my dad had a pretty accurate description: "It looks like God took a giant dump out here." The giant rock piles came from volcanic activity eons ago, when molten monzogranite rose from deep within the Earth. As it rose, "it intruded the overlying rock, the Pinto gneiss formation," to create create these strange looking formations (park brochure). As the granite cooled and crystalized, cracks in the rocks were formed, which is what gives them the appearance of being stacked.

We found an expansive overlook about a mile off the main road, at en elevation of 5,185 feet, where we could see valley, mountains, and desert. The view included the San Andreas Fault, the Salton Sea (235 feet below sea level), Palm Springs, and nearly the Mexico border. The wind here was severe, so much so that we had to brace ourselves against the fence to not get blown over. It did make walking up the mountain easier, though, since the wind was behind us and pushing us forward.

Point of Interest...

The park had several oases, which are actually set atop a crack in the earth's crust at geological fault lines. When groundwater hits a fault plane, it rises to the surface and creates conditions for an oasis. 

After leaving the park, it was back to 66. We picked it up again in Barstow and went through a string of towns, all devoid of their Route 66 history. Even though the towns further east were either small specks on the road or filled with modern-day chains, most of them still had a trace of 66, whether from their old neon, ramshackle filling stations, or roadside attractions. But since we'd left Vegas, any signs of the road had been few and far between. Very few and very far between. So aside from Joshua Tree, our sites for the day included McDonald's, Auto Zone, Wal-Mart, car dealerships, and things of the sort. Think Concord. The only difference was that sometimes there was a mountain as a backdrop.

We were supposed to go all the way to Santa Monica, to the final point on Route 66, then the next day we were going to cut south to San Diego, and then back up again to drive the entire California coast. But since I spent my ride that day trying to schedule out the stops on the rest of the trip, we realized we were going to have to push harder than we thought to get to Vancouver and Victoria before needing to turn for home. The time in Las Vegas had cost us. So my dad finally gave in and gave up some of the route. I don't know if I finally convinced him that it was futile or if he just couldn't take my complaints any longer. I felt like we were giving up so much just to see pavement and fast food joints and that a decision needed to be made - if we were going to get home in less than three months, something had to be cut. So as the sun was setting, he made a decision to turn south and go on toward San Diego.

We made it into the city about 8:30PM. It was our longest day of driving since we had left home. We were tired and cranky, but dinner still had to be cooked. Rocinante still had to be readied for the night. And since we had arrived a day before we had scheduled, we didn't know what we were going to spend the next day doing in San Diego.

Day 16: Grand Canyon

I really don't know how I screwed up my trip planning so much, but I missed my chance to drive to the Canyon and do any hiking. I guess it really doesn't matter anyway, because I don't know how I would I have found the time any earlier in the trip. And really, I'd want to spend more than just a day doing that anyway. (These are the things I have told myself to feel better about this.) I'll go back, I know it.

We woke up Sunday morning to our last Vegas sunset. You could tell it was Grand Canyon day by how much my Clemson T-shirt, jeans, and Northface jacket stood out in the hotel. I was the most plain looking person there, especially since at 6:30AM, some people's night in the casino had not yet ended. Despite my outdoor wear, I could tell I was still in Vegas from the woman in two-inch heels and Louis Vuitton bag on our shuttle bus to the helipad. I knew it didn't really matter what I wore, since we were only going to be on canyon floor for 30 minutes, but it made me feel more like I was doing something. I at least gave up my 30 degree below hiking boots and left them back in the car.

Besides the pilot, I think we were the only people on the helicopter who spoke English. Reassuring... I'm so glad we watched that English-speaking safety video. The pilot asked us if we had ever been on a helicopter before, and I think our "yes" made even him feel a little better. No need to worry, though; it was a perfect flight. There's nothing like taking off in a helicopter. It feels like you're a giant bee, searching the fields for nectar. Our ride there was about an hour, and on the way, we passed over the Hoover Dam, the spot where the brown sediment of the Colorado River flowed into blue-green Lake Mead, an inactive volcano cone, and some beautiful scenery. I don't know how high we were, but it really felt like I was just your average giant standing on my kitchen table looking down. Strange how small things looked, like I could almost reach down and pet the mountains. And they had such interesting variations of color, which you could see so much better from the air. You could also see the imbedded lines from where precipitation regularly made a path down from the mountains and slowly weaved its way, across valleys and flat land, toward the giant Colorado - something you wouldn't be able to decipher as easily from the ground.

Our drop into the canyon was magnificent. To achieve that descent so quickly was quite amazing - the rapid change between the landscape outside the canyon to inside. Once we were in, we were surrounded by steep rocky cliffs that stepped in ledges up to the canyon rim, with the Colorado River zigzagging underneath us. We were flying in American Indian airspace. I can't remember the tribe name, but the section of the canyon that they own is the only space where aircrafts are allowed inside. Therefore, we were only able to go so far before dropping for landing. To land the helicopter right on the floor of the Grand Canyon - a tiny air bug surrounded by the enormity of nature - was a rather surreal experience. And to open the door of the helicopter and step out into this felt even more unbelievable. It was definitely a moment to be savored.

Everyone headed straight for the champagne picnic lunch that our pilot was setting out for us. But we only had thirty minutes on the canyon floor, so I went exploring, saving only about five minutes for my food and bubbly. I found a few interesting rocks to add to my collection, inspected some cacti, and absorbed so much natural beauty.

The shuttle dropped us back at the hotel after our journey, where we picked up our packed rental car and drove back toward Rocinante. We spent a little more time getting her ready for the road again - buying groceries, picking up a few supplies from Home Depot, and repacking the rest of our things. Finally, we were back on the road, and it felt good to be going again - to be moving forward, headed toward something, new places, things unseen.

We didn't drive far our first day back on the road. There weren't many towns with a place to park Rocinante for the night, so we had to stop in Needles, just across the California border. We found dinner at a good local cafe and even got some homemade pie. Their caramel apple and lemon meringe were much better than that famous pie back in Arizona. 

Days 12-15... Haven't been to Paris, but I have been to Paris, Las Vegas.

  

     After my solo adventure, it was time to meet back up with my dad in Las Vegas. Since he did decide to tell my mom, I can finally divulge that while we were split up, he was at Corvette Driving School in Pahrump, NV, about an hour outside of Vegas. Be sure to ask him about this. It sounds like 

real-life video game meets racecar driving.

I got an early start and left ghost motel about 9AM. I thought I was going to get a "free continental 

breakfast," but the real people were just as much ghosts that morning as the dead ones. The only person I saw in the entire place was the housekeeper vacuuming the downstairs carpet. No guests. No one at the front desk. No coffee. No muffins. So I stopped down the road at the 

Silver Spoon Family Restaurant and had some pancakes and sausage. Even though they seemed to be cooked perfectly, the pancakes had a slightly burnt taste. I think maybe it was the syrup, though that is as equally inexplicable. I can't wait to be back at home in my kitchen!

The drive toward Vegas was just what I had pictured - dusty, reddish brown mountains, enveloped in a thin haze. I don't know if they looked that way from smoke drifting in from California, from Las Vegas smog, or just because the mountains were so far in the distance. Either way, it felt exact.

I drove across the Hoover Dam and pulled over on the side of the road to peer down. My dad tried his hardest to talk me in to going in for a tour, and yes, I know it's one of the seven modern civil engineering wonders of the world (since I obviously have that entire list memorized), but there were just so many people... and I just didn't really feel like it. The view from the road was enough to do me. So I just kept driving.

I met my dad at the campground so we could repack our things for the hotel. A HOTEL!!! Yes, I had been staying in hotels for the past few days, but this would be a real one! I was excited. We swapped around a bunch of car rentals, threw armfuls of things in the trunk (since empty luggage is something you don't normally think to pack, we didn't really pack it...), and drove into Vegas.

The Wynn Hotel became home for the next several days. It was crazy! Huge and gorgeous, and honestly, a little overwhelming at first. The Wynn is one of the newest on the strip and, now that I've been in most of the others, definitely by far my favorite. And the room - holy crap. The view alone had to be worth several hundred a night, and the pillows were worth the rest. The bathroom was bigger than our entire RV, and I took a bath every single day, at least once a day. For all of this, I will forgive them for the fact that we each had to pay $14 a day for internet access and if you removed anything from the mini bar or snack cabinet for more than 60 seconds you were charged. Whatever. They had lots and lots of hot water.

Vegas welcomed us by taking our money. We went down to the casino before dinner (and after) to partake in the town tradition. We did good for awhile - in fact, I had some seriously hot hands on the craps table for a few rounds. (Nine has always been my lucky number...) I didn't believe it at first when my dad told me that if the table turned "cold," you'd better take your money and run, or find a new table. But it was strangely true. A series of unlucky number 7's and you better get out. Regardless, craps was fun. That's where the party's at. A crowd of people all playing together and another crowd watching, everyone hooping and hollering and cheering each other on, cause if you win, they all win. And the trick to finding the winning table: look for the loudest crowd. It always works!

The only other thing I played was the slots, and that was a bit of a disappointment. I wanted to sit down with a big bucket of quarters and pull the handle and wait for the sound of jingly, clinking coins gathering rapidly on my lap. But the machine only took bills, and $1 was the minimum for one gamble. And most of the handles had turned to buttons. If you won, it printed you out a ticket to go cash in. Booooo.... My dad did win $50 playing the slots, though... which he quickly lost on the craps table.

My dad had lined us up a string of dinner reservations for our trip, and for our first night, we finished off our red meat streak at SW Steakhouse. You can't go to a steakhouse without having steak, so we split one. It was good, but the one I had at one of those Ranch House Cafes in one of those towns was actually much better. The best part was the view. That's what an advanced dinner reservation gets you. We had a "beautiful table by the window," as the hostess described, which overlooked a giant waterfall (man-made, of course, as everything is in Vegas) that was the backdrop for a lights show and was also occasionally used for animations to accompany the restaurant's music. This was my first taste of Vegas theatrics.

My first day in Vegas, I did... nothing! After two weeks on the road, I needed a break. While my dad attended the Consumer Electronics Show (our reason for stopping in Vegas and actually, for making the trip), I slept late, went down to breakfast about 11:45 (white chocolate french toast with candied orange zest!), did some blogging, got a sandwich for lunch about 4:30, and took a bath. I didn't even let the lady in to clean the room. Lazy Las Vegas.

My second day in Vegas, I immersed myself in the madness. I walked the strip to see all the spectacles. If you don't know me very well, I'll tell you this isn't really my thing - the flashy and the fake - but I felt like I should do it, since I was there. After all, as man-made and made-up as it all is, it's still part of America, and that's what this road trip is all about - seeing the country, with all its people, places, history and culture. For extra kicks, I bypassed the food court in the Venetian (a replica of the Doge's Palace), to treat myself to lunch in San Marco Square. The entertainment - some type of operatic singing by overly costumed actors - echoed off the concrete "sky." On my meandering walk to the Ristorante Veneto, I passed over the Grand Canal, with men in striped shirts giving gondola rides through chlorinated water to families and couples. I couldn't believe it. This is Disney World for grown-ups. Instead of Mickey Mouse, they have showgirls (and cocktail waitresses and well, let's face it... hookers). Instead of rides, they have casinos. Instead of candy, they eat and drink. Instead of buying a stuffed animal to take home, they buy Chanel. And instead of visiting the imaginary and magical Cinderella's Castle, they visit Venice, Paris, New York, and ancient Greece - all places that are just as dreamlike to those who can't make it there. Each hotel-casino, is its own little ride, its own destination. Las Vegas isn't a city; it's a giant theme park. My favorite "ride" of the day was probably watching the water show in front of the Bellagio, which was in sync with a Celine Dion ballad. 

On my third day in Vegas, I was supposed to go do a hike at the Grand Canyon. Somehow, in my planning, I miscalculated my driving time, which turned out to be four hours. So at 7AM, I came up with a plan B. My dad had been wanting to ride a helicopter into the canyon, and that took significantly less time to accomplish. We quickly booked a tour for the next morning (see next entry), and spent most of the day readying ourselves for our next day's departure. This list of tasks included refilling Rocinante's propane (she had been parked at a nearby campground), cleaning her, picking up dry cleaning, getting a start on repacking clothes, and shipping boxes of unnecessarily packed junk and trip collectables back home. My dad finished the day with one last trip to the Consumer Electronics Show and I toured a few more things on the strip that I had missed. And then there was that Panther's game...

While in Vegas, we were sure to indulge in good food, good drinks, and even better entertainment. We saw two shows. Le Reve was something like Cirque de Soleil entirely in water. I really have no idea how they did most of what we saw, and someone could have easily died at almost any minute during the show. There were things and people dropping from a very high ceiling into the pool of water that was the stage. Lots of dancing, singing, swimming, acrobatics, circus-like tricks, and a strange story line about a girl who lost her guy for a bit and was tempted by others until she got him back (I think). We also saw Jersey Boys, a musical about Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons. The singing and staging was amazing, and it really brought to life a lot of classic songs that I'm used to singing along to on the radio. My favorite part of Vegas was definitely the shows - can't get anything quite like it anywhere else.

A few gastronomical highlights...

- White chocolate french toast with candied orange zest and a side of bacon & fruit, overlooking the hotel pool

- Ravioli stuffed with beets and ricotta with a sage cream sauce for lunch in the Venetian

- Another pasta stuffed with pear & parmesan with a brown butter sauce & dried cranberries for dinner at Rao's in Caesar's Palace (We made up for our lack of Italian.)

- Banana Cream Pie at Emeril's Fish House in the MGM

- Blood Orange Martini in Carnevino, Mario Bartelli's restaurant in the Palazzo

- Lots of good wine, both red and white, though I can't remember the specifics of any

Day 11 - The West got a little too wild.

I thought I should spend this day getting a little closer to Vegas to cut down on my drive for the next day, so I left Phoenix just short of lunchtime, enjoying the rest of my 

vegetable pizza on the freeway. Using my atlas and Road Trip USA book the night before, I planned a day of driving and sightseeing. I was excited about my first stop - 

some outdoor exploring at Hassayampa River Preserve, on the outskirts of Wickenburg, AZ. Hassayampa River mostly runs underground but surfaces here to help create a dense forest of willows and cottonwoods, which provides a home to over 200 species of birds. As I was driving, I could 

see where the river was winding at the bottom of the hill, just by watching the changing vegetation. I arrived at the gate. It was closed! If I had left a day later, I would have been able to visit...

Feeling much disappointment, I continued on into the town of 

Wickenburg. Wickenburg is a town that developed out of the Gold Rush in the 1860's, and the buildings and the old cowboys you see through town still give you a feeling of the old wild west. Wickenburg is also home to a number of dude ranches, where out-of-towners can come to ride and learn a little cowboying. I had really wanted to spend a few days at one of these ranches and researched them before leaving home, but the minimum stay is for a week. 

The town had a museum (the Desert Caballeros Western Museum) that detailed its history, along with some general history of the West. I grabbed a coffee and went for a visit. The town is named after Henry Wickenburg, who discovered gold in the area in 1863. He founded Vulture Mine, and the town grew in order to service the workers. The town also profited from its location: at the fork between the only road running from northern to southern Arizona and the road to California. The museum had dioramas of the mine to help illustrate its history, as well as a life-sized replica of the town during its heyday, complete with general store, church, gun shop, post office, and rooms of both an old town house and a ranch house. 

In addition to highlighting its own town history, the museum had exhibits on cowboys, rodeos and Wild West shows, as well as some Native American art, a collection of rocks and minerals, and a collection of Western art and sculpture. (This was quite an amazing museum for such a small town.) I found the cowboy exhibit the most interesting of all, since I used a lot of the things shown back during my horse-riding days. The exhibit did a wonderful job of detailing the history and cultural significance of everything from spurs to bridles to chaps and saddles. 

A few interesting cowboy facts...

Originally, bridles and harnesses were made out of strands of dyed horsehair that were individually tied together and assembled by prisoners. Chaps were created to protect cowboy's legs from desert cacti and brush, rope burns, and horse bites. (I always just wore them to look purdy in my horse shows.) "Woolies" were made to be worn on the colder, northern plains. And the word "chaps" is really to be pronounced "shaps," since the derivation is from the Spanish word "chaparejos."

And here's a few tidbits of some Wild West advertising:

Barbed Wire: "Light as air. Stronger than whiskey. Cheaper than dirt."

To get riders for the Pony Express: "WANTED: Young, skinny, wiry fellows, not over eighteen. Must be expert riders willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. Wages $25 per week."

Of course, I also enjoyed the rock and mineral collection at the museum, in particular the florescent mineral exhibit! They had a display full of minerals whose electrons were activated by the ultraviolet energy from a black light and, in turn, emitted brilliant glowing light! Add this one to the list of the coolest things I've ever seen.

After walking the streets of the town a little more, I went on to Vulture Mine to get a little wilder into the west. The mine was out in the middle of desert nowhere, and the drive that took me there was another of the nicest ones of the trip. After paying the only person I saw in this deserted desert (and she was hungry for conversation, too), I received a hand sketched map of the trail connecting all of the dilapidated buildings (and "dilapidated" is an understatement). Upon entering the trail, I wondered why I didn't have to sign some type of waiver or certainly, at least, give proof of my last tetanus shot. But here is the only warning I got, from the front of the map: "Welcome to Arizona and especially to the Vulture Gold Mine. It is our sincere wish that your visit will be safe and most pleasant. In the interest of safety we remind you that the Vulture Gold Mine is situated in a remote part of the Sonoran Desert, and as in all desert areas, the careless or unwary can, and do, get into serious trouble." Translation: "Try to not fall through any floors or ceilings while you're here or, while walking, to stab yourself in the eye with a piece of rusty metal, because if you do, there will be no one to help you. Also, watch out for wild animals and, despite our poor directions (We know you will get lost while you're here.) don't wander off too far and die." Let's just say, the mine was... ummm, interesting. I saw everything from the old mine shaft to the stamp mill to some abandoned living quarters. Most of the time I didn't really know what I was looking at or if I was going to make it back to my car, but it was interesting, nonetheless. Most of all, I just enjoyed the way the desert landscape looked through all the rotted wood walls and broken glass, and I did take more pictures on Day 11 than on any other day, so that says something. I also thought about what life must have been like here for those 400 workers at the height of the mine's gold extracting days. It looked like a rough life, but at the same time, they were also surrounded by this incredible landscape.

By the time I did finally make it back to my car, the sun was about to set, and I knew I needed to drive on westward and make it to my stop for the night, Kingman. I boarded Highway 93, for part of the drive designated the Joshua Forest Parkway, which was, in fact, filled with Joshua Tree dotted desert. Aside from Bumblebee (which was technically a detour), this drive gets #1 stretch of roadway for the trip thus far. I drove for 2 1/2 hours through nothing but perfect, pretty nature. The only bit of civilization I saw was a few emergency phones and a gas station and restaurant about halfway through the drive, in Wikieup. I even got to enjoy a desert sunset, uninterrupted by nothing on the horizon but mountains. 

When I arrived in Kingman, I bypassed the strip of motel chains for something a little more historic: the Hotel Brunswick. The Brunswick was located on Route 66, but the 1909 hotel actually predates the old highway when Kingman was a significant stop along the Sante Fe Railroad (My nightstand came with two sets of earplugs...). The hotel originally featured a restaurant and a full bar, where I got my first real dinner of the trip (salmon, risotto and grilled vegetables). And it was during dinner that I learned from my waiter that my room was haunted. He gave me an excerpt from a book to read, and apparently, the hotel has three ghosts! One is the daughter of the original owners, who died while riding her tricycle on the second floor. She can be heard some nights still riding it up and down the halls, and sometimes she leaves trails of pennies on the floor. The second is an unknown ghost, probably a woman, who is meticulous about the placement of a certain footstool and has even been accused of moving a mattress. And the third - my ghost - is W.D. McWright, who died of natural causes at the age of 73. One morning he didn't come downstairs at his usual time, and when someone went to check on him, he was found lying dead by the bathroom sink, with a towel in his hand. Mr. McWright is known to come out at 2AM for occasional visits, but thankfully, I was fast asleep having vivid nightmares. Yes, I was a little freaked out. When you combine all this folklore with the creepy look of the room (in a miscommunication between staff, I ended up being upgraded to a suite with a living area that looked like something out of the movie Psycho), I couldn't help but be a little creeped out. Sweet dreams was something I didn't get that night...

Day 10 - Art & Vegetables

Finally, I got to sleep in! What's a vacation without a little snoozing, right? With my dad, 7:30 is sleeping late, so yesterday it was nice to stay in bed till a whopping 9:30! 

And to make it even better, I got to leave the water on the entire time I was taking a shower!!! Normally, I have to wet my hair, turn it off, rinse my hair, turn it off, etc. 

I always run out of hot water, and one day I even ran out of water, completely. Yesterday, I turned the water up so high it was practically scalding. And after my shower, I even actually took the time to fix my hair (like, for real) and change clothes about 5 times. What a luxury.

After doing a little morning blogging and postcard writing, I headed for town. First of all, let me say thank goodness for GPS! I would not have been able to get anywhere in Phoenix if it were not for my GPS. However, I can't seem to get it to stick to the windshield, so it falls to the dash at least 5 times a day. I either end up with it talking to me from the passenger seat or with me trying to fenagle it back up there while I'm driving (not safe, I know). But Phoenix is one of the most confusing cities I've ever driven in, with its dozens of freeways and suburbs. Give me a bustling downtown any day, even with all its one-way streets, but I could do without this insane web of high speed roadways. And let me just note here, Phoenix drivers are slow. At home, most everyone goes at least 5 miles over the speed limit on the interstate, except for those poking along in the right lane, but here, everyone seems to drive consistently just below the speed limit. I feel like I am doing something seriously wrong just by going two miles over. Anyway...

I started my sightseeing yesterday at the Desert Botanical Garden. Their Dale Chihuly exhibit was actually the number one thing that drew me to Phoenix. Dale Chihuly is a glass artist who I became really obsessed with when I saw one of his exhibits at Charlotte's Mint Museum of Craft + Design during high school. It was so fabulous, I think I went 3 different times. When I was doing internet research, trying to decide where I was going to go on my 4 day solo journey, I found that Chihuly had created an installation throughout the garden, incorporating his organic glass figures within the desert environment. It really couldn't get better than this. Chihuly and cactus. It was a done deal. The garden was every bit as good as I expected, and there was glass 

everywhere. I spent about 2 1/2 hours there, walking through a series of trails, finding secret little desert nooks with garden benches, and inspecting, up close, every type of cactus imaginable. The garden has more than 50,000 plants throughout its 145 acres, including rare, threatened, and endangered species. I also stopped for lunch in their Garden Terrace Cafe, and I was so happy to have a vegetable panini! Oh, vegetables, how I have missed thee! I even upgraded my side to Terra Chips! Yippee for roots! And a fresh-squeezed lemonade for dessert. Heaven.

A little navigation sidenote... 

My next stop was to be Taliesin West, the winter home, studio, and architectural school of Frank Lloyd Wright. It was supposed to be in Phoenix, the sprawling city with its many suburbs. I typed the address into the GPS. It didn't come up. I tried it again, thinking I had entered something wrong. Still no luck. I cussed the GPS and looked in my guidebook for some indication of directions. Nothing. I called the place, but they didn't pick up. Then I remembered I had typed everything into mapquest the night before and left it up on my laptop, so I got that out. But the directions didn't make any sense. They ended in Phoenix, AZ. That was it... So I called Paul and had him retype it into mapquest. It didn't come up. He tried typing in the intersection instead of the actual address. It still didn't work. Finally, I found alternate names for both road names, and he tried that. Nope. So I gave him the website to the place to see if they had directions listed. They didn't. But they did have their address. And guess where it was? Scottsdale. Not Phoenix. A suburb that turned into a town.

I arrived at Taliesin West right on the tailend of the 3:30 tour, which lasted a total of 90 minutes and included a slew of interesting facts about Frank Lloyd Wright and a behind-the-scenes look at his house. Wright did have many inventive architectural ideas, but he was a very odd man. He designed everything for the average height of a typical human during the 1930s (so some people had to duck). He also believed in blending his designs with the surrounding environment; since the Saguaro cactus was the tallest thing in the desert, he thought that nothing man-made should be taller. He angled the walls of the house so that there would be no shadows and no lights needed during the day. This was good, since he refused to have electricity for awhile (and a phone - he had to drive 8 miles down a dirt road to the nearest pay phone when he needed to make or receive a call). The strangest thing, though, and honestly, maybe the thing I like the most: the house didn't have any windows. It was completely open to the elements. A past guest who visited Taliesin West on a tour recounted the story of a party where a coyote ran through the room. Desert animals did roam freely and ate and destroyed much of the furniture, etc. He also placed his wife's closet outside. I imagine they had plenty of fights...

His ideas for his school were just as interesting as his ideas for living. He started the school so he could make some extra money during the Depression. Now, Taliesin West is an accredited architectural school with bachelor's and master's programs. Ninety percent of the students who attend receive a list of job offers before they graduate. The school gets thousands of inquiries each year from interested students, but once they learn of the strict guidelines, the number dwindles down to 30-50. Each student receives one-on-one instruction, cannot have a job during their four years of school, gets only 3 weeks off each year, and must meet 25 levels of achievement before graduating (there is no grading system). Ok, so most of that sounds fairly normal. But the first level of achievement is table setting... so they'll know how to entertain clients. And another is working in the kitchen, because how can you design a kitchen if you don't know how to function in one? (Ok, I definitely get that one.) Now the strangest, the wildest, the one that gets them all... Each student receives $1000 during his or her sophomore year to design and build their own home in the desert that they must live in during the remainder of their schooling. If there are any expenses beyond $1000, they must get materials donated, volunteers, etc. This is the thing that weeds out a lot of those thousands, but it's also the thing that students say they get the most out of. A+ for this tour.

After leaving, I decided I was really in the mood for some coffee. I had missed my morning cup, and I knew I needed to get back and do some catch-up blogging and research where I was going to go the next day. There was a shopping center on every corner right at the foot of the property, so I figured if I drove through enough of them I'd eventually find something. I pulled into the first one - the very first one - and there it was: Starbucks. It was attached to a grocery store. I just couldn't do it. So I picked up my handy dandy GPS from the passenger seat and searched for "speciality food" and picked the best-sounding local java shop. It was an ok place, but not good enough for me to want to sit around and write/type, so I took my coffee for the road. As I was pulling out, wondering what I was going to do for dinner, I spotted a fancy pizza place across the street! Pizza! So I ordered one to go, a pizza overflowing with my friend, the vegetable. Tomatoes. Spinach. Artichoke hearts. Caramelized onions. Olives (my very special friend). Strips of fresh, green basil. And little bits of bacon.

Cappuccino from local coffee shop: $4

Small pizza from fancy town: $16 (!)

Pizza box full of vegetables: Priceless