We got into San Francisco late afternoon, picked up our rental car (a Sebring convertible) and headed north to the Napa Valley. On route we stopped at a roadside fruit stand and Devon bought 10 pounds of fresh Bing cherries a roadside fruit stand that lasted us through Joshua Tree. Once we got to our hotel we went into town for dinner (cherries just aren’t filling!). The town of Napa is your typical small resort town, the most interesting place, which also happened to be the only place open, was a local brew pub called Joes. This was the first of three mediocre name related dining experiences. The next day our first stop was to check out the Oakville Grocery, a small gourmet grocery store in Napa. The store has been there since 1881 now the place sells all manor of gourmet foods, meat, cheeses and breads.
We bought some cheese, sausage and bread and headed to our next stop; the petrified forest in Calistoga.
So here is a little lesson, trees in a petrified forest are not trees that have turned to stone. A petrified tree is actually a fossil. The trees here were knocked over when Mount St. Helena (do not confuse it with the volcano in Washington state, note the “a” on the end and not an “s”) about three million years ago. Following the eruption the trees were buried and as the trees decomposed the silica laden ash settled into the cervices of the decomposing trees. Basically, the decomposing tree is replaced with minerals (most often a silicate, such as quartz), while retaining the original structure of the wood and a stone mould forms in its place. The first petrified stump was discovered in 1871 when Charles Evans was tending his cows.
Next we headed to the geyser, Old Faithful. We knew we hit a good tourist trap with just the name, intentionally called old faithful to confuse you with the more famous one in Yellowstone. The geyser shoots a geothermal burst of hot water about 60 feet into the air for about three minutes every 40 minutes or so. People were sitting around in lawn chairs and at picnic tables scattered in the field waiting for the geyser to erupt. Once it erupted it sprayed a like a fountain for a good three minutes straight. The “hipster” kids at the table next to us joked out loud exactly what I was thinking, that with the rocks strategically placed at the base of the geyser that it was probably just a big fountain . And to add to the complete tourist trap feel of the place they had a bamboo maze and a petting zoo, just in case a stream of water was not enough to hold your attention.
Since we were in Napa we figured that we should at least check out a couple of wineries. We read about one, Sterling, where you take a tram ride 300 feet up to the winery. Knowing how much Devon loves heights, it seemed like the natural choice, so off we went!
The winery was big, and the view of the valley was very nice, but it had that feel of the places that they made fun of in the movie Sideways, but since we paid our fee we were off to get our samples of wine. 
The tour was a self-guided tour, which means you walk around and check things out and there are people handing out samples.
The first one we tried was a chardonnay that was described to us as “buttery.” On first sip, darn if they were not right, it was. It was crisp and cool and because of it being somewhat warm out, tasted really good. On second sip, it did not taste as good, and on third it tasted downright yucky. In fact, every wine we tried here had the same degrade in taste with each sip, and we tried six!
Feeling that all wineries are the same, and anywhere from $10 to $40 a pop to tour, we decided to head on over to Jack London state park and poke around instead. However, along the way, we came across a much smaller, family owned winery called Benziger (not to be confused with Beringer). Being off the beaten path of the larger wineries, we decide that since we were in Napa would at least try one other place and this one seemed like a perfect alternative to the place we visited earlier. This winery had a completely different feel, all organic, smaller- oh and the wine was good too!
We even ended up buying a few bottles before heading up to the park. Jack London is the much famed author of such outdoors novels as White Fang and Call of the Wild. In 1905, London purchased a 1,000 acre abandoned winery in hopes of making it a ranch. He wrote that "Next to my wife, the ranch is the dearest thing in the world to me." He desperately wanted the ranch to become a successful business enterprise. He built a home there called the Wolf House, which was destroyed by fire and whose ruins are visible within the state park property. On November 22, 1916, Jack London died of a cause that is still disputed today. He wished that he would be cremated and his ashes were placed under a bolder from the frame of the house.
After London died, his wife Charmian inherited the property. During that time she built a house on the property called the House of Happy Walls, which in a way is a smaller version of the Wolf House. Charmian lived there until her death in 1955. In her will, she wanted the house she built to become a museum in honor of her husband. This was eventually the start of the Jack London State Historic Park, which opened in 1959. We only had a bout 15 minutes in the park because they closed earlier than we thought, so we had just enough time to walk up to where London’s ashes were spread and walk past Happy Walls. We then hopped back into the car and headed to San Francisco.San Francisco
The ride took a little more then an hour and we came into town rather dramatically over the Golden Gate Bridge. Opening in May of 1933, the bridge took 52 months to build. It is six lanes wide with a span is 4200 feet and was designed to withstand winds of up to 100 miles an hour.
The red color of the bridge was originally the color of the undercoat, the bridge was to be painted gray, but the locals liked color so much they kept it. Despite its red appearance, the color of the bridge is officially an orange vermilion called international orange.
Coming into the city across this amazing example of a suspension bridge is dramatic enough, but once you cross and you see the hills this city is built upon, your breath is literally taken away.
Every street and building seems to be a miracle of engineering. Naturally, driving the streets of San Fran to a new comer is exhilarating and frightening (and you can’t say exhilarating without hill). As we follow the directions to out hotel, we turn up Filbert Street, and by up I literally mean, UP. I just could not believe that a street could be built on such an angle, and as the car strained up this hill and we approached the top I noticed a sign warning us that the road was on a steep angle. (In fact the Rough Guide lists Filbert Street as the steepest street in San Francisco at 31.5 degrees – to you and I that translates into “HOLY FUCK!”). As we crested the top and the view of the city and bay opened up before us I noticed that they were not kidding about the steep angle. I saw the road descending down the hill, and all that came to mind was the Bill Cosby routine about driving in San Francisco. He said that this is the worst city to build a city on because the streets go straight up and straight down, you get to the top of the hills and road disappears and you end up standing up in the car yelling “Where in the hell is the land!!” Where is the land indeed. I had seen that there was a street heading down when we crested, but as we approached the edge the hood of the car completely eclipsed any view of the street and all I saw was a drop straight off a very high cliff. While I knew there was a road, my eyes saw differently and I panicked as I have never panicked before in my life. My eyes were telling my brain that we were getting ready to plummet to our deaths by driving off a cliff. I am not kidding, I was terrified, truly terrified. I was convinced we were going to die. Devon would later comment that she had never seen me that scared and if she was not terrified herself she would have said something. So with a whole lot of blind faith I gently nudged the accelerator to ease the car toward certain death. As the hood of the car began to point down and the road opened up I knew we were not going to die, but I kid you not, for the rest of the trip, and who knows maybe for the rest of my life, when I cannot see the road beyond a hill, or as we saw in Yosemite, there is a drop off on the side, I am sincerely scared for my life. Thanks for the souvenir San Fran!
We arrived at our hotel, located in the North Beach area near Fisherman’s Wharf and in the Italian section of town, the Hotel San Remo.
Built after the 1906 earthquake and fire destroyed most of San Francisco, Bank of America founder A.P. Giannini constructed a new hotel at 2237 Mason Street, close to the shoreline and shipyards at the edge of North Beach. Giannini named his 62-room three-story Italianate Victorian the “New California Hotel” — an optimistic vision of San Francisco’s rebirth. Free meals and rooms were given to many workers who assisted the city’s recovery. (In the spirit of Giannini, rooms were offered without charge to victims of the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake). In 1922 the hotel was renamed the San Remo, after the name of a picturesque Italian town on the Gulf of Genoa. After years of decline it was bought and remodeled in 1971, the hotel remains as a time capsule, the style and furnishings still from a hundred years ago including shared baths. Knowing how much I hate hostels, when we booked this place Devon was afraid that I hate it here, especially since they have shared baths, but once we got in and I saw the place I loved it. This place was far from a hostel, it is a true gem in the world of sterile lodging. I tried to get a bunch of photos, but the small halls and rooms of an establishment built in 1906 made it really difficult.
After we got settled, we thought we’d take a walk down by Fisherman’s Wharf and find someplace to have dinner. The Wharf was pretty unimpressive and touristy and we saw our first of many Californian public urinations. The only thing that caught our interest were the seals at pier 39. Hundreds of them have taken up residence on the floating docks and their barking and antics drew quite a crowd.
I wonder if he is any relation to Sam – is someone playing some jazz? (for those of you who do not know, Sam, my dog, howls, at all types of music, but mostly anything with horns).
Being tired and somewhat unmotivated to explore further for someplace to have dinner, I suggested we eat at the restaurant in the hotel. Let me just say that I hate hotel restaurants, they are the best examples of bad overpriced food, but since our hotel had lots of unique character, I hoped that the restaurant would follow suit. The restaurant Fior d’Italia, was founded in San Francisco in 1886, is America’s oldest Italian restaurant, but was not always in the hotel, they moved here in 2005. San Francisco has a very rich Italian history, so much so that it was an Italian bank that basically financed the re-building of the city following the 1906 quake, the bank being the Bank of America. As we walked in the place was packed, every table was full and all the patrons were well dressed. We thought they would not have any open tables and that they would not let us in dressed as we were and that the place would be outrageously expensive. A young energetic well dressed matre’d, happily greeted us, and escorted us to a table. When you go into an Italian restaurant in America your first thought is “mob.” They were not, but what they were was true restaurateurs. Respectful, friendly, helpful, sincere and never condescending, the man serving us was a glorious example a class that has long since vanished, a waiter. We asked for some menu recommendations, Devon had an excellent veal piccatta and I had linguine vongloe and we shard a nice bottle of wine. Desert was equally as excellent an in the end the price was well worth the experience. Full and happy we went upstairs to the year 1906 to go to sleep. I, however was like a kid on Christmas Eve, because tomorrow we were heading over to the a huge used music store, Amoeba Records in the famed Haight –Ashbury section of town.
One of the unique things about our room was we had a window, but instead of it opening to the street, it opening into the stairwell of the hotel. We awoke to the quiet stirring of the other guests making their way.
Showered and ready we headed over to Pats Café, recommended by the desk clerk, for breakfast. The weather outside was overcast and quite chilly. We had learned that in San Fran, the mornings start off overcast and cool, the clouds usually burn off by mid morning and while still cool, one needs to have a sweater to keep comfortable. What was the Mark Twain quote, "The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco." Like a pilgrim heading to Lourdes, we began our trip to Amoeba Records . Being in San Fran we were excited to take the cable cars and street cars to our destination. As we walked up to the car, the operator came up and told us that the electricity was out and any car heading in the direction we were going was not working. 
He suggested a couple of bus routes for us to take, and being good citizens conscious of the importance of public transportation we decided to not take our car and just take the bus. Riding up Van Ness, Devon began to feel car sick so we got off. We decided to walk a bit. With map in hand we plotted our course, unfortunately I had the map in the wrong direction so unknown to us we were heading in the wrong direction! As we were walking down the street we began to notice that everyone we saw was a homeless person. Partially due to the whole going to San Fran 60’s vibe and partially due to San Fran being notorious for the excellent care and benefits available for the homeless, they have an amazing amount of homeless (someone even told us that other cities bus their homeless here and leave them). One thing unique about the homeless here is their honesty. In DC the homeless say they are a vet or have children to feed or will work for food, but in SF they say, “Can you give me some money so I can buy some drugs and alcohol?” By this time we were very aware that we were not in a good part of town. In fact, later on we learned that we were in an area called the “Loin” short for Tenderloin. The Loin is one of the poorest and most dangerous areas in San Fran. Because it is located between a Civic Center and Union Square and not far from Market Street many wayward tourists find themselves wandering through there. Of course we did not know this at the time, all we knew was we were not in a good part of town. Keeping our best city walk - walking like you belong, but not looking anyone in face - we quietly continued on our route hoping that we’d soon be out of the area. Walking, we approached a couple of people who were sitting on the curb. They were facing a parked car and as we walked past them I looked down just in time to see a woman pushing the plunger down on the syringe that was inserted in her arm. I was shocked by this. Shaken by what I had just witnessed, I was sickened and nauseated but did not show any reaction and continued with our “city walking” until the sound of footsteps behind me took my mind away from drugs to theft. Convinced we were about to be mugged, I prepared myself on how to react (wondering if I could run faster then Devon was one). The footsteps trailed off after a few feet and the fear of the situation dissipated. A few minutes later we reached Market Street and safety, but by this point we were both jaded and angry with this city AND it is almost 11:00, still cold and the clouds have not turned to sunny skies. We eventually found our way via walking and public transportation to Amoeba Records. Located in an old movie theatre at the base of Haight Street near Golden Gate Park, this place is HUGE. They have thousands of CD’s and records in just about every style of music imaginable. I am sincerely overwhelmed and happy. 
We spent at least two hours in the place, and with the memory of our morning fading away we left only because our hunger was preventing us from continuing on (just to give you an idea, we each spent $130 in the place). Among my purchases of Billy Bragg, Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band, Elvis Costello, Nouvelle Vague, Led Zeppelin, and a four disc box set of 70's punk; I also picked up a vinyl copy of the Public Image Limited album titled metal box. It's a collection of six PIL EP’s contained in a metal box resembling a film canister (more fun concerning this purchase later on as we head out to the desert). 
As we emerged from the store it was still really cloudy and cold out, and quite a wind was blowing in off the bay. So much for burning off. We walked up the infamous Haight Street and worked our way to a place called The Red Victorian, a relic of the 60’s hippie era, promoting world peace and herbal tea, where we compared our purchases and enjoyed a nice lunch in a very earthy crunchy place . (Hey, I was shocked they were not promoting world peace through herbal tea!) 
Really disappointed with the weather and somewhat jaded by our morning adventures we debated on where to go next. We decided to walk through Golden Gate Park, just down the hill from where we were. But the abundance of homeless and the cold, gray, windy weather caused us to abandon this idea quickly, saying to hell with public transportation and we hailed a cab back to the hotel. It is now about 4:00 and, I kid you not, as the cabbie pulled over to drop us off the sun came out and we were now greeted with nice sunny weather! The sun revealed to us that our hotel is very close the infamous Lombard Street. As Bill Cosby said in the same routine mentioned earlier, “Not only does Lombard Street go straight up and straight down, but they put groves and turns in it and flowers where they buried the people who killed themselves driving on this street”.
The walk up to the twisty part of the street was very steep, and when we reached the base, the place was just packed with tourists taking photos and walking to the top via the steps. Plus, all the cars traveling down the street (it is only one way) are tourists, my guess is locals wisely stay the hell away from this street. But I have wanted to see his street since I was a boy so I was one of the many tourists walking the stars up to the top. To be honest, the view of the city from the top is spectacular.
We head down the hill and stop off in a café for a drink and manage to catch Al Gore’s endorsement speech for Obama (who knew the guy could speak so passionately!). Tonight we were meeting Devon’s friend Nate and his roommate for dinner. Still shaken up by our experience earlier in the day and lousy weather we were hoping for something to redeem this city for us. They picked us up and we told them of our misadventures, Nate said that everyone he knows who comes to the city winds up in the Loin and that the weather was not typical for SF, making us feel better. They took us to a little hipster Italian joint in the Lower Mission area called Emmy’s Spaghetti Bar. It is small and dark and noisy and we have to spend some time in the little Hispanic bar next door waiting for our table. The night and the restaurant are exactly what we need to redeem the day. The food was great and the atmosphere was relaxed. After, Nate took us back to our hotel via Lombard Street; at midnight, there are no tourists. It was was a blast driving down the famous street with no one around. Thank you Nate! The next morning Devon went to a little café down the street to get us some coffee. She came back to the room and declared that the weather outside is gorgeous. We checked out, got the car, and decided to take advantage of the nice weather and see a little more of the city before heading to Yosemite. First we haed over the Presidio which is the old army base near the Golden Gate bridge that is now a park. The funny thing is Golden Gate Park is not the park near the bridge, the Presidio is. The park is nothing special, in fact it just looks like a military base.
We walked over to Fort Point (this is the fort that was built during the Civil War to help protect the bay - the bridge is actually built over the fort. And even more noteworthy, this is the place where Kim Novak jumps into the bay in Vertigo) to take some photos of the bridge. On the way out we walked around the remaining buildings built for the Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915. After the exposition the domed Place of Fine Arts was the only structure kept standing. Today it is the home to the Exploritirium, a sort of hands on museum.
Today a major refurbishment is underway to preserve the building so there is not much to see except the weeping figures on the colonnade; which were designed to represent the melancholy of life without art.
I always associate the building with the movie Vertigo when James Stewart and Kim Novak walk along the pond, even with the scaffolding, it is still a very pretty place.
The pond was filled with ducks and geese frolicking around. This fellow literally followed me around posing for pictures.
And I absolutly loved this turtle. By the way his head is sticking up and the way his flippers are swept back, I suspected that in his mind he was thinking that he was flying at a 100 miles per hour!
After this we headed over to Basso’s, a restaurant near the Castro district for lunch. The place was okay and sadly gets labeled as the second of the three disappointing namesake restaurants we visited. 
Yosemite
We left San Fran and drove to Yosemite which was about a three hour drive. We had booked ourselves to stay in a yurt. A yurt is basically a big circular Mongolian tent.
Our yurt was big and round and had a full kitchen, bath, gas fireplace and cable TV and ours had a very nice view from the deck. 
We went to a local restaurant called Buckmeadows for an awful and very expensive dinner. After dinner we found a nice market and kicked ourselves for not finding it earlier cause we could have cooked a meal in our kitchen. We got back and sat out on the deck, enjoyed some wine and watched the moon rise, and then we decided to watch some TV. I forced Devon to watch Charlton Heston over acting his way through the last few minutes of Planet of the Apes (“You maniacs…you blew it up!! Damn you all to hell” – brilliant). The next morning we got up early and headed out to the park.
According to naturalist John Muir, “No temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite” Coming into Yosemite Valley is a spectacular sight, from the west the valley stretches for 7 miles with an average width of about 1 mile. The flat floor of Yosemite Valley holds both forest and large open meadows which provides breathtaking views of the surrounding crests and waterfalls.
The first thing that catches our attention is the remarkable 620 foot high Bridalveil Fall on the right. To the left stands the single most impressive wall of sheer granite you will ever see. Protruding like a monolith , El Capitan is a 3,593 feet vertical rock formation; the 320 acre vertical wall is a favorite of rock climbers.
We drove around a bit and walked around the visitors center for a while and then walked over to the Upper and Lower Yosemite Falls. The Upper Falls are a 1430 foot drop and the lower are 320; combined they are the highest falls in North America.
Walking back to the car we saw Half Dome, one of the most famous sites in Yosemite. Called the Half dome because the rock looks like a dome where half has been sliced away.
I have to admit, my photo is not a great one of the Half Dome, but hey we can't all be Ansel Adams!
We walked to a small clearing caused by a forest fire and had our lunch in the eclipse of El Capitan. We then drove to the southern end of the park to visit Mariposa Grove to see the giant sequoia trees. Looking up at them you can not begin to imagine how big they truly are. Some of these trees are 2000 years old, measuring 250 feet tall and more then 30 feet at the base! The base of the trees are blocked off so you cannot get close. However lying there on its side is a tree called Fallen Monarch which fell more then 300 years ago. If you do not get a indication of the size of these trees just sand next to Fallen Monarch.
This tree became famous when in 1899 a group of cavalry officers and their horses posed for a photo on tree.
We headed back out of Yosemite the way we came to start our very long drive to Death Valley. As we cross over the to the eastern side of Yosemite the terrain changed drastically and the low brush and tress give way to barren rock and trees. Along the way we decided to rest for a bit at Tenaya Lake. 
Almost out of the park we stopped at a park station. All throughout Yosemite there were signs near the water fountains saying how the drinking water in Yosemite is some of the best in the world because the depth and rock filtering, blah, blah, blah. We pretty much ignored these signs, and now that we were almost outside the park we decide to fill up our water bottles. And damn if they were not right! Yosemite water was the best water I have ever had, it was so good I wished we had filled up gallon jugs of the stuff. If you are ever there I cannot encourage you enough to try it. Once out of the park we see the highest price for gas. By now we have gotten used to it being anywhere from $4.50 to $5.50 a gallon, but here we saw it for $6.75! Greedy bastards. After miles of twisty mountain roads I really enjoyed the opportunity to cruse on straight open roads in the convertible. I have to say, Springsteen is great music to have blasting with the top down.
Death Valley
The drive from Yosemite was a long one. As the day wore on, the terrain became more barren and the roads straighter, and eventually all you saw was sand and distant mountains. Driving the endless desert highway was very meditative and by the time the sun set we were at the top of a mountain overlooking Death Valley. There was a large area where a bunch of cars had pulled off to look into the valley and perhaps catch a spectacular desert sunset. 
Unfortunately, even with the sun beyond the horizon and darkness falling, once we drove into the valley the air became dramatically hot. Eventually, the heat got to be too much so we had to pull over and put the top up. By the time we reached Furnace Creek Ranch, our hotel, it was 10:00 pm and 103 degrees out. Originally built as a working ranch in the 1880's and later the home of the famous twenty mule teams, the Furnace Creek Ranch had the feel of something out of Disney’s frontierland campground. Starting in the 1880’s the area around Furnace Creek was mostly borax mines. Borax has a wide variety of uses its most common is a component of many detergents and anyone my age and older remembers that the advertising campaign for a cleanser called Borax was a 20 mule team. 
The twenty mule team wagons were among the largest ever pulled by horses, designed to carry 10 short tons of borax ore at a time (I have no idea what a short ton is). There were two wagons each measuring 16 feet long and constructed of solid oak. When loaded with ore, the two wagons and a 500 gallon water tank combined for a total weight of 73,200 pounds; with the mules, the caravan stretched over 100 feet. The mule teams were used from 1883 to 1889 to move a 30-ton load using two large wagons with a third wagon for food and water drawn by a 24-mule team over a 160-mile stretch of desert to the nearest railhead.
The cabin we stayed in was nice and clean and most importantly air conditioned, but in the dark the place still had a bit of a feel of old work camp. The next day we got up early to try to beat the heat. Since the plan today was to check out of the hotel and drive around the desert, and as some of you may remember, in San Francisco I bought a record, not just any record but a record in a metal box, and having this item in the car is, shall we say, somewhat problematic. The question was, what to do with the record, when it was only 8:00 am and already 100 degrees! 
The solution: Ask the front desk clerk at the hotel if they will hold the record for us while we go out. They agreed and off we went in the heat to go exploring. There is a good reason why Death Valley is the hottest place on earth. With less then an inch and a half of rain a year the valley sits at sea level or below and is surrounded by four very tall mountain ranges. 
The mountains basically prevent any moisture from reaching the valley floor and since there is no shade or vegetation in the valley the dry air gets trapped by the mountains where it pretty much stays there and heats up like giant oven filled with sand (oh and by the way, the thermometer in the photo blow reads 110, and yes it was actually in the shade!). 
The first place we went to explore was the Mosaic Canyon; a bit of a drive off the highway, the entrance to canyon appears deceptively ordinary, but just a 1/4 mile walk up, the canyon narrows dramatically to a deep slot cut into the face of Tucki Mountain. Smooth, polished marble walls enclose the trail as it follows the canyon's sinuous curves. 
This canyon was formed through a process of cut and fill which included periodic erosive floods followed that deeply cut the streambed our from the rock forming the canyon. 
With the temperature rising the next obvious site to visit was the sand dunes near Stovepipe Wells. I had decided that I wanted to hike out to the dunes to get some pictures. Already 110 out Devon proclaimed me crazy and said she'd wait in the air conditioned car. As I set out into the desert two things immediately became apparent. One, no matter how hard you try you will have the song Horse With No Name continually looping through your head (“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name, it feels good to get out of the rain” over and over again). The second is, in the desert, things are a lot father away then they appear. I was attempting to get to some dunes that have an interesting swirl at their peak. 
I had no idea how far the dunes were from the car, but to get an idea I walked to the top of a dune where I saw a small black speck along the long road that bisects the desert – that was the car (see it? Right past the row of green).
It was pretty hot out, but really it was not as bad as I feared and walking along the ridge of a dune, surrounded by rich blue skies and complete quiet was one of the more satisfying experiences of the trip. Additionally, the walk on the dunes provided me with some great photos. While out there I wondered how long it would be before Devon completely freaks and considers me dead. I had not reached the dunes with the swirls because, to be honest, climbing to the top of sand dunes is really, really hard. I sat for a bit, enjoyed the quiet, caught my breath, sang one more chorus of Horse With No Name in my head, and decided to head back. Good thing I turned back when I did because the walk back was also difficult because to keep my bearings of where the car was I had to keep climbing to the top of the dunes. I get back to the car exactly one hour after I left; Devon said she was gonna give me an hour and half before truley worrying; good thing I didn’t linger!
Next we drove to Rhyolite, Nevada, a ghost town near the eastern edge of Death Valley. The town came into existence as the result of a gold rush that began in 1904. By 1907, the town had electricity with an estimated population of 3,500 to 10,000. The Panic of 1907 is believed to have adversely affected the town's economy and production began to slow down by 1908 and by 1910 only an estimated 675 people remained in Rhyolite.The mine and mill were closed in 1911, the lights and power were turned off in 1916. Ahh the good times never seem to end, but they did by 1919, the post office had closed and the town was abandoned. The remains of a few buildings are left but are really not that interesting,
the old general store,
the bank, 
and a store front. 
What is interesting is just outside the town; the spectacular Goldwell Open Air Museum. Originated by the late artist Albert Szukalski the area consists of seven outdoor sculptures that include a ghostly cyclist;
a 25-foot high pixilated nude woman made of cinder blocks; 
a 24-foot high steel prospector accompanied by, naturally, a penguin;
a mosaic sofa; 
a carved winged woman atop a wooden totem; 
and an extremely impressive haunted interpretation of the Last Supper. 
To make the life-size ghost figures, Szukalski wrapped live models in fabric soaked in wet plaster and posed them as in the painting "The Last Supper" by Leonardo Da Vinci. When the plaster set, the model was slipped out, leaving the rigid shroud that surrounded him. Szukalski then coated the figures with fiberglass making them impervious to weather.
We hopped back into the car headed back to Furnace Creek to rescue my record, have lunch and then to make our way to Joshua Tree. Along the way we stopped in Baker California, basically a little cluster of gas stations and fast food restaurants, which has two really cool points of interest, one is the worlds tallest thermometer.
At 134 feet it commemorates the highest temperature ever recorded in North America, 134 degrees in 1913. Today it reads a cool 107. And just as strange, the other interesting place to stop is The Mad Greek. A really fantastic Greek restaurant (they also have an extensive Mexican menu as well) decorated in that typical Greek over the top style.
As a tribute to my good friend Demitri back in Greece I had a beef souvlouki, which was excellent; this one was for you my friend!
Joshua Tree
Fifteen years before U2 made Joshua Tree famous, Gram Parsons made Joshua Tree infamous. Long before Alt-Country, Americana or roots music, there was country-rock, and Gram is the guy credited with inventing it (it was the Eagles who actually popularized county-rock). Parsons was brought into the band the Byrds and heavily influence the recording sessions for the 1968 album Sweetheart of The Rodeo. The Byrds were a well established group playing psychedelia and folk influenced tunes, but with Sweetheart the band firmly dove into country and they were the first rock band to do so (they were also the first rock band to play the Grand Ole Opery). In 1969 Gram left to form his own band, the Flying Burrito Brothers, and later made two highly influential solo albums. Around this time he was looking for a female singer to harmonize with and on the advice of friend, went to bar called Clyde’s in Georgetown in Washington DC to hear a unknown named Emmylou Harris sing; the rest is, as they say, history. By this time his reputation as a genius bought him the respect of his musical contemporaries, but all that was eclipsed by his ravenous drug and alcohol problem and the almost surreal circumstances following his death which over the years has reached a almost mythical level. Gram liked to get away from it all by going on benders and would go out to Joshua Tree to look for UFO’s. On September 18, 1973 Gram and three friends checked into the Joshua Tree Inn just outside the park. According to legend Parsons consumed large quantities of whisky, heroin, morphine and tequila, eventually overdosing in room 8 of the Joshua Tree Inn. Devon and I have booked ourselves into room 8 of the Joshua Tree Inn.
This was not entirely the reason we are staying here. I was looking for a place to stay and this place was reasonably priced and looked kinda nice. When looking for rooms I noticed that they had a Gram Parsons room (and an Emmylou Harris room). I knew the story of what happened to him after he died and I thought the hotel was attempting to capitalize on this. When I told Devon about the room she asked me if he had died there, I looked it up and found out he did.
Gram’s legacy in Joshua Tree did not end on that night in 1973, in fact it had just began. Here is where it gets interesting. Gram made sure to tell his friends that when he died he wanted his ashes spread in Joshua Tree. However his family wanted his body returned because his slimy step-father would financially benefit by inherating Gram's money if Gram was buried in Louisiana. Before his casket could be returned, his friends stole it from the airline and took it out the desert, poured five gallons of gasoline into it and lit it on fire. What the fire did not completely cremate was returned to his family and buried in New Orleans.
As we pulled into the parking lot of the Joshua Tree Inn a young man in a cowboy hat, jeans, tee shirt, and chucks greets us and walks us in. The inn is very unassuming from the outside, inside it is dark, but in a way that a place in desert must be to keep cool. The decor has the look of a ranch, and all over the place is Gram memorabilia. Billy, the guy in the hat, checks us in and walks us to our room. We walk to the back which opens up into a very tranquil oasis. There is a pool on the left and the rooms are to the right. In the center is a courtyard like area full of sand raked in the style of Zen garden. The rooms all look out into the courtyard and the roof overhangs the entrance to rooms making a walkway, there are vines hanging from the roof, providing not only shade but also helping to create a very inviting feel to the place.
Billy is a really nice guy and as we approach the room he told us more of the story following Gram’s “cremation”. He explained that on the spot in the desert where the cremation was attempted fans began to make pilgrimages, drink, do drugs and leave offerings. Eventually on the spot some people put a concrete slab as a marker, writing on the slab, “Gram – Safe at Home.” Billy points to an area outside a room and says, “Since Joshua Tree is a national park, the park service couldn’t have the marker out there, so we dug it up and brought it here” The slab is cluttered with liquor bottles and other objects left in memoriam. Billy continues, “People come here and leave all sorts off stuff, sometimes they even leave drugs”, concluding with a disapproving “I mean, come on…”
The room is not fancy, but very nice and quite inviting. The walls are concrete block and decorated with a few Gram posters. The curtains and blinds give the room a reddish color and bed is big and inviting. In fact this bed was the most comfortable hotel bed I have ever slept in.
On the desk next to the bed is a CD player and a homemade best of Gram CD and a few books. One is a homemade scrapbook of Gram’s life, legacy and death; the other is called The Sacred Heart Journal, where pilgrims staying in the room can write Gram a letter. Devon reads the entries for a bit; most of the letters thanking him for all the great music. For the most part Gram's music is not played much any more, probably his most famous song, is a cover of the Everly Brothers tune Love Hurts (most of us remember the really bad version by Nazareth, a staple of 70's prom slow dances).
What surprises me is 35 years after he died, people still come here to pay their respects (Every September there is Gramfest music festival) and I wonder how long his legacy will sustain him. I really like this hotel and I lament that if it were not for this guy dying here it probably would have disappeared years ago, but I come realize that there is a symbiosis here, that each one needs the other to survive, and somehow this notion seems to make prefect sense to me. We then decide to go and sit next to the pool, it is early evening and though the sun is no where near setting it is reasonably comfortable out compared to the heat of Death Valley. Sitting on the edge of the pool with our feet dangling in the water, we lay back looking up at the few palm and Joshua trees and the rich blue sky. With the exception of an occasional passing truck piercing the silence the seclusion and tranquility of this place reminds me of a monastery. It is perfect- Devon didn’t want to leave- ever. Hungry, we went out and got a pizza for dinner and returned to the room and we sat outside the room for a while enjoying the night and the moon in the presence of the Gram alter. We slept well, and thankfully we were not visited in our dreams by the sprit of Gram. 
The next day as we’re checking out, we ask Billy if he’d be willing to hold my record while we head out to the park. Billy graciously agrees. The landscape in Joshua Tree is interesting, mountainous formations of boulders that look like they had been placed on top of one another jut up off the flat desert floor.
In addition to the rock the Joshua Tress are scattered all over the desert. Looking somewhat alien, the tress stand tall over the low brush covering the ground. Most of the trees are 10 to 20 feet tall, with some reaching as high as 40 feet, which is quite spectacular considering that on the average they grow only an inch a year (making the taller trees up to a 1000 years old).
Technically, they are not trees but a type of yucca from the agave family (which some tequila is made out of; this may be why Gram Parsons liked the park so much!). The trees got their names from Mormons in the 1850’s who imagined that the branches of the trees were the arms of Joshua leading them to the promised land. Looking out into a big open valley of the trees I can see what they were talking about; I get the sense that the trees are an alien army on the march, almost beckoning me to come out to and join them.
We keep the Mormon alien tree army waiting for the moment because first we have decided to visit a rock formation called Hidden Valley. The area got it its name because the surrounding rock formations seclude a large valley that was once used by cattle rustlers to hide their haul. Hidden Valley is now a one mile loop nature walk. Naturally you become quickly aware of why the rustlers liked this place for their hideout, but now a clearly marked trail accompanied by information plaques is all this valley hides. The walk is an enjoyable one, but we didn’t get to see too much wild life except for small lizards, jackrabbits and small squirrel looking critters that jump out of the brush and hop down the trial as if almost daring you to chase them, luring you into a trap just around the next bend. I had thought it cute the way these little rodents bounced down the trail much like a kangaroo; I later learned that they were called kangaroo rats! Sorry, no photo, the little suckers a quick. (Interesting tidbit: the kangaroo rat has very efficient kidneys. As a result these rodents can produce urine that is so concentrated that they never have to drink; the water produced metabolically within their cells during oxidation of food is sufficient to maintain their body and they lose water mainly by evaporation during gas exchange).
Saying goodbye to the Joshua trees we drive further into the park about 20 miles of so to check out the Cholla Cactus Garden which is literally on the line that separates the Colorado and Mojave deserts. Known as the jumping cactus, the Cholla (pronounced “choy-uh”) are inviting and fluffy looking but are rather dangerous.
The fluffy tops have been said to resemble teddy bears, but to touch one of these the microscopic barbs on these soft slivery bristles will cause them to imbed deep into your skin and detach from the bush. The stems of this cactus detach easily thus giving them the illusion of jumping. The ground around a mature plant is often littered with scattered cholla balls and small plants starting where these balls have rooted. Desert pack rats such as the Desert Woodrat gather these balls around their burrows, creating a defense against predators.
Santa Barbara
The reason why we came out to California was Devon’s friend Samantha is graduating from Brooks Institute, one of the country’s preeminent schools of photography. For the next few days we just chill out at Samantha place and hang with her family. After the crazy pace we’ve been following for the last week it is nice to just hang out. The only really interesting place we went to in Santa Barbara is a place called The Cold Spring Tavern.
Sometimes called the Stagecoach, the Cold Spring Tavern was built in 1865 as a way-station to serve travelers on the new "turnpike" over the San Marcos pass.
The coaches would stop here to change horses and add two more in order to get over the mountain. The stop also allowed the passengers to enjoy a meal at the tavern.
The place is located along a twisty mountain road and if you don’t know about it (and you get the sense the locals are perfectly fine with keeping this place a secret) you are not going to just stumble upon this place. Everyone just sits around having drinks and listening to what seems like a constant rotation of folk musicians preform.
We stay for awhile enjoying the calm and tranquility and have snack at the inn. The interior is very rustic, in fact to keep with the frontier feel of the place there are no electric lights inside. We head back into town to meet Samantha’s family for dinner. The restaurant, Joe’s Place, is noisy and crowded and hectic and stressful, a rather dramatic change from the relaxed atmosphere outside the inn, and because of this, Joe’s becomes the third of the disappointing namesake restaurants we ate at. The next day is Samantha’s graduation ceremony. One of the really cool things about the ceremony is since everyone is in the visual arts, as they walk across the stage to receive their diploma, a sample of their work is shown on a screen behind them. I however, am not an artist so my attempt to get a cool shot of Samatha walking across the stage with her photo behind her came out as blurry mess.
Big Sur, Elephant Seals and Carmel by the Sea
We left Santa Barbara traveling north along Pacific Coast Highway, our destination: Big Sur. We have not seen much of the coast when we start seeing signs reading that the PCH is closed. Not really believing the signs we continue up the coast past San Simeon to a protected area of beach north of town where Elephant Seals come to sun themselves on the shore. Elephant seals were almost hunted to the brink of extinction by the end of the nineteenth century, but numbers have since recovered. While excellent swimmers, they are even more surprising on land, they are faster than the average human when moving over sand dunes, so the protected area keeps us humans at the top of a hill and behind a fence.
The type we see, the northern elephant seal, take their name from the large nose on the adult males (bulls), which Devon says resembles the lobster-like alien Dr. Zoidberg from the TV show Futurama. The bull's proboscis is used in producing extraordinarily loud roaring noises, especially during the mating season. More importantly, however, the nose acts as a sort of rebreather, filled with cavities designed to reabsorb moisture from the animals' exhalations. This is important during the mating season when the male seals rarely leave the beach to feed, and therefore must conserve body moisture, as they have no incoming source of water.
These things are massive, the bulls can reach a length of 16 ft and a weight up to 6,000 lb, and are much larger than the cows, which typically measure about 10 ft and 2,000 lb. There are uncountable numbers of seals on the beach. It looks like that on this beach there are mostly bulls; most are sunning themselves, a few are in the water, and few of the males are fighting. The bulls engage in dramatic fights of supremacy to determine which few bulls will achieve a territory and harem. While fights are not usually to the death, they are brutal. What we see are two bulls basically throwing their heads back and then into their opponent in what seems like should a reverberating thud. 
We leave and head up the coast but we continue to see signs that say the road is closed. Finally we stop at a really cool looking hotel on a bluff high above the beach and ask what the story was. They tell us that there is a forest fire in Bug Sur and the road and the park are closed. This news really sucks not only because of the fire but because we were really looking forward to seeing the park. Oh well. We head back down the coast and inland to head north. We drove through farm country where we saw acre upon acre of California produce fields and over the hills to our left we see the lingering smoke from the fires.
We decide to stay the night in Carmel. Famous for having Clint Eastwood as a mayor in the 80’s, Carmel became the artists hideaway especially after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake when the towns artists took refuge here. The town has a long and rich history of attracting actors and artists and all the houses are small and unique, but very expensive cottages. We have booked ourselves into a small cottage just outside of town.
By the time we got into town for dinner it was dark, the streets were empty and all the shops were closed. The restaurants were open and all of them were way out of our socioeconomic income bracket. We have decided that the Hog’s Breath Inn is the best place that fits our tastes. It was pretty laid back and inexpensive for Carmel (and is rumored to be owned by Clint). After dinner we sat outside around the gas fire pits and enjoyed the view of the painted mural countryside.
Back at our hotel we turn on the news to see if they mention the forest fire at Big Sur. We learn that not only is there a fire at Big Sur but that there are 700 forest fires currently raging in the state, and some of them in areas we have just visited. We also learn the sad news that George Carlin had died. His first album is one of my all-time favorite comedy albums and his death has me wax philosophic on one of my favorite lines from his character Al Sleet, the hippy-dippy weatherman from WINO radio. "Tonight's forecast: dark. Continued dark overnight; changing to widely scattered light by morning." I conclude that George deserves to be added to my roster of influential artists (located on the left) whose life, work, and passing has a major impact on me. Thanks for all the laughs Mr. Carlin.
The following morning we got up early and drove through Monterey, which first thing in the morning was pretty unimpressive. As we head north to San Francisco to end our trip, I begin to feel exhaustion set in. I reflect that we had covered about 2100 miles, seen cities, farms, deserts and oceans and it is at that moment I realize that of all the great music about California we had pretty much used the lyrics from the song Horse With No Name as our travel guide. Bummer.
the lyrics for a Horse With No Name
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