Day Sixteen - San Bernardino to Santa Monica PIer (and beyond...)

Does this not look like Lightning McQueen in the next WigWam over from mine??

But first, I must apologize. I have not written in nearly a WEEK! And even then I was two days behind. (Think of it like the 8 second delay they have to make sure no one swears on Saturday Night Live.)

Here's the thing. I have been staying with friends since my last day on the Route and when you stay with friends there is so much talking and eating and drinking and laughing that who has time to write?

I can see why those old-timey macho writers would live in hotels. There's an awful lot of opportunity to write when you are staying in a hotel alone!

But on with the story...

So this is what the highway looks like in LA. It is horrible. Lots of traffic, weeping, swearing, gnashing of teeth... I hopped on the highway, I mean FREEWAY in San Bernadino thinking I would just hop off in Pasadena and then hop back on the route there and catch the Arroyo Seco Parkway and then be home free on Santa Monica Boulevard. 

Oh... it all seemed such a simple plan...  

Alright, THE 202* was a nightmare so I decided I could go faster through the 6,732 traffic lights between Azusa and Pasadena. So I got off the highway - dammit! freeway - and started back on Route 66 I went through lovely Glendora and then I entered San Dimas! I was so excited I took a picture of the San Dimas Ave. street sign because of its historical significance. 

**In California they are freeways, not highways and they all have THE in front of the number. It's very important.

Just past San Dimas, I saw a sign for Claremont. Now, this gave me a clue as to what you Southern California types may already be figuring out. I was going completely the wrong way! I got turned around coming off the highway and was so jaded about using GPS that I just trusted myself. I am a road warrior, surely I can handle this!

Nope, I turned around and took another picture of the San Dimas sign on the way west to remind myself of the consequences of folly. 

BOGUS!!

Well, I finally got to Pasadena. It was a lovely city. It got me to the parkway. It is a parkway, not a freeway, or maybe it is both. Anyhoo, I got on it and stopped moving. But everyone else did, too. It's the law. We crawled and crawled and FINALLY I got off to follow Route 66 the last few miles to the ocean. 

Except I couldn't stop thinking of the Chateau Marmont. I have always wanted to stay there. So when I knew I would be out here, I looked at making a reservation. The cheapest room is $400 a night. Needless to say, I had no plans to stay. 

But I really wanted to look at it! I checked my GPS (obsessively after the double San Dimas incident) and saw that I was only 15 minutes away. I decided I could just go look, use the bathroom, maybe have a cup of coffee. So I made the turn and headed for the Sunset Strip!

My favorite song of all time came on just as I made the turn and I knew I had made the right choice! 

And as I got to Marmont Lane, I saw a parking space with a meter right at the edge of the road. And it even had 15 minutes on it already! So I chucked in 3 more quarters and headed up the hill. 

There was a little valet station, but I couldn't see any fancy entrance so I walked around the building. Apparently, there is no fancy entrance. You just go in the valet entrance and up. So I did. In my baggy jeans and mom top. I reeeeally looked like I belonged there. But I was there, they had a ladies room, it seemed it was meant to be.

Of course, I couldn't find it the ladies room. So in my most imperious voice (but with a friendly smile) I asked a waiter to direct me. He very personably did and probably thought for the rest of the day, "Wow, that woman who asked where the bathroom was had a horrible outfit, but she was classy as hell..." 

After the facilities (which were quite fancy, but I didn't take a picture of them because I was afraid someone would come in and seem me acting like a rube after having gotten this far) I got a glass of water from the water station and went back down to the little waiting area by the valet. I sat on the couches and drank my water and looked longingly at the locked door that said "To pool and bungalows." How I longed to see the pool and bungalows. But it was not to be... 

I hung out and read Harry Potter and surreptitiously tried to see if anyone famous was leaving. No one did, so I did. 

I drove down the strip, crossed over to Rodeo drive and got back on Santa Monica Blvd. There is theoretically an "END ROUTE 66" sign somewhere besides the pier, but I couldn't find it for beans. There was a lot of construction where I was looking and no parking, so I bailed on that and just went to the end point. The ocean!

I waited a dog's age to get on the pier, but I finally got parked.

When I got out of the car, I asked a teenage girl getting out of the car next to me if she would take my picture. She looked at me puzzled, why did I want a picture with this filthy car? I told her I had just driven cross country from Massachusetts and wanted a commemorative picture. 

She said, "I'm from Massachusetts, we're on vacation here! Where are you from?"

I told her Beverly and she started laughing. "I'm from Gloucester!" 

Small world!

I went on to the pier where 2 years ago I decided that I had been thinking and talking about driving Route 66 long enough, was going to do it and I bought my copy of Jerry McClanahan's EZ66 Guide - the one that got me across the country!

I chatted with the guy at the booth and bought a much deserved tee shirt and sticker. 

Then I got a chili dog and a concrete (a blizzard, but with frozen custard instead of ice cream) and went to the beach. 

It was packed, but I took a little video, mostly featuring garbage cans, for some reason...

I would love to carry on with the harrowing story of getting out of LA, followed by the lovely hospitality I received from Cathy in groovy Grover Beach, but I must go out to dinner with friends! I will pick up the tale eventually!

Until then - Be excellent to each other, and party on dudes!

Day Fifteen Barstow to San Bernadino

The penultimate post! I have been waiting for an opportunity to use the word penultimate ever since learning that it meant second to last. Until a couple years ago I thought it meant “the MOST ultimate”. Yep, I know that is not a thing. I blame society...

Anyway – I started off the day with a nagging feeling that I should check my coolant. Rich sent me off with a big bottle of special Subaru coolant that I hadn't even thought of until this morning. Well, it is a good thing I checked! It turned out that I was hovering at the “very low” line. Zoiks! I “topped off my coolant”* like a boss and went on my way.

*I know an awful lot of car care lingo but not usually how to do any actual car care aside from putting in gas.

I stayed on the last bit of rural Route 66 for the drive to San Bernadino. It was desert-y and dusty, but there were a fair amount of other cars which was nice.

I needed to stop to use the bathroom halfway there and the only place for miles was a liquor store. I burst in and told the lady behind the counter, “I'll buy some booze in a minute, but I really need your ladies room.” She laughed and showed me the facilities. 

That's how I ended up with six of these bad boys. It was a win-win. 

I got to San Bernadino and checked out the Wigwam Motel, where I would be spending the night. It was far too early to check in and I had 4,000 traffic lights to get through before I got to my lunch date in Claremont. So I headed westward. 

 

 As I was driving, my phone decided to hit the California section. I heard some Joni Mitchell and Led Zeppelin. I switched to local radio before it found the unholy Katy Perry track that is on there due to a horrible accident.

The radio station I found was playing great old-timey standards and as I was traveling to meet some Betsy-Tacy friends* it cranked up this little number that made me squeal with joy.

*Okay, how to explain Betsy-Tacy? They are my favorite books ever. They are written by Maud Hart Lovelace about growing up in Minnesota. They have a very feminist flair for books written in the 1940s. Because I moved around as a kid and didn't have a home town, I chose Deep Valley, Minnesota as my own childhood home. Thanks to the internet, I have made connections with other people who are as deeply in love with these tomes as I am. As a matter of fact, one of my dearest friends, the frequently commenting Lady Chardonnay, was one of the first people I met thanks to my interest in these books. "You're welcome!"says Maud Hart Lovelace from heaven.

[And the song in the video above is mentioned in the books, that's why it is so cool that it came on on the way to visiting some Betsy-Tacy friends that I had not yet met!]

I took this picture in Upland. It is one of the 12 Madonnas of the Trail that the Daughters of the American Revolution have put up to honor the spirit of Pioneer Women along the National Old Trails Road (part of which runs along route 66). There was no place to park to really take a look, but I got a car shot. And I appreciated her. 

 When I got to Claremont, my first stop was the house where Maud Hart Lovelace and her husband lived during their retirement. It looked just like a normal house. There was no visual indication that my most beloved writer had ever lived there. But I could feel it. 

Then to the Claremont Public Library I went! There is a friendship bench in MHL's memory in front so as soon as my pal Michelle showed up, she took a picture of me being friendly.

Michelle came down from Bakersfield and, just like every time I meet a Betsy-Tacy person I have only know from the internet, we felt like old friends immediately! Krista, Peggy and Diane showed up shortly thereafter. We went across the street for lunch. 

Look how cute we are in that California-awesome booth! L-R: Me, Diane, Krista, Peggy and Michelle. 

We ate like we were going to the chair. (Okay, maybe just me.) And we laughed and talked and had a wonderful time. We discussed how we met our significant others, how we met the Betsy-Tacy books, and of course the eternal question - "Which Beverly Clearly teen romance is the greatest of all?" I mean, the clear answer is FIFTEEN, but some people do prefer THE LUCKIEST GIRL, which is excellent. We tossed this disquisition around for far longer than normal people should and finally agreed that JEAN AND JOHNNY blows and left it at that. 

We we decided to share a dessert, which somehow turned into three desserts, the way that often happens. Someone- Peggy, was it you?? - realized that our empty dessert plates were reminiscent of Betsy, Tacy and Tib. One brown-haired, one blonde and one red-headed - except they were desserts so they weren't actually made out of hair. 

We went back to the library which had an excellent booksale section. I proceeded to buy every Beverly Cleary book they had because of the power of suggestion. After standing and talking and saying, "I really need to get going!" and then standing and talking some more, we finally went out separate ways. They had brought a bag of books for me, in case I had run out of reading material. It was very thoughtful and gave me a lot to look at later. It was just so wonderful to meet these friends I had known for years and yet had never met. Thanks, Maud! 

 

I went back to San Bernadino (going back and forth on the same road is going to be a theme in my visit to Southern California) and entered my Wigwam! I was in number 7, the luckiest of all Wigwams 

Here is a little tour if you are curious. 

And a Wigwam selfie!

I had a dip in what was once again a private pool. (I mean others could use the pool, but apparently had chosen not to...) And my joy was so great, I panoramed again!

I had been slacking on my conversations with strangers rule because I had been talking to people I know. But one of the guys at the Motel came over to chat several times when I was reading outside my Wigwam. (No, I will never tire of referring to it as my Wigwam.) He was a friendly kid who had a real curiosity about the world and particularly the differing cannabis laws among the great states and commonwealths of our nation. He was a hoot.

 

A healthy dinner at IN-N-OUT BURGER topped off a wonderful day. I watched some RNC coverage on the Wigwam TV (the less said about that the better) and hit the hay, preparing for my last day on the Route!

Day Fourteen - Kingman to Barstow

I got up bright and squirrelly for my much-dreaded trip to Barstow. Not that I dreaded Barstow, just the drive. This patch through the desert is what killed Grandma Joad (I just checked the Cliffs Notes, she was DEAD when they got to Barstow.) and I was hoping it wouldn't do the same to me. Granted, I had a Subaru and Grandma Joad was pretty much in a beat up pickup truck. No wonder people just left them on the side of the road! (Pickups, not grandmas.)

I grabbed breakfast in the hotel lobby – scrambled eggs and a biscuit with butter and honey. Pretty much the same thing I have eaten every morning this trip. But this morning I was distracted with my near-paralyzing fear of the desert and scarfed without tasting.

I went up to my room and got all my bags and went to the car to pack up, only to realize I had left my purse in the lobby.

Ever seen me run? I always said I would not run if monsters were chasing me (trademark, Rich Fecteau) but I hauled ass. My bag was still hanging on the back of my chair! The lady at the next table said she figured I would be back and kept an eye on it. It was a tense start to the drive.

Anyway, I left super early. Since it was Sunday I flipped through the local stations looking for inspirational radio stations. I started listening to this really funny preacher talking about self acceptance and how we see ourselves vs. how other people see us. I was really into the sermon, which is unusual for me. Usually during a sermon I make a mental list of all the points I would expound upon were I preaching. Because, you know, I am an expert in all things... Anyway, I went around a curve and she dropped out! Couldn't find anything but Black Sabbath and Carrie Underwood on the radio so I put on the recording the praise band a church made and listened to that. We sounded surprisingly awesome. It was moving to listen to music about the wonders of God's creation in this completely crazy landscape.

This is what it looked like. Until California when it got even more terrifyingly bleak.

I stopped for a ice tea/bathroom break at the only gas station in a 50 mile area and there was a huge line. As I was waiting, a woman came out and said, "Hey, don't leave your purse in there..." It was the same lady from breakfast! It seemed like a good omen to see she was on the road. I assumed she would keep an eye out for me. 

 Here is a little video of the crossing from Arizona to California. It is dull but accurate. 

I couldn't believe that it would get even more desert-y in California, but it did. It was so hot, I couldn't lift my camera. So I have stolen this picture from ye olde internet to show you.

Taken from - http://thenewadventuresofpattiandmarty.blogspot.com/2015/03/home-from-quartzsite-03-29-15.html because I am not Melania Trump.

I did not look at my phone once because I was 99.9% sure that there would be no cell reception out there and I didn't want to know that it was actually the case. Self-deception is so important when traveling alone!

I got to Barstow around 11 in the morning. I was so relieved to be there before the worst heat of the day. I had heard that Barstow had a Harvey Hotel near the train station and so I went to investigate. 

 It was really stunning, there is a Route 66 museum in there, but of course, it was Sunday morning and you know me + Sunday + museums = missed opportunities. Alas... 

 

I sat in the shade for awhile, but even there it was getting warm. Well, it turns out, Barstow went up to a record 108 degrees that day. But I barely noticed because of the wonderful staff at Comfort Suites Hotel.

I got in there FOUR HOURS before check-in time and said, “I know I am very early, but I just wanted to see if you could let me know what time I should be back.” Hoping to get in a little early.

The fourteen year old manager asked my name and looked at his screen and said, “Oh, we have a room available right now you can have.” I nearly burst into tears of joy. (My plan was to go hang out at the factory outlet mall nearby and read my book until 3. And I hate factory outlet malls. A lot)

So I got to my beautifully air conditioned room, graded papers, read my book, watched the movie THE HEAT for the fourth time on this trip. (It is always on! Seriously, is it in public domain already or something?)

I only left the hotel to go to el Pollo Loco where I bought both lunch and dinner so that I wouldn't have to go out again. I know, a chain, but I have never been and it was hella good!

[Full disclosure, on my lunch excursion, I also went to the outlet mall to look for shoes because my beloved Clarkes have started to smell like, well, I used the phrase “a dementor's anus” to describe them and I imagine it's pretty accurate... I didn't find any, but I did find stinky shoe spray. Full disclosure, jr. - It didn't work.]

As the afternoon began to fade into evening, I went to my private pool and had a dip. It was magnificent. I panoramed. It was that great.

 

I want back to my room, refreshed and ever so happy to be in California!

Day Thirteen - Flagstaff to Kingman

This morning was bitter-sweet. The sweet part was going back into Flagstaff. What a beautiful place! The bitter part was that I had to say goodbye to my travel companion, Kathleen. She was so much fun to travel with!

She was taking the airport shuttle to Phoenix - so smart! - so I dropped her at the train station. It was beautifully refurbished and I did actually go inside, so that was a lot of work for me!

The Hotel Monte Vista looked beautiful, but I didn't go in because I was already so exhausted from getting out of the car at the train station. 

Yes, I am populating this blog with pictures of things I didn't even bother to slow down for. 

Phoning it in? 

Nearly!

 But here is a video of me leaving town that is quite lovely!

I stopped in Williams and FINALLY got a picture of a bordello for Lady Chardonnay. I didn't go in because, well, I'm not that kind of girl. But I did get out of the car to take a picture. 

Baby steps!

I don't know if you can see the mannequin jutting out of the second floor window. 

Shameless...

Next up was Seligman. Eileen and Kathleen recommended it and they weren't wrong. I went to the Snow Cap, an ice cream stand that specializes in wacky jokesterism. There are double door knobs, one that says push, one that says pull. If you order chicken, they toss a rubber chicken at you. (I have heard, I did not order chicken...) When I said to the counter girl, "Can I get a cup of coffee?" She replied, deadpan, "How about I get it for you." Not the sparkliest of repartee, but I laughed. 

This was the potty. I thought it was a joke. But it was not.

I was still charmed enough at this point to take a picture of this beat up old pickup. I have seen a lot of beat up pickups since then and while they do look kind of cool, there are a lot of them. I am kind of picturing a factory where they produce these terribly weathered old pick-ups. 

So here is a video of the Route between Seligman and Kingman. There were several sets of Burma Shave signs. The drive was so bleak that I really did look forward to them. I would giggle and read them out loud. Because I am a goober. 

The drive was wonderful. I love the time travel aspect of driving on the route. Whatever song came on influenced what I was thinking. I was listening to the songs on my phone alphabetically (don't judge me!) and Billie Holiday came on singing Billie's Blues and I imagined I was a dust bowl woman in the 1930s headed to California. (With an anachronistically wonderful sound system in her...rusted old pickup)

Then Red Garland's Billie's Bounce (because of alphabetic-ness) came on and I was a 1950's mom driving with her family across the desert on vacation.

Then Billy Don't Be a Hero (Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods, if you must know) came on and I was immediately 9 years old again. (But, you know, traveling Route 66).

And finally Bird Song, but the Grateful Dead came on and I was a hippie driving across the dessert in the 70s. Maybe passing a family listening to Billy Don't Be a Hero.

And then it got confusing and I stopped.

But it was awesome while it lasted.

Kingman was pretty dull, I stayed at one of those hotels where the rooms open on to a porch that wraps around the whole building. And those kind of freak me out. Plus it was Saturday night, so there were a lot of people hanging around being loud. But I did see my first In-and-Out Burger of the trip, so that was a plus!

Stay tuned for tomorrow's harrowing episode where I drive through the bleakest landscape I have ever seen. (Spoiler – I lived through it!)

 
 

Day 12 - Mund's Park and Sedona

This is Kathleen and Eileen. Eileen hosted us at her place in Mund's Park and it was wonderful. She is so much fun! Her house is lovely and I had my own room*. Kathleen claimed she wanted to sleep on the couch, but I think she was afraid I would spoon her in my sleep.

But I digress.

I love the way they both have their heads cocked to the side in the same way in this picture. 

*If you are looking for a lovely vacation home in Arizona, Eileen's place is for sale.  

Okay, so Sedona is beautiful. We took the Oak Creek Canyon road and drove down, down, down... It got just lush and beautiful the further we went. There is a creek (I believe it may be called Oak Creek, but I could be jumping to conclusions.) and we were going to go frolic in it, but it involved climbing. So, no.

Then once we went through the touristy little town we started going through THIS! This was the scenery all the way back. It was mind-blowingly beautiful.

 I was so impressed that I panoramed!

 

Kathleen took some remarkable pictures out the window and was very patient with me when I didn't want to stop because I was so dang hot.

I nearly bought this hat. (No, I was not drunk.) But I decided to get a chicken sandwich instead. To eat. Not to wear on my head.

 

When we got home we had a very important event. The regional soda taste-off!

 

First up was Green River, that elusive little devil! I was so thrilled to have found it! I brought it to my lips with a feeling of exquisite triumph!

Sadly, it tasted like carbonated lime jello. I was not a fan.

 

Luckily, Carlos, Eileen's grandson – and a truly lovely young man – liked it, so it did not go to waste!

Next up was Vess Cream Soda. 

I don't like drinking out of cans and I don't like cream soda. My expectations were low.

But look, it is RED cream soda! This is a game changer! 

The addition of a glass made it possible for me to take a few more sugary steps towards type 2 diabetes. 

This is the country club where, on Friday nights, crazy people go to sing karaoke.

Yes, we are those crazy people! I sang CHAIN OF FOOLS, which is my greatest hit. The background music was a little quiet (or the crowd was a little noisy) but apparently I was in key. When I was done a man came up to me and said that he was very sorry, but people who can actually sing aren't supposed to go to that karaoke. (Meaning that I sounded good.*) It turns out that he is Dirks Bentley's father in law. So I am practically famous now. 

*At least that is what I though. Maybe it was a thinly veiled criticism.  

When we got home, we realized that we had neglected the third soda - Big Red. 

It tasted just like Faygo Red-Pop.

Kathleen, Eileen and Carlos aren't real big soda drinkers, but it was late and they were suggestible. So we got some shot glasses and passed the bottle around.

Reviews - 

Kathleen: This reminds me of drinking Faygo Red Pop when I was a kid! But yuck.

Carlos: I'm good thanks.

Eileen: I never need to drink this again.

Oh, non soda drinkers!

I slept in the comfiest bed in the southwest and vowed to just stay with Eileen next vacation and quit this crazy travel stuff!