Month: August 2009 (Page 2 of 2)

Not every day on vacation is going to have a great story, but a day without multitasking is vacation bliss. As Kyle snored a tired song this morning, I realized over stimulating my boy takes a toll on him, so after a 6 hour cross desert drive Monday and a still synching 3 time zone transition, today’s pace would be Kyle’s. I blogged as Kyle giggled at Rachel Ray cooking humor. (It’s 8:09PM and he’s done for the day…) After shaves, showers and morning meds, we headed out for a satellite guided trip to Balboa Park and the San Diego Zoo. In a short visit, we did the bus tour, tram and searched unsuccessfully for the Basilisk in the Reptile house. Maybe they knew Kyle was coming and didn’t want their snake stabbed through the roof of the mouth with the Gryffindor sword. I’m just sayin’.

From there we roller-coasted the Coronado Bridge so Kyle could see where his big sister stayed when she visited with Dad in 2003. As I parked parallel style, Kyle was unimpressed and asked, “what are you doing?” “You want to see the hotel, right?” A quick head shake – sour puss said no. Tired guy…

Back at the hotel, Kyle found a favorite spot mid-pool and just was. Submerged to the neck, he slowly rotated and took it all in. His father lay on a lounge chair occasionally looking up at an orgy of wind tangled palm leaves drenched by the sun and backlit by a brilliant blue screen. The iPod wasn’t on shuffle, but I flipped through some Tom Petty (so California to me), Uncle Tupelo and even VH “Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout Love.” All those songs brought me back to places we visit while watching eye floaters behind pink lids. You know, close tight and redden; lighten up and almost get to yellow while you make them move… And any day you’re doing that doesn’t really need a story.

The Landing

I imagine Neil Armstrong’s bio-suit was firing off all sorts of “oh shit, I’m gonna die” signals as his body tried to cope with the stress of having one eye out the window of the “LEM” (Lunar Exploration Module) and the other on a fuel tank that said, “Idiot: you should have gassed up at that old floating Gemini carcass in Earth orbit.”

Yesterday’s trip from Tucson across a landscape that constantly reminded Kyle of some “Star Wars” (Sand Dunes) or Narnia (Mountains made of giant boulders) began of course with my boy ordering the “All American” breakfast in-room at the hotel of baked Pringles and 4 sides of assorted chocolate candies. He had so much sugar in him for the trip, only a breakfast of peyote & eggs would have provided the same buzz for Dad. Sadly, the “Blue Willow” was all out of peyote, so I settled for turkey sausage with dual cackleberries, scrambled.

Unsurprisingly, my boy wasn’t hungry when we sat for breakfast, nor was he very energetic as we cruised slowly through the U of A campus. For most of that he was reclined, only poking his head up on occasion to satisfy the old man. That sugar comedown is a bitch. After scoring a $9.95 “Arizona Baseball” tee, we (and when I write “we” I mean “me”) were off to see a few of the old apartment complexes I lived over 30 years ago. They were all still there… Casa Royale, Casa Espana, and of course, Casa Del Oro which had been re-named to “Arizona Commons.” Renamed or not, the ghosts are still there.

I’ve got to say, while Priceline can occasionally zing you (hotel in Arroyo Grande, CA when “Pismo Beach Area” was selected is an example), it’s been great so far, and our sweet metallic blue 2009 Nissan Altima with under 5,000 miles for $27 a day is Exhibit A. At the counter, I specifically asked for an iPod friendly car and that’s what we got! Anyway, as we cruised along Interstate 8 munching organic fruit, trail mix and beef jerky, the dulcet tones of Jim Dale poured out of the tweeters and woofers reading us “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.”

OK, so skipping gas in Yuma at under ½ tank wasn’t too bad, but breezing by El Centro like a dementor on a mission was in hindsight, stupid. As we approached yet another set of mountains, the gas light came on and indicated 60 miles left in the tank. By the time it was in the 30’s I was engineering siphoning plans. Someone would stop AND have a hose, right? “Ocotillo – 8 Miles” was some solace, but was there gas there? The mountains were looming and my stomach was churning. We were in a desolate area so close to Mexico, there are way more Border Patrol employees than inhabitants. Oh! “Trust your car to the man who wears the star! – Texaco!” I was never so happy to hand cash to a young Mexican man working for a giant multinational corporation.

From there it was an easy couple hours (and 2 Border Patrol stops) to our hotel on Mission Bay Boulevard and directly into the beverage. After a nice dip, we headed to a “Gringos,” a Mexican joint in Pacific Beach. About 30 seconds from the restaurant I realized I forgot my wallet… and I didn’t care.

She (who shall not be named) arrived at 6:20 for a 6:00AM pickup and was dressed smartly in a charcoal suit. I “didn’t mention” the tardiness by suggesting, “if I were the one 20 minutes late, I’d be hearing about it.” Above the din that ensued I requested a stop at the local bagel shop right on the way, but that was diverted with a reference back to my “non-reference” to timeliness and a now acute intent to deliver us on time. I see. Once on the highway, the first exit was taken and I wondered if a new route to the airport had been constructed in the strip mall. One hadn’t, but there was a mega-corporation with “Golden Arches” and apparently they serve the best coffee anywhere. “Do you want anything?” “No” emerged from my brooding self as my desire of healthy eating for Kyle and I took an early wrong turn as Kyle scarfed a “healthy” hash brown… Once back on the highway the incessant stream of nouns, verbs and other words commenced again. It was at that point I stared out the window and wondered if $24 bucks a day parking times 12 wasn’t such a bad idea… I do know she means well.

Not having an assigned seat fed my angst, as did the 45 minute wait line to have the privilege of accessing a cold check-in kiosk. Hey, I’m just happy we go seats, even if they were (36E and F) the last two on the plane.

It’s one thing to be comfortably cruising up the Pacific Coast highway with nostrils full of salt air and doing hand acrobatics as it hangs out the window riding the breeze. It’s quite another to be transversing mountainous hairpins against a big sky sun, bloodless white fists crushing the wheel. As our road trip sneaks up on my rear view mirror and is now “closer than it appears,” I’m closely examining rural routes and the Yosemite-Las Vegas express has me stuttering and stalling like a rental with a 469 mile capacity coughing up one last barren incline of a 500 mile stretch while cursing its driver for not fueling in Fresno. That run-on sentence aside, drives like that can be maddening and the thought of me glancing from the GPS and looking up to some Death Valley gorge conjures an image of Chris Farley screaming, “OH, NO! WE’RE GONNA DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I’m fairly certain it won’t be so Dante-like, even though going through Death Valley in August (Average high 117.9F) is a perfect spot for living the Italian’s poetic nightmare.

That’s enough drama. Now I need solutions! For any of you who’ve driven the Southwest:

• What routes to you recommend?
• What should we not miss?
• What should we definitely ignore?

Here’s the draft itinerary for Kyle (17) and his dad:
Day 1 – Arrive Phoenix/Tucson (friends)
Day 2 – San Diego (Drive)
Day 3 – San Diego (Zoo, Beach)
Day 4 – Long Beach/San Luis Obispo (friends)
Day 5 – San Jose (friends)
Day 6 – SF/Napa/Sacramento
Day 7 – Sacramento (friends)
Day 8 – Yosemite (nature stuff)
Day 9 – Vegas (Drive)
Day 10 – Vegas (wave pools, sharks, shows)
Day 11 – Canyon (Hoover Dam, big hole, Flagstaff)
Day 12 – Sedona/Phoenix (colors and friends)
Day 13 – Phoenix (chill by pool)
Day 14 – Depart