The man and his mountain

Don’t even ask about our night’s accommodations.  According to Don, the Calipatria Inn was the second favorite place he’s ever stayed.  What was first?  Everything else!  (He’ll show you the pictures.) The thing is, it was only 10 miles away from Niland, which meant easy morning access to Salvation Mountain, one of outsider art’s most incredible environments.

The mountain (and everything around it) is the work of the smiling man above, 74 year old Leonard Knight.  He started back in 1974, with a simple plan to tell people that God is love.  Now, 100,000 gallons of paint later, his rainbow hued peaks loom over the desert floor below.  Which he’s painted as well, in the form of a beautiful blue ocean. 

There are signs all around, reminding us that we should repent our sins, and love the Lord.  But Leonard himself doesn’t preach at visitors.  If you’re there for the art, that’s fine, and if you want to talk religion, he might do that too.  He used to ride his bike around to find raw materials, but now he’s got a car.  No electricity, phone, or water though.  He mostly lives a hard scrabble desert life, painting, meditating and talking directly with “his preacher.”

Turns out we weren’t the only film crew looking for Leonard today either.  A movie (Into the Wild) directed by Sean Penn that was shooting in the vicinity wanted to use Salvation Mountain for a scene or two, with Mr. Knight making a small appearance.  We took him to lunch first, and told him we’d do most of the talking, so he could rest his voice.  Thanks, Leonard.  It’s a take!

Afterwards, we wandered off to see how much of a mess the nearby Salton Sea really is. Plenty of dead fish, and very few people at this bizarre water hole in the middle of the California desert.

Speaking of incongruous, how about the Center of the World?  Did you know it’s in Felicity, just a few miles from the Arizona border?  That there’s a plaque and a pyramid?  And stairs from the Eiffel Tower?  But it’s closed from Easter through Thanksgiving, so we couldn’t really learn the finer details.  That still didn’t stop us from speculating on some of its Francophilic ways during some lively parking lot catch.  Put me in coach, I’m ready to play...

Music in the van--new Madeline Peyroux, REM “Eponymous”, Jayhawks Rainy Day Music” 

Desert with a view

Talk about varied ecosystems.  We started today in LaJolla, peering out at the Pacific from Mt.Soledad, where our search for what were known as the Munchkin Houses turned up nothing except McMansions and a great view.  And while we were in the high-priced neighborhood, we also rolled up LaJolla’s gravity hill.  Not your big-time no-holds-barred thrill ride, but way better than our feeble attempt months ago in Salt Lake!

Then we hightailed it down to Primitive Kool in Ocean Beach, the only outsider art gallery in a hair salon we’ve ever seen.  Lynn and Paul, the owners, were haircutters first, then art lovers--who’ve found a way to display their inventory right in the salon.  Stories were shared (Dr. Bob and Big Al in particular), art was purchased, and the Big Ball sat under a dryer. No cuts, trims or waxing for any of us, though...

We really didn’t have time anyway, since the desert was waiting for us.  The Desert View Tower near Jacumba, that is. It’s an old school roadside attraction that’s been there since 1922, offering up a spectacular panorama of rocks and sky, with an assortment of folk art sculptures out back to boot. Ben, the current owner, bought it five years or so ago, because, he says, he’s “a misanthrope” and the desert’s a good place for guys like that!

Stories about the good old days when cars struggled to climb through these hills and desert rats drank in the tower’s bar, as well as new ones involving the Border Patrol kept us listening raptly.  Souvenirs aplenty were liberated from the Tower Gift Shop (it’s a good one) and we left with only one small wound, suffered when Don slipped on his way up the boulder trail. Pass the Neosporin, and get ready for Salvation Mountain tomorrow!

Music in the van--Jim Lauderdale & Ralph Stanley ”Lost In the Lonesome Pines”, Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits, Sting “Dream of Blue Turtles” 

Don’s found money count--$5.70 (including a really great beat-to-a-pulp Kansas quarter)

Oh yeah, we can dig it!

Here’s a bit of irony.  We’re driving south towards San Diego, the city with the country’s best year round climate--and it’s rainy and a wee bit chilly. After Oregon had been dry and in the 90s!

Encinatas was our actual destination, but the first stop in this bustling beach town turned out to be less than fruitful.  The topiary Cadillac we’d read about in front of the 7-11 was, in the words of the sales clerk, “no mas.”

  

 At least the city’s renowned boat houses were still there.  A pair of most distinctive ship-shaped properties that Miles Minor Kellogg built from recycled materials 80 some years ago.  Like Don said, “one’s Ginger, one’s Mary Anne.”  And they might be really handy in a tsunami.

But today’s focal point was a site that may well be gone in another six months--Richard Margolin’s Rock & Roll House.  The problem  here is that the place is a rental, and the whole block may soon be condos.  Which means that the purple swirls and playful pieces of semi-psychedelia which this tree service operator has blanketed the grounds with are at serious risk. 

The founders of rock’ n roll are all honored here (quite colorfully)--from icons like Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters to the Rolling Stones, Elvis and Dylan.  Also Buddy Holly, Mama Cass, Ike & Tinas, most of the Beatles (not Paul though) and artistically related figures like Lenny Bruce, Timothy Leary and Albert Einstein.  Hey, it’s Richard’s house, he can put up whoever he wants! 

We brought the Big Ball out to sit on Little Richard’s face, and snapped pictures a plenty, knowing that history was being made here.  And trust us, Mr. M., we really can dig it.

Music In the Van--Little Willies, Counting Crows “New Amsterdam”

Boats, hold the water

John Taylor is a landscape architect by trade.  He’s also a man who builds boats unlike any we’ve ever seen before.  And it’s not because he loves to sail.  John learned years ago that the ocean was better in theory than reality.  But he does like the shapes, the engineering challenges and the stories they can inspire.

So he crafts one-of-a-kind vessels from scrap wood, computer parts, hockey sticks, lawn chairs and whatever else gives him the “imperfect” results that he meticulously seeks.  “If it’s an exact replica, there’s no room for you to really wonder about it,” he figures.

From his standard issue suburban San Juan Capistrano garage, John gleefully puts his saws to the test, sending bits of circuit boards and old furniture flying through the air.  Do these boats float?  Not likely, he admits. But that’s hardly the point of them, now is it...

John and his korgi Abbey were fabulous hosts, serving coffee and even sharing a “Lost In Space” soundtrack CD with us.  (More talk about what a lame villain Dr. Smith really was.) Afterwards, we headed off for a glimpse of the famous mission where swallows religiously return--only to find it had closed at 5:00.  Some quick catch outside the gates soon led to a lost ball over the wall! Hopefully, a wandering friar can put it to good use...

Music in the van--Elton John “Madman Across the Water”

Don’s found money count--More than $3.00 thanks to a certain unnamed coffee chain!!

Where Noah left his art

First of all, who’d have thought we’d need long sleeves in the desert?  And that after so many days without rain, we’d finally encounter it out here?  

But that’s how it happened today outside Joshua Tree, at the Noah Purifoy sculpture park/environment.  Pat and Roger, who work as caretakers couldn’t have been nicer, showing us around the acreage and telling tales of their time with Noah before he died in 2004. “I make assemblages, I don’t do maintenance” was one of the artist’s credos, so he’s fortunate that this retired couple do it so well.

Noah used all kinds of discarded materials to fashion complex shapes and forms, as well as structures you can literally walk into and through.  Some are playful, some, like a water fountain for “whites and colored” are not.  As an African-American who’d first studied social work, then lived and taught in Watts, he had plenty of experiences from which to draw--and this cactus covered space in the desert apparently fired him up well into his 80s. 

Once again, since we’re far luckier than we deserve, the rain held off for real until we’d departed. and disappeared altogether as we stopped for gas and ice at Cabazon.  The refueling location wasn’t completely random.  We knew that Claude Bell’s giant dinos (as seen in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure) were there.  Though their recent re-shaping into an anti-evolution exhibit was really pretty shocking! Say no more.

For a brief bit, we found ourselves back on I-10, then veered southwest toward Lake Elsinore, trying to recall whether it was from Hamlet or Macbeth.  “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead” is all Mike could say, and that was good enough.  

After grabbing some coffee at a Starbucks that apparently opened yesterday, we wandered around the lake in question to G&R Mufflers, where a family of metal creations in the yard has become a local staple.  Gary, their maker, wasn’t bending pipes today, so we made up a few stories about the figures on his behalf.  We’ll check with him later to see if we’re even close!

Music in the van -- Neko Case & Her Boyfriends, “El Rayo X” David Lindley, “Freedom” Nneena Freelon 

One beard, many bottles

Elmer Long doesn’t think people smile enough.  That’s part of the plan behind his Bottle Tree Ranch on National Trails Road, a stretch of old Route 66 outside Helendale, CA. He says as soon as he put up the first tree someone stopped to take a picture, so he put up another...and another, and now there’s well over a hundred sprouting up from the desert sand in his front yard.  No admission fee either, although he keeps the gate shut so his dogs won’t get out.

  If he sees you’ve stopped to take a look, he’ll usually come out for a chat, and maybe point out the significance of all the salvaged materials that adorn his treetops.  Everything from traffic signals to firearms and parking meters!  Most of them have a story that corresponds, and Elmer loves to reveal why they’re there.  As for the beard, well, that’s been a part of him for more than 40 of his 60 years. 

   We took a souvenir rock with Elmer’s blessing, and even though we’d heard it was closed, made the ten mile drive out to Exotic World, the Strippers Hall of Fame on the other side of Helendale.  The ornate gate at the head of the long drive was badly bent and solidly padlocked.  Clearly, no famous G-strings were going to be ogled today.  So we headed back to Victorville, Roy Rogers’ old stomping grounds for some tasty felafels and hummous, and a quick glimpse of a plaque in the park.  Not honoring Trigger, but Brownie the Railroad Dog, who loved greeting trains there til one day he greeted one too closely, and the love affair was over.  It’s in Victorville’s Forrest Park, and I’ll just say that Roadside America’s warning about unsavory characters in the vicinity is right on track (no pun intended.)

    More desert driving ensued, though doing 70 in the 55 was nowhere near fast enough for the 90 plus crowd that roared around us.  We wrapped the day and this particular show with some catch outside the Integratron, a futuristic dome that Venusians supposedly told George van Tessel how to build back in the 50s.  We brought guest gloves in case any extra-terrestrials wanted to play, but alas, today it was just us throwing the ball and witty banter back and forth across the rocky road.

Music in the van--Amos Lee, Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers, “Magical Mystery Tour”, Gram Parsons “GP and Grievous Angel”

Don’s found-money count --$1.01 (Starbuck’s lounge chairs very profitable it seems)

Semper fi very fine

Some days really remind you that we’ve got a great job. This was one. It didn’t hurt that we managed to skate down the Hollywood Freeway with minimal traffic mayhem, and cruise out to East LA more than half an hour ahead of schedule.  That included a stop to see the Latino Muffler Man at Tony’s Transmissions.  The guys at the shop wondered if we were location scouting for a movie, and were somewhat disappointed to hear otherwise, but no one chased us away.  

Then we were off to Montebello, home to more restaurants advertising pastrami and tacos than any town we’ve ever seen.  Actually, donuts, pastrami and tacos at one! 

However, we passed up food in favor of getting to Elias Telles’ neat and tidy home on Spruce Street.  Elias served in the Marine Corps (the hat above is the one he got in boot camp), and has worked ever since as a mason. Five years ago he began painting on scraps of wood and whatever he had around--mostly old baseball players from the Negro Leagues, and little known figures from the Civil War.  He took them to a swap meet in Fairfax where movie biz types attend, and they started selling. “Being a mason, you get a pretty thick skin,” he says, explaining why he wasn’t worried about rejection. The joy of the work comes through in piece after piece, some of which he treats with his own special “coffee wash” to richen the colors. 

And speaking of coffee, he and his brother Pasqual, along with his agent/dealer Tracey kept us in food and drink almost beyond our wildest dreams.  What a deal...Humble, generous, talented--these all apply to our favorite member of the Corps since Sgt. Carter!

From Montebello, we hooked into a section of the great Mother Road itself, Route 66, that’s changed quite a bit in the last 50 years.  But there in Rialto, the Wigwam Motel #7 still stands in all its teepee-riffic glory. New owner Manoj has done a remarkable job greening up the grounds and making the units all spic n’ span.  With a few lessons from the Mike Murphy TV Weasel Acting School we had him pleading his case for Americans to pass up those motel chains, and sleep in a wigwam once again!  He thought we might know Oprah, but had to let him down easy on that one... 

   

Music in the van--”Hits” Joni Mitchell, “Legend” Bob Marley

A grail, finally gotten to

I think the first time I saw a picture and an explanation of Simon Rodia’s Watts Towers was in an old Kansas Grassroots Art Association newsletter.  That was sometime in the early 80s.  Today, thanks to this silly show, I finally got to go there.  Wasn’t disappointed either, although Mike did say when we first came around the corner that it was smaller than he’d expected.  Maybe...but the detail work with all that colorful tile and crockery is way more fabulous!

Our guide was Zuylema Aguirre, the lady in charge of conservation, who pointed out the ladders Simon cleverly built into the spires to make construction easier, and his various barbecue pits and ground level decorations that often get overlooked.  And yes, she say, he really did bury his old Hudson out back to fool the cops who wanted to speak with him about certain traffic indiscretions!

There’s an Arts Center onsite too, which furthers the notion that the towers still enrich the community--a place where kids can escape some of the harsh realities of life in these parts and fuel their imaginations.

And learn to recycle too--which takes us to today’s other main mission--finding the self-proclaimed 10th Wonder of the World.  In case you didn’t know, it’s on 62nd St in south LA, at Lew & Diane Harris’ house.  Or should I say it obscures, covers and dominates their house. 

Lew was a truck driver, which gave him a chance to see just how much stuff industries around the city threw away.  So for the last twenty five years, he and his sister have been hauling metal fans, turbines, pipe and more back to their yard as raw materials to make sculptures with. 

  “One piece at a time” he says. He’s even come up with his own kind of plastic--Lewcite, naturally.  Diane and Lew sit out front 24/7 and wave to passersby, who can’t help but be amazed.  In fact, one woman asked if it was OK to get out and look. When told that it was, she jumped out of the car, left it in the middle of the street, and proceeded to squeal her approval.  Just another day at Harris Sculpture.

The rest of our time was spent gawking around Hollywood like the Midwesterners we are, and crawling in traffic, being glad we’re really the Midwesterners that we are.  Oh, and a lady bus driver was very hostile at me, but I’ve already forgiven her...

Music in the van--”Celluloid Heroes” The Kinks

A toast to the Bottle Village

Morro Bay was foggy when we awoke today.  Couldn’t even see that big rock out in the water for awhile.  Still, we jumped on the 101, then over to Highway 1 through Oceano, where a nursery/antiques store has some huge metallic dinosaurs sprinkled around the grounds.  Turns out Bill, the owner, doesn’t actually make them, he just trucks them in to liven up the place.  Oh well...

  On the way down the Central Coast, we passed by Anderson’s Pea Soup empire (since 1924) in Buellton.  Having just read an article in the Eureka, CA paper about our visit, which called him a co-producer-- Don suggested that Mike should go get some shots of the Anderson’s signs.  He also mentioned he’s probably due for a raise!

After a tasty Indian buffet in Santa Barbara, and a near miss on a lane change (my bad), we gave ourselves over to the LA traffic gods, and  headed on into Simi Valley.

No, not for the Reagan library-- for Grandma Prisbey’s Bottle Village, or what’s left of it. The Northridge earthquake in 1994 was not kind to the bottle buildings and decorative pieces that Tressa Prisbey built in a flurry of activity from 1955 to 1961.  But Joanne Johnson rolled out the red carpet for us (one square anyway) and regaled us with stories of the woman she got to know in the last years of her life. A tidy, meticulous woman who didn’t herself drink, but made the most of colorful beer and liquor glass in her art.

Joanne’s volunteer squad, Kathryn and Drew, and her kids Sarah and Kathleen were also on hand with cookies and lemonade (just like Grandma P), tidying up the concrete work, tile and walkways.  They’re doing it for all the right reasons, and we salute that spirit!  We also noted the passing of Seymour Rosen, who played such a big role in making people aware of this and other important folk art sites.  Thanks Seymour.  Happy trails.

Music in the Van--I’m Good Now”-Bob Schneider, “Communique” Dire Straits, “Flying Cowboys” Rickie Lee Jones

Nittwits unite!

San Simeon was William Randolph Hearst’s showplace, but Art Beal aka Captain Nittwit had a castle of his own just down the road in Cambria. We took the tour with Michael O’Malley, who never met the man, but loved his passion for building and creating a rambling nine level living complex almost wholly from junk. 

Apparently Art was unpredictable in his behavior, and less than loved by all his neighbors.  He sometimes yelled and cursed at the local kids, other times he’d let them come and enjoy his pathways and perches that snaked around the hillside.  With auto parts, old appliances abalone shells and concrete, he fashioned a most memorable way of saying that he was here. 

And we’re glad someone like Michael and his wife Stacey have stepped in to keep the ridge residence running.  But we had to run on ourselves, down to the beach for some Pacific Coast catch!  With Morro Rock in the background, we engaged in some of that impromptu recreation that can irritate viewers from sea to shining sea.  

Oh yeah, San Luis Obispo is a pretty little town too.  There were bands playing in several downtown bars that sounded pretty good.  But we had a mission-- Bubble Gum Alley, which puts the  Gum Tree we saw in D.C. to shame.  It’s a block long two wall stretch of statements in chewing gum, which is both dazzling, and as Dawn who was passing through put it “really icky.”  Of course, she and her friend Kristi ended up helping us post some Juicy Fruit for posterity too!

And finally, when in SLO, no visit is complete without a trip to the Madonna Inn’s men’s room.  Waterfall urinals rule!  And the pink decor and balls-to-the-wall over-decorating all around gave us an end of the day visual jolt par excellence. Tomorrow we head south, where fires are popping up like crazy.   Wish us luck... 

   

Music in the van--”Blue Train” John Coltrane

Rubberbands, Racecars & the Future

Imagine our excitement as we approached the Pride Suprette in San Francisco’s Mission District--the home of what’s purported to be the World’s Largest Rubber Band Ball.  Well, OK, finding a parking place was really hard... and then Nabil, one of the two brothers who owns the place (and the ball) got a little testy about whether he oughta show it or not.  I think “a million dollars” was mentioned at one point.  But eventually, fast talking TV Weasel Mike convinced him to put aside his hatred of the Chiefs (like we care) and give us a look before “his crabby brother” Salim got to work. 

What can we say?  It was magnificent, sitting there in its top secret location (not far from the chips) and even better when paired with our own World Record holding ball o’ tape.  Granted, it’s nowhere near as large as theirs, but we do still haul ours around in a van, so throw us a bone here, OK?

Our escape from dense urban lands took us down 101 to Millbrae, just south of the airport.  Stephen Powers lives there, not terribly far from where he grew up as a baby boomer immersed in the magical world of TV and technology.  His early artistic pursuits fell prey to the need to make a living, but eventually he started painting again--bright, colorful works that imagine buildings and potential inventions that the future may yet bring. Some are fairly apocalyptic, some harken back to “Lost In Space” and Spielbergiana.  Stephen also likes slot cars, which he gleefully raced for awhile with Mike--quite fitting since Mr. Murphy never gets to drive the real thing! 

A tasty Vietnamese lunch set the scene for our final stop of the day, or what was supposed to be, anyway--Axel Erlandon’s Circus Trees at Bonfante Gardens.  Only when we got there, the wheels of PR ground to a halt.  Nobody could be found who would say we were theme park certified.  At least, Don did get to try out their facilities, and reports they’re just fine.  No pictures, please.

Which left us scrambling for one last gasp before daylight was completely done--the last Mammoth Orange stand, a fabled big round orange burgerteria near Chowchilla. We beat sundown by about forty seconds, said approximately six witty things about Orange Julius, and decided we’d had enough.  Viewers are almost sure to agree.

Music in the Van-”Magic Time” Van Morrison, “Failer” Kathleen Edwards, the most recent Rolling Stones (it’s late and I can’t remember the name)

Making the Kansas Connection in SF

On the left, Shawnee Mission East ’69 graduate Don the Camera Guy Mayberger, on the right SM West ‘71’s Ron Hengelaar.  We came to see Ron’s incredible collection of San Francisco memorabilia at his giant old Victorian home on Fulton Avenue.  He lives at the top of it, with a stunning “round room” view of the city, which as he pointed out, was where you could have watched it all burn back in 1906.

Debris from the quake, old bricks and chains, and countless pieces of settlements dating back to the Gold Rush and Civil War days somehow find their way into Ron’s collection.  Then he puts them on his walls in assemblages, onto a huge tower in the yard, or in many cases, into the hundreds of one gallon olive and maraschino cherry jars that he brings home from his job as a waiter.  He makes headdresses for those jars, and then they take up residence in the attic or wherever he can find a place to store them.  Wow!

Ron’s an incredible fount of knowledge about this place (he has 3400 books on the city) and a fine photographer too.  We reminisced about his KU days and concerts in Volcker Park, then tried to leave without one of our tripods.  Ron may have been tempted to “preserve” it, but his good midwestern manners won out, and we left with all the gear we brought in.

After a few navigational mishaps, we found our way to Cayuga Park, a small greenspace on the city’s southern edge.  The BART  runs above one corner of it, and in the rest, a city worker named Demi Braceros has fashioned a whole ‘nother world of lush plantings, whimsical carvings he makes from downed trees, and jungle-like nature trails that wind in and around the perimeter.  He wanted to show people that good things can happen, and took it upon himself to make the park a showplace.  It shows!  We only wish that whatever strange electrical impulses were flying around down there would take a rest.  Our mikes were fritzing right and left, but Demi was a good sport, and let us try every trick we knew.  Finally, we decided that the pictures tell the tale pretty well.  Cayuga is a very cool place.

Dr. Bailey, we presume

Science lessons were flying faster than our little brains could handle today, thanks to Clayton Bailey, the Mad Scientist of Port Costa.  These days he’s best known for his shiny junk-metal robots, which cluster around him in the studio, along with the space guns and jaw’s harps which he also plays.

In a previous lifetime Clayton was trained to make ceramics.  He still does that too, including gargoyles that rise above the fence to shoe intruders away, though he admits they actually work more as “bait.’  

  We learned from him that old issues of Mad Magazine were a big inspiration in bringing about this sprawling complex of art and mock archaeology.  There’s a Bigfoot dig pit, and plenty of errant robots on the roof, in the yard and hiding amidst the prickly pears.

In fact, Mike snagged some nice ripe figs to add to our California fruit collection, leading us to admit that the show’s really just an excuse for me to weasel coffee while he snags piemaking ingredients.  Big Ball T-Shirts were left behind to commemorate the occasion,and we headed on to San Francisco itself, to meet a man who’s been very helpful in finding good stops for this trip, John Turner.

John’s a TV guy himself, a producer/editor at the ABC affiliate, and writes about outsider art for Raw Vision and other fine publications.  He introduced us to his co-worker Cheryl, who then joined in some impromptu street catch with one of our handy guest gloves.

As the day was about to end, we wandered out to the bay for a look at Alcatraz and a session at the Wave Organ.  It’s an installation of old cemetery stonework and pipes that jut out into the water, and, in theory, transmit beautiful sound back to zenned-out listeners.  This is one we’ll have to fix in post.

Music in the van- “Flying Burrito Brothers Greatest Hits” Don’s Backpacker version of “Shakin’ All Over.”

The reluctant barker

Who is that man?  And why is he pointing a cane at us?  That’s no man, that’s a genius in a bowler named Ernie Fosselius.  The name might sound familiar to fans of his cult movie from the late 70s, “Hardware Wars.”  Ernie was an early Sesame Street animator and indy filmmaker who’s turned to working in wacky ways with a much lower tech material--wood.  Not just carvings, but mechanically moving pieces that are almost like little movies in themselves.  “I like the characters” he says, and then he puts them into play.

Play that includes a bicycle powered “Crankabout” that can be parked and folded out to display a dozen or so of his wooden automata.  Then, as a piece of street theater, Ernie in the guise of the Reluctant Barker (he made the name up while talking to us) sheepishly implores folks to come turn the gears and enjoy the show.  

Is it profitable?  Not exactly, but he has lots of fun doing it, and watching the way people react...much more immediately than in films, where as he puts it, “you tell a joke, and three years later, hear people laugh.”

There was plenty of laughter all day at Ernie’s place in Sebastapol, not the least of which came during some dueling Walter Brennans with Don the Camera Guy. And his political puppet theater is something else to behold.  And his wedding cake toppers.  And the wine stoppers...and miniature yachts driven by rats...well, you get the idea. Ernie is a hoot and a half.  And on Talk Like a Pirate Day at that!

We Thaid out at a local restaurant with Ernie and his companion Ruth, then headed for Bodega Bay.  Windy as all get out, but we still ran and shrieked like Tippi Hedren down the beach a few times and called it good.  To the Bay Area in the morn!

Music in the van--”Rubber Soul”, Jacksonville Nights”--Ryan Adams