About a year ago Lupe and I decided we wanted to return to the Coastal Redwoods in Northern California and also visit Crater Lake. Lupe had never been to Crater Lake so I reserved us a deluxe room overlooking the lake a year in advance. One week before we left I received notice from Aramark- the concessionaire for the Crater Lake Lodge - that they had "overbooked" and we couldn't stay in the lake view room. Wow... ok... so we canceled that part of the trip ( there's much more to the story but I don't want to relive it and it's enough to say that I will never book with Aramark again - and I recommend neither should you).  So.... ok - let's' change plans - no problem and drive directly to Crescent City. In the end, we had a fantastic time and we shall camp at Crater Lake soon enough. 

To break up the drive we headed for Rohnert Park as a first stop and from there headed to Crescent City. I visited this area back in 2016 and last Fall and was anxious for my return because it is such a beautiful place.  These photos are from Jedediah Smith State Park. 

These photos are from the Crescent Beach Overlook - an NPS site.  

One of the most fabulous drives in the United States is the "Avenue of the Giants" in Northern California. Have you been? Let's check it out...

We swung by the coast on our way to the Victorian town of Ferndale. 

Years ago I saw a "California Gold" episode that featured the town of Ferndale, CA. I remember that the entire town was designated as a historic landmark. It's an interesting place - we stayed at the Victorian Inn which was great until the owners began forcing us to watch Newsmax and listen to them discuss their far right politics. Jeez - it's everywhere. Regardless, we had a darn fine time. 

Visiting cemeteries is not my cup of tea unless I am going to the resting place of a close relative. However, the locals in Ferndale recommended seeing the town graveyard and so off we went. I was surprised at how poignant an experience it was... it's an old cemetery and the visit did what it was supposed to be do I suppose - help me appreciate the joy of being alive and realize how quickly it can be over.  

​It is so terribly sad to see the graves of children. I won't soon forget my visit. 

We drove from Ferndale to Mendocino and stopped and hiked among the big trees and ferns on the way. Such a quiet walk... 

We are fans of Mendocino. I made a few photos but it was all about relaxing and enjoying some fine meals in the cool summer air. Here is pretty little inn in which we stayed. 

I was pleased at how not busy the town was... it was quiet and calm and not too touristy-  such a rare thing these days. 

Thanks for coming along. I hope your summer had a few highlights too. A few weeks after these photos were taken I had a bit off a health scare and lost an old friend it reminds me to remind you - breathe easy and enjoy...this is a damn short ride.  Much love to all. 

Hello friends... the Monument Valley photo above was from a spring trip that Lupe to the Southwest. We hadn't been in awhile and it was delightful.  I also made a quick trip Corvallis in March to see my daughter. The weather was a bit wild but we had a marvelous time. California sure has a different look after all the rains this last winter.  On my way home I stopped in Sacramento to re-visit the California State Railroad Museum. I'd gone there many years ago and didn't remember much about it and, well... it was OK. I did make a few photos outside and took a short train ride along the rain swollen Sacramento River. 

In April, for Lupe's spring break, we took a trip to New Mexico. We go every few years because we are in love with it. Our first night we stayed at La Posada and drove out to the Little Painted Desert. The facilities, such as they are, need to be razed and monitored  - what a mess - but the view? Well, the view.

We spent two absolutely wondrous days at Los Poblanos in Albuquerque. It's a working lavender farm and a Southwest gem. I'd read about it in Sunset Magazine and it didn't disappoint - we shall return!

​

Leaving Albuquerque behind we visited the Pueblo Indian Center on our way for two lovely days in Santa Fe.  I was taken by the message at the Center.  Recently I have lost two more dear friends - Duffy and Jack... and so to you two wonderful men... "Because I believe in the cyclical nature of our existence, I know we will meet again, whether in the near future or at a time far off. Until we meet again".

Here are just a few iPhone photos of Santa Fe. I put the Nikon down and simply relaxed.

I picked up the Nikon again for our last stop -Monument Valley. I remember, as a kid, my uncle Bill telling my dad- "You HAVE to go to Monument Valley. It's unforgettable". Uncle Bill was seldom wrong and, man, he was spot on again... I think this might have been my 10th time? Heavens but I love the place.  Typically I show photos in a gallery but I think these merit a bit more. Here's Mexican Hat on the way into Monument Valley . 

The cloudy weather added to the scene. 

And, well, I had to make some black and whites. I could make photos every day there the rest of my life and never get tired.

What a place. Thanks for allowing me to share my photos and a bit of my spring travel. Perhaps it's my age and sentimentality but the rains this winter have made this spring one of the most poignant and beautiful of my life. I hope summer is the same and that you enjoy each precious moment. 

What a winter this has been. We have seen rain and snow in amounts that I think most of us never thought we'd never see again.  My annual trip to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument was not exempt from the wet winter weather. That said, the drive out there was absolutely without stress and one of the most relaxing in my experience of toting a trailer behind me. However, when I arrived a sign at the campsite said it was reserved for RVs 35 feet and longer- well - that sure wasn't me.  Sigh. OK - let's go talk to the Rangers.  They were very helpful and grateful that I didn't set up camp there - "it's in small print on the website - not your fault.". That was kind - if it's on the website at all I should have caught it.  They gave me a new campsite and in the middle of the campground - next to the bathrooms but hey - it worked.  That night I was reminded that in Southern Arizona every night is a show. 

The next morning I woke up and noticed that the Tacoma key fob battery was low.
I'd recently gone through this on our trip to Hawaii last summer so I knew what to do...find a store that had one of those batteries that look like a coin and replace it. The nearest real town is Ajo which is 35 miles away. Jumped in the truck went to the little hardware store and found one of those batteries... remember when you just had a KEY? Oh, but I digress... the road back to Organ Pipe from Ajo is two lanes and a car and large truck were in front of me. The car pulled out and passed the truck and I looked to do the same but before I could do that - BAM - a rock came flying out of the truck and put a long crack in the windshield.  I said a bad word. In fact- a flurry of bad words.

Called the insurance company. They said, "Drive to get it fixed now because it can spread".

"Oh, boy. Ok - where is the nearest place?"

"Well...hmmm...let me look. I guess it's a place called Casa Grande - about 110 miles".

I could only laugh. I drove the 110 miles. On the drive, well, goodness, it spread.

When I arrived I was met immediately by a tech and he told me that the windshield was not repairable - I needed a replacement and that would take a week.

Thus began my annual trip to Organ Pipe. 

I returned to my campsite and then got the news that my father in law - 96 years young - was very ill and that I might be needed at home. 

That put things like broken windshields in perspective. 

I stayed and waited to hear if I needed to rush home - for now- he was OK. I got out my hiking shoes the next morning.  The weather was cold but just fine for walking.

I've been hiking in the desert for over 50 years. In that time I have had relatively few mishaps. I have observed a few though, ie., people running into chollas and such and I always felt sorry for the victims. I thought - you know - these were rookie mistakes. Poor fools.  

​Well, look here.

I exacerbated the problem by attempting to knock off the cactus with my walking stick. It fell about 6 inches and buried itself into my shin. I limped back to the trailer and spent about 45 minutes yanking out spines. But what hurt the most? My pride of course...

Undeterred, I decided to walk out to the Victoria Mine the next day and it was one of the warmest and most beautiful days of the trip. 

That evening I went a Ranger talk about my favorite oasis in all of the west - Quitobaquito Springs. They were sure selling an apparent "renovation" pretty hard. I decided to drive out the next day and what I saw horrified me...beyond my ability to express...If you have been following this blog for any length of time you've seen my many photos of Quitobaquito - like this one from 2019.

Here is last January 

I'm still sick about it. This is, after all, a sacred spot to the Tohono O'odham nation and many of us American southwest lovers. In the last few years we were horrified that it could be damaged by its proximity to the former president's absurd and useless border wall but this is self inflicted damage by the National Park Service and their biologists. During the talk the previous night the ranger did acknowledge, "the water isn't coming back as quickly as we'd hoped". 

Look, I am certainly not a biologist but I am a passionate lover of all things wild and of this particular place - I am not convinced this "upgrade was necessary" and, if it was, why it could not have been accomplished incrementally. I know I only have a few more years to enjoy Quitobaquito but I hope my grandchildren can enjoy it as their old Grandpa did... I am trying to remain optimistic and trusting of the NPS despite what my eyes saw...regardless, I know to will take awhile for it to recover...  

In the meantime my friends who were supposed to join me were texting that they couldn't join due to the cold and rainy weather. I understood but it was still disappointing and added to my unusual gloom. 

The rains did indeed return and it was time for me get up early and drive the 110 miles to the windshield repair shop. It was a harrowing trip. The roads were overflowing with water and the truck, in the darkness, lost grip a few times. I slowed down and got to the repair shop right on time at 8:00 AM. I was met by the manager who said, "Bad news sir. Your windshield isn't here. Can we re-schedule?".

"Uh, no. I have just driven 110 miles to get here so that isn't a good option. Couldn't you have called and let me know?".

"Just found out myself sir. If you want to wait the best case scenario is 1:00 PM". 

I had to wait of course. I decided, while waiting, that maybe I should just go ahead and head home. My father in-law was improving but still not well and more rain and cold weather was on the way and my friends weren't coming.  I left early the next day. 

I've been coming to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument since 1993.  This was not the most trouble free trip but, I'll tell you what, the worst day in Organ Pipe is better than most days anywhere else. I shall return next year but a bit later in the year. I can't wait. 

See ya next year Organ Pipe! 

 Hello friends - while 2022 was a banner year for travel it was not a particularly good year for my photography.  I have gotten to the point in life where if I start reading a book and it doesn't grab me? I just put it down. In years gone by I would slog through but  these days - hey life is too short.  Same with my photography. Truth is I seldom go intentionally looking for photos - I try to let them come to me.  Nevertheless - I DO travel often and I DO enjoy taking photographs - I think this will always be so - so, as long as I am upright, I'll keep 'em coming. These are my faves from this years batch in no particular order. I hope you enjoy them.

I'll start with a photo I made on a rainy winter day at an isolated and lonely spot on the Oregon Coast. Somehow, this photo resonates with me and my occasional dark moods. It is the only black and white of the bunch and I think 2023 may be the year of the black and white. I'd like to work at that.

Next up is a bright and hazy morning at my desert home away from home - Organ Pipe  Cactus National Monument.

The following photo - taken out of the window of Amtrak's Empire Builder doesn't quite capture the stunning beauty of the Columbia River Gorge -it is a magnificent place - but it'll give you a taste.

The next photo is a photo that no one liked on social media so maybe you had to be there! Nevertheless the Hōlei Sea Arch in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park is a sight to behold.  I am told it may not be around much longer due to the relentless pounding of the surf - so - I was lucky to see it like this.

Speaking of luck - the Nahuku Lava Tube also in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park was closed a week or so after I made this photo (it has since re-opened).

More Island of Hawai'i here. This is famed 'Akaka Falls near Hilo. The green and the falls are cool but I love that ominous sliver of sky too.

Here's another photo I took from the train. This is the Rockies in Autumn and the Colorado River near Kremmling, CO from the California Zephyr headed west.

One last photo from the island of Hawai'i. This is the Waipiʻo Valley Lookout near Honokaa. Located on the Hāmākua Coast, the Waipiʻo Valley was the boyhood home of King Kamehameha I.

You didn't think I could go year without a photo of roads and telephone poles - did you? Here ya go... from the great Midwest.

In the years I have been doing these lists (is it SEVEN now?) I don't believe I ever included a photograph from my iPhone.  That changes this year due to this image of the sunset while waiting for a train - the Southwest Chief - in Fullerton, CA last October.

And there it is - another year flown by.  It was quite a year... I am not a big fan of self promotion but these photographs and more are available for purchase by clicking here. I am grateful to have sold several photographs in the last few years and for those of you who have purchased you are appreciated and help me keep traveling!

Speaking of the years flying by - I feel myself slowing down a bit.  I  have big plans for 2023 but not as big as 2022 and my hunch is 2024 will be a bit less than 2023. As my Pop told me, "The years have a way of catching up with you".  Yes, sir... they do. I wrote these words to express my gratitude to you for following along with my adventures - my friends - new and old - you have enriched my life immeasurably - thank you and may good fortune smile upon each of you. We deserve it. Let's make 2023 a damn good year. Much, much love to all.

I took a cross country train trip last April (and, if you read through that entire blog post - bless you ).  I rode all the major Amtrak routes in the west except the Sunset Limited (which I have taken 4 times before - it's wonderful) and, perhaps the most scenic and famous of them all, the California Zephyr.  I knew I was missing out by not including the Zephyr but also figured I'd do it in 2023 or 2024 if I was still upright. But, hey, I had earned so many Amtrak reward Points that I qualified for the trip to be my favorite price - FREE and I could do it this year.

This was a short trip compared to  my big trip in April. I would jump on the Southwest Chief and head to Chicago... walk over  to my hotel and sleep - get up and jump on the Zephyr- sleep in Emeryville and come home on the Starlight. And that's just how it went down. The top photo is of the magnificent sunset on the night of October 13 at the Fullerton Station which I have grown quite fond of...it's a cool old place in a world that seems to value the old and rustic less and less (perhaps this has always been thus).

I got on the train at 6:30 PM and had dinner - it was dark and I went to bed...falling asleep to that gentle rocking and rhythmic "clack clack clack" of the train - I slept so tranquilly... and woke up to the Great American Southwest.

Then it was onward to Illinois. Here is the wide Missouri River with the reflection of the train trestle.

I arrived in chilly Chicago and walked over to my hotel - had a nice dinner and went to bed - thought about going out and listening to music and then I thought - nah - too cold (it was 39F). The next day I had a relaxing morning and walked back to Chicago Union Station - and boarded the Zephyr. The first day would be in the plains and I would wake up in Denver...headed over the Rocky Mountains - in autumn no less...what a dream come true...

Here are some photos from the first day...it was already scenic but I had no idea of the show that was to come.

We arrived in Denver at about 7:30 AM.

We started the long climb up the eastern slope of the Rockies and, man, I wished I could have washed the window. I did take several photos but many were marred by the filthy and spotted window. I really wish Amtrak would wash the windows more often (they're too high for passengers to reach) and certainly before the Zephyr goes over the mountains. I know, after discussions with several other passengers, that I am not the only one with this sentiment. Anyway...I will try to show you a bit of what I saw. I was on the "mountain" side of the train but ran over to the other side when I could. We also went through 29 tunnels and the famous 6.2 mile Moffat Tunnel...all of which were wild, fun and, at times, other worldly. The Moffat Tunnel is an engineering marvel and tragically took the lives of 26 workers while it was being built.

OK here we go...

Often, outside of my room - you could hear audible, "oohs and ahs" from my fellow passengers as we wound through the mountains. Soon we were near the headwaters of the Colorado River. Then we started the magnificent ride down the western slopes...

What an extraordinary day!  After another relaxing evening and restful sleep I woke up in Winnemucca, NV. 

The train rumbled into Reno and then up through Truckee and over the Sierra Nevada. The Zephyr kept on giving  magnificent sights.

Now in California I saw sights I'd never seen before despite living here my entire life. Here is the Sacramento train station.

Soon the train made it's way to my hotel - right along the tracks - in Emeryville, CA.

Up early the next day to the jump on the Coast Starlight and come home. Lately, being the old fool I have become, I often tear up at extraordinary natural beauty. Let's just say it was a teary eyed journey. I sincerely hope I gave you a tiny idea of the wonders of train travel and, in particular, the famous California Zephyr.

See ya soon!

My grandmother died on Christmas Day in 1962. She was a sensible and kind woman who adored her family. I remember her being so very sweet to me and I think about her often. I hadn't been back to see her grave since I was 14 in 1971.  As I approach my own death it has somehow become more and more important for me to connect with my relations that have already traveled to the great beyond. I do not know why this is so and I do not question it. It is strong desire and there is nothing unhealthy about it...it is, in some strange way, deeply comforting and wholesome. I also visited my grandfather and uncle's graves...family I never met but with whom I feel a tangible and sentimental connection.

I spent two hours in the Rocky Ford, Colorado cemetery thinking of their lives and their hopes and dreams and fears.  My poor uncle Chuck wanted to enlist after Pearl Harbor like two of his brothers but when he was given his physical they found an "enlarged heart". According to my father he was devastated by the news and died in two years at age 22. I was stunned by the poignancy of the visit. It is possible to love people you have never met and will never meet.

Indeed this was quite a road trip. As well as these deeply emotional and affecting parts of the trip there was also some just pure fun. Won't you come along? You'll get to meet my amazing Aunt, one of my dearest friends who I have known for 52 years, and go to the Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie Centers in Tulsa, OK and visit my new favorite city with a small town vibe - Kansas City. Then there was beautiful drive home... here's a photo of from Highway 160  in Colorado.

Let's go!  I decided on this trip to take things easy - no long drives. I liked it. It gave me more time to take in the sights and pull over whenever I wanted to. In fact, my first day I set google maps to "avoid highways" and cruised out to Kingman, AZ.  On the way I stopped by the tiny but fun Route 66 Museum in Victorville, CA.

The following day I slept in - relaxed - and leisurely drove to Grants, NM. This is the same road that I have been on probably over 50 times in my life and always saw the Walnut Canyon National Monument but never stopped there. Finally! Here was my chance and what a cool little place - unfortunately the main hiking trail was closed due to trail maintenance but I still enjoyed traipsing around and peppering the Rangers with questions about the history and flora.

In the afternoon I drove by the Petrified Forest National Park and stopped in the Painted Desert. It wasn't the best light but it is certainly a beautiful place.

And a black and white.

The next day saw a rather uneventful and relaxing drive to Amarillo, TX. The following morning I got up early and hit the road - there is always a problem heading east first thing in the morning. The sun was in my eyes, I was blinded in my little roadster,  and I just pulled over and waited until the sun rose a bit.  I only mention this because with the years comes a bit of wisdom - when I was young I would have powered through it even though I couldn't see a damn thing...now? What's the hurry? Relax...life, to me, is best lived simply one moment at a time and on this trip I was able to let go and really let things unfold. What a way to travel...

On my way to Tulsa I stopped for lunch with my friend Jill in Yukon, OK. We had only known each other online so it was a kick to meet 'in real life". We talked each other's ears off for 3 hours. Then it was on to Tulsa - and I was excited... the first thing I saw was the home of the Tulsa Drillers - the Dodgers AA affiliate. Now, I got to go back during baseball season!

The ballpark was within a block of my hotel. I had a restful evening and got ready for a day had long awaited. When I was in high school a girl who I viewed with fondness, okay, maybe a little more than fondness, loved Woody Guthrie. I was a Dylan boy and so, naturally, we became friends and shared favorite songs.  She turned me on to "Deportees" and "Pastures of Plenty" and I turned her on to "Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again" and "I Shall Be Released".  We were both astounded and astonished and it was pure delight.

Indeed my love for Woody Guthrie has been lifelong (thanks, Blythe wherever you are now). As a result, I signed up - years ago - to be a member of the Woody Guthrie Center in Tulsa. It was always a dream to see the place and here I was at the doorstep.

You know how in life you sometimes think things are gonna be great and they let you down a bit? Sure you do... it happens all the time ... but not to me in Tulsa and not at the Woody Guthrie Center - I made fast friends with the staff and other visitors and immediately felt like I belonged.

Rumor is - and I cannot verify it - that Bob Dylan was so taken with the Woody Guthrie Center and, in particular, their care of the archives that he was enthusiastic about his center being in Tulsa too. I heard about it a few years ago and knew that when it opened I would be there. No other artist in any medium has meant as much to me as Bob.  I became a member and founding supporter and set my sights on visiting opening day. Sadly, that didn't happen as I was on my big train trip - I mean, I never dreamed it would open on time... but it surely did in May 2022.  By golly, I would be there as soon as I could. I felt like I was in a dream during my visit - such is my love for the music  and artistry of Bob Dylan.

Of course I'll share some photos - who wants to read all this anyway but, please, if you are a modern music lover - make the trek to Tulsa - what a divine treat...you won't be sorry that I can guarantee.

In would be remiss if I didn't share that the Guthrie Center also had a Bruce Springsteen exhibit. Lots of cool E Street stuff and here's a photo of the Clarence's saxophone - RIP Big Man.

What a day! Who knew the city of Tulsa, Oklahoma would give me so much joy at age 65? Seemed unlikely most of my life.  Now I wanna go back. That night I had a quiet dinner basking in the wonder of where I'd been and prepared to drive early the next morning to Kansas City. 

I woke up very early the next morning and started the long and, on this particular morning, seriously rainy drive to Kauffman Stadium to see the Kansas City Royals play the Minnesota Twins at 1:00 PM.  I arrived at the stadium about 90 minutes before game time.

As I was waiting near the gates a Royals stadium employee asked me if I was from out of state (How did he know? My clothes? My California mannerisms?). "Why yes", I said, "I am indeed." Well, the stadium employee said, "Today is your lucky day - follow me". I did as I was told and he showed me the "only open gate" and a path to the Kansas City Royals Hall of Fame.  It was a kick!

I have been to few baseball parks in my life and quite a few stand out but I must say that the park in Kansas City is absolutely one of the best - hands down. Someone described Kansas City to me as a large city with small town feel and that is precisely how "the K" felt to me - a big stadium with a small and intimate vibe- it has a great sight lines and a family feel - the employees and fans are friendly and personable and I was made quite comfortable there. I didn't know it at the time but this was a feeling I would carry with me for the next few days during my visit. Kansas City is a new and favorite place. Man, I can't wait to get back there...

After the game there was no traffic (seriously) and I made it to to my hotel in about 15 minutes. It rained that night and I woke up to steady downpour. As a Southern Californian the rain was welcome and I walked around town a bit just feeling that wet stuff in my face.

I visited the Negro leagues Museum which was one of the big reasons for me to visit Kansas City. Most of us baseball people are amateur historians and the story of the Negro Leagues is fascinating and tragic and wonderful and bittersweet.  The Museum in Kansas City, run by the irrepressible Bob Kendrick, is a gem and I spent a few hours getting educated and immersing myself in what life must have been for a baseball player of color until Jackie Robinson came along (and even for a few years after).

When you walk into the museum the tone is immediately set. There are some figures playing baseball but you can't get to them - you can see them and you have a desire to walk to where they are and you just can't understand why they won't just allow you to do that - one is, indeed, on the outside looking in. It is, of course, the perfect metaphor.

I spent probably too much time at each exhibit but I was enthralled with the place.

Finally, at the end of the museum tour you are allowed to walk among the players.

I had to have some Kansas City Barbecue and that evening I walked down to Gates Bar.B.Q. I was told by a taxi driver that it featured Soup Nazi employees and that I had better have my order ready when in line and called upon and he wouldn't recommend it - "the food is great but it's a bit intimidating".  I wanted to go, but after hearing his words, I HAD to go.

I wasn't disappointed. Sure enough there was an indecisive person front of me. 

"ORDER PLEASE!". 
"I'm still looking at the menu".
"ORDER?!"
"Give me just a minute"
"SIR! STEP OUT OF THE LINE. PEOPLE BEHIND YOU ARE READY TO ORDER".
"Wait, what?"
"STEP OUT OF THE LINE!"

He did step out and was then ignored. He finally gave up and left. I think I may have been the only person who noticed. And let me tell you when I was asked for my order? I was ready! And was it worth it? The line that almost went to the door gave testimony.

After dinner I realized I had reached the eastern limit of my trip and tomorrow I would start heading west through Kansas. I would be staying the night in a Best Western in a little town called Wakeeny. I looked at the map and saw I would be traveling through Abilene - the place where Dwight Eisenhower was raised and home of his presidential library. I hadn't thought much in my life about Presidential Libraries until recently when my pal Tom Thrash came out west and we visited the Nixon Library together and I enjoyed the heck out of it. I am related to General Omar Bradley and he - along with most of my relatives - no matter where they fell on the political spectrum - all admired and respected Ike for his extraordinary leadership in WWII, his intelligence, class, and decency.  He was, by all their accounts, a good man. 

I decided to stop at his library in Abilene and I wasn't disappointed.

The Eisenhower family home was being "refreshed" and was closed but the museum and grounds were beautiful. It was a warm spring day and I pictured young Ike enjoying the Kansas weather the same way I did on that fine day.

The next day was the real reason for this long drive and, as I shared above, I was unprepared for the emotions of visiting my grandparent's and dear Uncle Chuck's resting place.

I was 7 years old and my mom began struggling with her own sanity. We started moving and trying a new community every few months. My father was working two jobs and was never at home and we somehow ended up in Laguna Beach the next year in 1965. It was an artist colony and hippy haven. The greeter (Eiler Larsen) was there in full regalia and voice and personality.

My aunt Lisa - who had divorced my uncle - moved to Laguna and was as bohemian as they come. She also ran the children's theater in that artistic community.  She taught drama classes and had her own studio. She drove a TR-4. And, thank you universe, she adored her nephew.  And, let me tell you, her nephew adored her (and still does!). She cast me as Sneezy in Snow White. She was, for almost a year, the only adult in my life with whom I felt connected. I remember us cruising PCH in her Triumph with top down, wind whipping through our hair, and holding on for dear life as she made the left turn into the hills around Laguna or zipping through Laguna Canyon Road and her looking down at me with the most loving smile I've seen in my life.  How grateful I am to have had her in my presence in my childhood.

A few years later I tried my hand at acting and directing and became a High School Drama teacher. Today? Well, they don't make those Triumphs anymore but I own a tiny roadster anyway and, once in a while, on a fine spring day you can see me on PCH and carving corners around Laguna Beach and thinking of my dear sweet Aunt Lisa. You might say she influenced me - just a tad.

And Aunt Lisa? She is still kicking and living in a nursing home in Pueblo, CO. She's in her 90's - closing in on 100 and still sprightly and kind. I don't know how many more chances I'll get to visit her - she and I are both "getting up there" as they say. Here we are...and you'll be hard pressed to find a photo of me with more joy in my heart.

We said our goodbyes and off I went for another trip down memory lane with a long time friend - Lee Anne Martinez. She and I have know each other since 1970. I met her in 8th grade and we have remained pals all this time - she is a professor in Southern Colorado and also lives in Pueblo. We met for dinner and reminisced. Her father was one of the finest teachers I have known and he was a tremendous influence on me and a man of great integrity and heart.  Lee Anne's family are extraordinary people - all of them absolutely brilliant. We met when the restaurant opened and were there when they closed it- and I still wanted to spend more time. We gotta figure out another time to meet soon. I love my friend Lee Anne.

I wasn't quite  through with Southeastern Colorado. In 1998 I took my father, recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's, to visit his brother - my Uncle Bill - and we took a trip to Bent's Old Fort. I returned in remembrance of them. Here are a few photos.

The next day I started the long drive home. My heart was full of joy and sorrow and love and despair.  Just the old human condition I suppose...

I hope you enjoy the start of autumn and these photos of Colorado and Navajo Lands. I also hope you too are able to travel and see the friends and family who you love and who have meant much to you in your life. This trip was one of the most poignant experiences of my life and I wish the same beauty and poignancy in your life. Words fail to describe how much this trip meant to me and how much sharing it with you does too.  Much to love to each of YOU.

In the 1960's kids in other places probably heard surf music and wanted to come to California. As a California kid I dreamed of Hawaii. There was, I swear, a kind of Polynesian love affair everywhere in Southern California - my parents and our neighbors had "Tiki" Parties. There was (and still remains) the Enchanted Tiki Room at Disneyland. All of us kids had Tiki totems for necklaces. There were Tiki bars in every city. Elvis was in Hawaii and, to the tune of Pearly Shells,  our sugar came from Hawaii (after browning in the sun) and, well, surfing... sure Huntington beach was calling itself Surf City but everyone knew that Waikiki was WAY cooler and that the north shore of Oahu was where the big waves crashed. And, of course, we all remembered Pearl Harbor. Hawaii was in our bones.

As I grew older I never had the money to fly to Hawaii and so, as is my way, I decided it wasn't that great after all. Then, sometime in my mid 30s I met someone and she offered to take me to Maui for free. Free? Oh, OK then...why not?

I can remember stepping off the plane in Maui and instantly the world felt fresher and cleaner and friendlier and, well, just so damn beautiful. I'll never forget it and I still get that feeling when I step off the plane on any Hawaiian island even if it's raining or humid (or both).

After that trip I made several other trips in the next 20 years. Oahu twice, Kauai 3 times, Maui 3 times and what we called, "the Big Island" twice. We were told by some locals on the last trip that they do not like the Island of Hawaii to be called, "the Big Island" they prefer simply Hawaii or, the Island of Hawaii. That's cool - other words for it might be "nirvana" or Shangri-La". I had always been told that it "rains all the time in Hilo" and so, I'd only driven through one time (it rained). But, this time we decided to throw caution to the winds and spend 3 days there and it was delightful and truly felt like "Old Hawaii".

The photo above was taken at Akaka Falls State Park just up the road from Hilo. What a place!

It rained softly but steadily one afternoon. We  were at a local shave ice place and there was fellow tourist who asked a local, "Does it rain like this a lot"? "Um, sir, this isn't raining". Ha! Point made! Here are a few more photos from around Hilo.

After some unnecessary rental car issues  (never again Budget Car Rental!) we made it Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park.  Some geezer was standing by the sign and his wife took a photo of him.

I am not sure why this, my third trip the Island of Hawaii, was the first time I visited the National Park. Indeed, it is something quite different and remarkable.  The following photo is of the walk through the Nāhuku lava tube which closed a few weeks after we left due to "structural issues" Yikes.

The next photos are from the "Devastation Trail".  I always appreciate and admire plants that grow with such little nourishment and against all odds - they inspire me to keep goin'.

Kilauea is still erupting and while they don't let folks get too close I did make a few photos. It is wild.

My favorite part of the National Park is at the end of Chain of Craters Road. Stunning! Here is the Hōlei Sea Arch. My goodness, I was mesmerized by it's beauty.

After spending a fine evening at the Volcano House we headed for Kailua-Kona and made a few stops along the way.  First up is famous Punalu'u Black Sand Beach. I was sorry we were there in the middle of the day - I'd enjoy going back in the early morning or evening and making some photos some day.

We then went to Pu'uhonua O Honaunau National Historical Park known as a sacred place of refuge. The last I was there was with Lilly when she was about 5 years old. This time Lupe was with me and we thoroughly enjoyed our visit.

We then moseyed on down to the hotel and went on a coffee bean tour - got good and wired and then went to a luau and wondered how in the world those dancers can be so graceful. Wonderful. The day we left we had loco moco for breakfast and I made one last photo. We are already planning a return to the islands - maybe Oahu next year... Thanks for coming along...

I officially became a geezer in 2022. I'm not sure what milestones you mark in your life but 65, as Ron Burgundy would say, is "kinda a big deal" to me. Moreover, it also marks my 20th year of sobriety. Of course, turning 65 isn't really anything at all except what's in your head. And here's what's in my head... I'm in the autumn of my life and, as the song says, "the days are dwindling down to a precious few."  I could make a list of all the people that I have loved and lost in this lifetime - including my parents and grandparents and best friends and cousins and schoolmates but the names would fill this page - I know my time is coming. I wish it wasn't but that's the way this all goes. I am relatively healthy and I need to do the things I've always wanted to do and see some of the things I've always wanted to see. I watched too many of my relatives waste their last days watching TV and sitting on the sofa waiting to die.  I want to celebrate being alive while I can. And, by God, that's what I am going to do.

I am a "Travels with Charley" and "Blue Highways" fan and, as a result, originally planned a cross country car trip and while I still have many road trips in front of me it occurred to me that I could take the train and see lots of the country - get fed - and relax in ways that aren't possible when you're driving. Further, I didn't want to be on the road longer than a month. I spent several of the Covid lock down months planning the 10,000 mile trip and it worked out well. 

So, let's go. I'll do a short narrative for each day so hold on tight and please remember this is an overview. Several events, by necessity, have been left out but these are most of the highlights. Also, please note that the photos in this post  are not high quality - they were often taken through the dirty window of an Amtrak passenger car replete with smudges, reflections and lens flare - nevertheless, since this is a TRAVEL blog, I shall include them - I hope that's OK- the idea is a to provide a summary narrative...it ain't high art.

Oh, and guess what? Apple Music finally acknowledged their problem and fixed it! MY library is back...I listened to some SWEET tunes - maybe I'll share my playlist on another post.  

OK, ready?

ALL ABOARD!

April 11, 2022

It started early on an April morning in Fullerton - just a few miles from home.  Lupe dropped me off at 5:45 and I waited - on the wrong platform until about 5 minutes before the Pacific Surfliner arrived. A kindly Amtrak employee inquired if I was headed to LA? Why yes, yes I am. Well, you need to get in to the elevator and cross the tracks the train is almost here. Yikes! So, off I went with my suitcase and Tortuga backpack in tow. 

After arriving at LA Union Station I walked to the Amtrak booth to say hello and the agent said, "Hey, you want some coffee"? "Sure!" Well, head on up to the Metropolitan Lounge. This was the first of many lounges that I was to spend time in over the next 3 weeks. Free coffee and snacks are the mainstays of all the lounges but none of them compare to the New York Lounge. Here is the LA Union Station "Metropolitan Lounge":

I waited a few hours and then headed down to Track 12 where we boarded the Coast Starlight bound for Portland, OR.  The photo on the lower right was my roomette view in the station.

Excited, I settled in and we headed up the coast. This was my 4th time on the Coast Starlight. The first was back in the early 2000's to celebrate earning my doctorate at USC.  That was in December and it was rainy and we were stopped for hours because the tracks were covered in water. This time it was mid April so - I looked forward to the beautiful American spring weather. (This is what is known in the writing business as "foreshadowing".)

I do love the parts of the California Coast that one can only see on foot or by train. I have driven Highway 1 dozens and dozens of times in my life and missed so much of the coast that is only accessible by train. These photos were all taken from my window (as are 90% of the photos in this blog post). The lower photo here is of Gaviota - a place I have visited every year for 10 years.

By the afternoon the train turns inland and you roll through California's extraordinary Steinbeck Country.

The evening approached and I had a fine chicken dinner in the Dining Car. I went to bed early. After all, lots more to see and tomorrow night I'd be meeting the great Lilster, my amazing daughter, who is attending school at Oregon State University in Corvallis for dinner in Portland.

April 12

When I awoke in Northern California it was a darn winter wonderland. What the? So much for the mild spring weather. I looked at the weather app and it looked OK in Portland but the route of the Empire Builder - the train from Portland to Chicago which I was scheduled on for 4/13 - looked like it was going to get some real winter weather.

We were delayed for two hours in Klamath Falls due to an Amtrak personnel issue (yeah - I don't know - something about a crew change). I was hoping the snow would clear up but on the ride to Portland it got worse and worse. 

As we got closer to Portland the conductor made an announcement that all passengers heading east on the Empire Builder would be terminated at Spokane as the tracks were closed beyond that station. Welp, there it was.  As the conductor came by my room I stopped him and told him my situation - that I was headed east on the Empire Builder tomorrow. His response was, "It doesn't look too good". Oh great...I was just starting my journey and already there's was a potential major hiccup.  I started looking at the airfares from Portland to Chicago. I had to be on the Lake Shore Limited in 3 days. 

The beautiful Willamette River came into view as we rolled into the pretty Portland Station. My sleeping car attendant said goodbye and wished me luck. Lilly was waiting for me and drove us to the Mark Spencer Hotel in Portland. That night we prepared for a possible flight if my train was canceled. Lilly showed me her packing tips - I folded all my shirts into burritos based on her direction. I gave her a bag of some items that I could survive without and which would allow me to perhaps not check both my bags at the airport. Then we went and had a nice dinner at local Mexican joint.

April 13

I slept in a bit in Portland and checked in with Amtrak - the train was still running despite the various websites showing service disruptions and closures at stations like Minot, ND. Lilly met me at the Metropolitan Lounge and we waited - sure enough, the train was running after all. No one knew but we would be the last train through for nearly a week - a historic blizzard was bearing down on the Montana Hi-Line.

I sadly said goodbye to my sweet daughter and got on the Empire Builder bound for Chicago.  In the over 10,000 miles I traveled on Amtrak I believe the most scenic part of the ride was from Portland to Spokane and through the Columbia River Gorge. It was simply stunning. A few times in my life I have been moved to tears by nature's splendor (OK OK - more than a few times - I am a sentimental old fool) but this was certainly another one of those times. I gazed out the window and relaxed. This then was the trip I'd been planning and dreaming about for over a year. It was happening. The good life...

April 14

After an excellent night's sleep I woke up to chilly weather outside. It was 9F but according to the weather app "felt like" -1F. There was snow on the ground but the sun was shining and I looked forward to another relaxing day staring out of the window.

Around 11:00 AM it started to snow. And then it really started snowing. Then the wind began to bend trees over sideways and drifts began piling up. The conductor made an announcement that the next few hours were going to be a challenge and that we should  expect delays. He also named several train stations along our route that were not in service because they were snowed in. A hush fell over the train.

In the afternoon we were forced to a siding to wait out the storm. I talked to one of the sleeping car attendants and she told me they were a little nervous. All Amtrak and even the freight trains were now canceled on our track - we were the lone rangers and the only train running. We passengers mumbled worried words to each other and visions of "Train Stranded for Days" headlines ran through our heads.

After about an hour on the siding the conductor announced we were ready to move but there was a frozen switch ahead and that he and some other crew members would need to manually throw the switch. This required him to exit the train in the blizzard and would take him about 30 minutes to accomplish the task if, "it goes like it should". It was a rather nerve-wracking experience for all of us but at least we were warm and inside. Fortunately it went, "as it should" and we were on the move plowing through the snowdrifts. 

I ambled down to the dining car and saw the conductor. I thanked him for braving the elements and getting us on our way but before I could finish my  compliments we were interrupted by an extremely agitated woman who demanded that we stop at her station even though it was closed. I sat down and listened while the conductor explained that they were not going to drop someone off in a massive and historic blizzard at a closed station. "Cars are not able to get to the station. Amtrak would essentially be stranding someone by dropping them off. It is "CLOSED".  I admired his patience but he grew progressively firmer as the conversation went on for maybe 10 minutes - finally the woman asked, "well, what stations are open"? The conductor told her and she exclaimed, "Oh! That works! I can get a ride from there".  She got a major eye roll - not just from the conductor but from everyone within earshot.  When things get dicey some people are calm and centered and, well, let's just say some others are not. It had been a helluva day. In fact it would be another FIVE days before passenger trains were back on this route.

April 15

Woke up - had my coffee and looked out the window at downtown Fargo, ND. Today, if the fates would allow, we would get to Chicago where the temperatures were supposed to be downright tropical -  high 40s!

By the time we hit St. Cloud, MN the sun was shining. Oh how welcome it was...

It was a chilly but glorious afternoon in St. Paul as we rolled alongside the Mississippi River. I knew I'd see it again in a week or so but way down south near New Orleans.

Grateful to have made it through the blizzard (how do people live in Minot, North Dakota anyway?!) I spent a very  enjoyable afternoon and evening rolling through the farms and fields of scenic Wisconsin. I also must mention two of the greatest employees that work for Amtrak -Lisa and Aiyana.  They took amazing care of me when things got weird on the Empire Builder. I'll  never forget their kindness and hope they are reading this!

We arrived in Chicago and I had this delivered to my room. Yes, I know Lou Malnati's is not on my diet but, come on,  when in Rome...er.. Chicago! And yeah...it was as good as it looks - maybe better.

I went for a long walk in the neighborhood along the Chicago River after I stuffed myself full of pizza but it was too cold and windy - about 36F with 40 MPH gusts. I also saw so many people, all bundled up, enjoying time with one another and got a bit lonely. It doesn't happen often in my solo travels but it did that night. I headed back to my cozy hotel room where I slept for 10 hours - a rare thing indeed.

April 16

After spending a lazy day resting in my room and wandering around Chicago I hailed a taxi and went back to Chicago Union Station. Turned out to be the craziest taxi ride of my life. The driver was angry. I asked if he was alright. His answer, "NO- you are only going to train station everyone else is going to the airport! Airport is much bigger fare!".  He was driving 65 mph through the streets and then screeching the brakes at every stop. In my experience the people of Chicago are generally quite polite but when this taxi driver cut them off I found that they do have a quite extensive vocabulary and aren't afraid of expressing their  displeasure by use of an age old finger gesture. After 15 minutes of Hell I finally arrived at the station - not the entrance mind you - but close enough for me to get the hell out of that cab. Geez. The world seems so angry these days.

Chicago Union Station is HUGE - ten city blocks long and it feels a little intimidating at first but with the help of station personnel it's not too challenging to figure out where to go to eat and to relax. Like most things Chicago I like it. The train platforms are all underground and on my way to my roomette on the Lake Shore Limited I saw this private car and stopped to take this photo. The photo isn't much but in taking it my suitcase and backpack fell and and splattered on the platform. The passengers behind me were not amused so as I put my luggage back together I let them go ahead, muttering, "sorry".

As usual I had a marvelous sleeping car attendant and he assisted me with my luggage and directed me to my room. I was surprised at how different the eastern trains (Viewliners) were from the western trains (Double deck Superliners) - the biggest difference? A sink and toilet in the train compartment.

 Again, I slept very well that night. I was on my way to Utica, NY to rent a car and drive to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown  - a place I'd wanted to see since childhood. I was stoked. I can remember in High School telling people that I doubted I'd ever get married but, if I did, it would only to be to a woman who wanted to spend our honeymoon in Cooperstown. It was a joke, of course, but it had a sliver of truth to it.

The photo below is of the dining car on the Viewliner. On the train I am always up early, typically the first passenger to arrive in the dining car - there for my coffee and the view.

April 17

The Lake Shore Limited is a more scenic train than I had anticipated. It hugs Lake Erie and I enjoyed every minute. 

Here is a photo of Buffalo, New York or, "Dirty Old Buffalo" as the great musician and my friend, Gurf Morlix, calls it in one of his terrific songs. It looks like I always thought Buffalo would look - frigid.

Yep! That's snow on the ground! And more was coming. I arrived around noon in Utica on Easter Sunday. No taxis around so I sent for an Uber to take me to my Motel. The driver arrived, it was sunny, and it was only a 5 minute drive to the Best Western.  By the time we got there the ground was covered with hail. That was an omen.

I walked through the slush over to a nearby restaurant and had a fine dinner. I returned to my room and went to bed fairly early because I was renting a car at 8:00 AM the following day and meeting my buddy Tom Thrash at the Baseball Hall of Fame around 10:00 AM.

APRIL 18

I awoke at 4:00 AM to a  storm alert on my phone. A big red STORM WARNING. The next day 12-16 inches of flipping SNOW was supposed to fall. Road closures were predicted. I was supposed to be in Cooperstown for the next two nights. Yikes! (I didn't actually say yikes- just FYI - I used another word). After living in the snow for 30 years of my life the last thing I wanted was to have to deal with THAT - in a car rental - 3000 miles from home.

So, what to do?

I waited until 6 AM and, casting polite behavior to the wind, and because he's such a good dude, I texted Tom and asked him to give me a call when he awoke. Tom had also reserved a room in Cooperstown and I figured he would have an idea of what to do. Five  minutes later I was on the phone with Tom and, yes, he knew exactly what to do. The first thing he made clear was that I was not overreacting. Indeed, a big storm was on the way. In fact, he was already planning on not staying in Cooperstown in order to avoid the mess that was surely coming. Thanks to his insight, savvy and kindness we came up with a plan. I would grab my luggage, check out of the Best Western, and get a ride to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Tom would drive the several hours to meet me. We would spend the day at the Hall and then Tom, out of the goodness of his heart, would get me the heck out of there, take me to Poughkeepsie where I could catch the train for my next stop - the Big Apple.  It was kind of a genius plan. So, after a very enjoyable ride to Cooperstown through some quite beautiful upstate New York countryside, I met Tom and, after all these years of dreaming about it, we went to the HALL OF FAME!

Look, I know social media stinks and is responsible for much needless angst and stress and plain meanness in the world but my Twitter account allowed me to meet my friend Tom Thrash.  Let's see...what is Tom interested in? Baseball (a fellow SABR guy), nature, National Parks, history and trains. Anyone you  know who likes similar things? It's uncanny, isn't it? We really are, in many ways, two peas in a pod.  And, let me tell ya, we had a damn fine time at the Hall of Fame. Here is the old man with the first group of inductees.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊: Honus Wagner, Grover Cleveland Alexander, Tris Speaker, Nap Lajoie, George Sisler, Walter Johnson 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓: Eddie Collins, Babe Ruth, Connie Mack, Cy Young. Not pictured: Mathewson (sadly deceased), Cobb (tardy!).

Yes,. it does appear as if I am sitting in Connie Mack's lap - he was a gentleman and wouldn't say a word.

Speaking of gentlemen. Here's Tom's photo with the first class. Smarter than me he's sitting between Connie and the Bambino.

Pictures don't really do the Hall justice - it is a pilgrimage that all baseball lovers should make. I know, if I stay upright long enough, that I will return.  Nevertheless, I will offer a few photos for those of you who might find it interesting. The Hall consists of 3 floors - the docents recommend exploring floors two and three before coming back down to number one to see the plaques.  So let's start on the second floor.

The first floor highlight is the Plaque Gallery. I remember hearing the great Tom Seaver talk about how proud he was to have his plaque at the hall and that each time he visited he would run his hand over it - just to make sure it was real. The first photo is my childhood (and adulthood) hero.

Here are a few more plaques - it's just a taste. You should go and see them in person - it was an emotional experience for me. They are vertical photographs and, if you see someone you like, be sure and click to read the entire plaque.

Lastly, here is the statue of the great Buck O'Neil.

After spending several hours in the museum I went to the Gift Shop. As I was checking out the cashier asked, "You staying here in Cooperstown? We are gonna get two feet of snow! I can't believe this is April".  She confirmed my worries. "No," I said, "my buddy is driving me to Poughkeepsie". "Your buddy is smart!" she replied. And so he was. My hero Tom drove me all the way to Poughkeepsie. I got a room a few blocks from the train station and avoided the storm - which was huge and did indeed end up closing roads and was, in general, a huge mess. I am including the following photo -it's not mine (thankfully) that I pulled off the internet from a resident of Cooperstown to give you an idea of what happened and how Tom saved my behind from dealing with that wintry drama.

The following photo was taken from my hotel room in Poughkeepsie and I never thought I'd be so happy to be in Poughkeepsie, NY - but, I was, I was. Whew! Now I would spend an extra night in New York City but, hey, I could handle that! What a relief it was to be out of that crazy weather. I am so grateful to Tom for helping me - and I knew in a few days I was headed south to The Big Easy on Amtrak's Crescent and warmer weather.

April 19

It was chilly and windy in Poughkeepsie and I went to the Station which was old and drafty and beautiful.

Here is a view from the platform.

The ride on Amtrak's Empire Service was uneventful to New York City and, of course, the minute I got off the train the New York experience hit me - full force. How I love and have loved that city. There was so much to do and see and it had been ten years. My hotel was adjacent to Penn Station  and Madison Square Garden. I know not everyone agrees but I think New York City is magnificent. Here are two views from my 33rd floor hotel room. 

My first night I had a wonderful dinner at Uncle Jack's Steakhouse on 9th Avenue. It was a bit cold - no snow - and so I walked around for awhile just taking in the perfect madness and rush of the Big Apple.  It took me awhile to get it together and get my bearings. It had been awhile and, to use a surfing metaphor,  you have to ride  NYC like a big wave - it takes a while to stand up on the board and be comfortable when you return. And then, unlike any other city I know, once you do catch your balance, you will go for the ride of your life. There is no place I have ever been that's like it.

April 20

I woke up and leisurely walked up to Times Square and the TKTS booth. I was hoping to see American Buffalo with Laurence Fishburne and Sam Rockwell. I got to Times Square about an hour before the booth opened and already there was a long, serpentine line for tickets. That was OK - it was a nippy but sunny day and it felt so good to just feel New York. After some searching,  I found the end of the ticket booth line. I heard someone yelling behind me, "SIR! SIR! HEY! HELLO! THAT IS NOT THE END OF THE LINE! - THE END IS OVER THERE". Hmmm, it seemed like someone was yelling at ME. I looked around and the people in front of me pointed to another spot. It was only a few feet away but I had clearly committed a major TKTS faux pas. I moved to the REAL end of the line and a young woman who had observed the entire episode turned around and with a twinkle in her eye said, "Well, I'll guess you'll never make that mistake again!" We both laughed and rolled our eyes. Oh, you fabulous New Yorkers. Embarrass me one moment and let me know that's it's all OK in the next - such is my favorite city.

I was able to score the tickets for American Buffalo and it was even better than I'd hoped. Sam Rockwell is probably my favorite actor these days. He was utterly brilliant. It had been awhile since I'd seen a show on Broadway and now I gotta hurry back.

The next day was devoted entirely to the New York Mets and baseball in the Big Apple.

April 21

I was up early to eat a hotel breakfast and then take the Number 7 train to Long Island. When I arrived at Hudson Yards station (the steepest incline in NYC) - the first stop on the line - I was the only passenger. An empty NYC train was an odd experience. It wouldn't stay empty for long. We rolled along and picked up Met fans all along the line until the train was FULL of folks in Mets gear.

It was, for me, another cold day but setting my eyes upon Citifield changed all that. It is magnificent. I am a Dodgers fan but I love the New York Mets and Tom Seaver has  been a lifelong favorite and was a fellow USC Trojan.  His statute is perfect- and captures his style, competitiveness and unique pitching motion - the drop and drive - extraordinarily well.

Mets fans are a serious and baseball savvy bunch and they follow the game intensely. No selfies or the wave or arriving in the third inning or leaving after the seventh inning. Some west coast fans could learn from them.

A trip highlight happened just before the game started as the players came out to warm up. I saw the Mets first baseman  Pete Alonso - a fine player come trotting out and just then a young boy - maybe 8 years old - yanking his mother by the hand came flying down the stairs next to me and ran to the railing while shouting in a perfect New York accent, "OH MY GAWD! IT'S PETE ALAAAAAWNZO!". It absolutely cracked me up and reminded me of every child who has ever fallen in love with a baseball player and finally gets to see them for the first time in person. It always feels like a miracle. My GAWD, I loved that little boy and baseball and all the feelings it engenders.

One last night in New York. 

I couldn't sleep so I walked around Hell's Kitchen already missing New York and not having left it yet. Got back to my room and made a melancholy photo while lying in bed. As I grow older each visit to a place I love makes me a bit sentimental and I always wonder...will I be back?

April 22

Up and at 'em. I walked across the street to Moynihan Train Hall. It was time to take the Crescent all the way to New Orleans. At last - some warm weather!

We rolled out  of New York and my sleeping car attendant wasn't too helpful. Apparently her beau was also on the train so let's just say she was scarce. The spring weather was uplifting as we passed over the Delaware River near Trenton, NJ and Philadelphia and nearby environs.

We picked up speed nearing Baltimore and I clocked the train going 107 mph (there's an app for that called Speedbox).

We slowed down here to cross the Susquehanna River.

I was deeply interested in the next part of my journey. While I am a regular New Orleans visitor I had never seen  much of what is considered the "Deep South" other than a visit to Atlanta. As a music nut, and a Delta Blues fan,  I had always wanted to travel to Memphis and to see the Mississippi Delta. Moreover, the view from the train often captures a kind of hardscrabble point of view of America - after all, people of means don't usually live too close to the tracks or in a hobo jungle. I wasn't going to get a glossed over chamber of commerce version of the South. As a California man I had lots of stereotypes in my head...just what would my experience be like? One guy on social media said for me to "watch my back".  Yeah. OK. I thought at the time that was  a racist comment - and still do.  The Delta is approximately 85% African American.

In the meantime...the view from my window on the Crescent was mesmerizing.  Here are some photos near DC and Baltimore.

I fell asleep in Virginia.

April 23

And woke up in Georgia.

The next several hours I had my nose glued to the window taking in the sights. As a man of the West I have become somewhat snobbish about the great outdoors. However, I must say that there is some true scenic splendor in Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi that  I did not anticipate and brought on my favorite feeling while in nature - a feeling of awe. I hope you enjoy the photos.  Here is Alabama:

And my first glimpses of Mississippi.

The photo just above struck me somehow. It is of Meridian, MS the hometown of the great Jimmie Rodgers or as he was affectionately known, the "Singing Brakeman." I envisioned old Jimmy working out there on that particular part of the railroad while dreaming of making music. Regardless, for me it is an evocative photo reminiscent of the past and, oddly,  perhaps my favorite of the trip.

We arrived in New Orleans late due to freight train interference which is a ongoing and regular problem with passenger train travel in the United States.  If you are an Amtrak traveler you know just what I'm talking about.

Finally, around 9:00 PM I was in the Crescent City. It was a heavenly 79F!

April 24

My day in the Big Easy.  I woke up and walked to the French QuarterFest. It was hot and steamy and so very welcome. I went to the Chevron stage near Jax Brewery along the River to listen to Cajun Music.  As usual in New Orleans it was a party. I often think about the notion that we should let go of the past and stop worrying about the future and focus on the NOW (and try to live accordingly). That viewpoint seems to be the philosophy of New Orleans which is a major reason why it is and will remain one of my favorite places on earth. It's a gas.

What a fine day I had!

After hours of listening to terrific music and chatting with some locals, I ate a delicious gumbo dinner and went back to my room. I got sick to my stomach afterwards and figured it was a passing thing. It was not and would plague me off and on for the rest of the trip and then for a few weeks after I got home - it was a particularly virulent stomach bug (good news -after many doctor visits and tests I am better now!).

The next day I was up early to find my brick at the WWII Museum and then make my way to the train station to ride the City of New Orleans train to Memphis.

Several years ago I made a donation to the WWII Memorial in DC in my relative's names for its construction and for the construction of the WWII Museum in New Orleans.  One of the donation opportunities was to fund a brick to be placed outside the museum  - and I visited the museum several times after I purchased it but never actually looked for it - until this trip.  I didn't have time to explore the museum again but wanted to find that darn brick- the docent located it on the computer and gave me a map and, indeed, I found it. I am proud of ALL who served but in particular my 3 uncles - W.A. (Shorty) Hubbard, Bill Hubbard and Edward Poppe.  Each of them served in the Army Air Force and my Uncle Shorty flew 35 missions over Italy, France, Belgium and Germany. He  was severely injured as a tail-gunner on a B-17. I am a bit of a WWII historian as a result of my family's influence and service.

Speaking of inspirational people - there is a modest monument to Anne Frank at the Museum and she has been a personal hero to me for as long as I can remember. When I became a high school drama teacher I couldn't wait to direct my own production of "The Diary of Anne Frank"- it remains one of the poignant stories of my life and one of my proudest moments as an educator.

After that short visit I jumped on my next train which is only a few blocks from the museum. I was unprepared for how scenic the initial section of the City of New Orleans train was as it moved north through the bayou country and into Mississippi. The sleeping car attendant caught me staring, slightly agog, and said, "Oh yeah...I see you. I know I should be working but sometimes I just have to stop and look out the window too. Some days I count the alligators. Counted 50 once".

 The clouds rolled in as we got closer to my destination of Memphis and the rain fell - very hard at times - and it was dark and beautiful and made my little roomette even cozier.

 The train arrived in Memphis about 11:00 PM and I was excited to see that my hotel - the Central Station Memphis was adjacent to the tracks. How convenient. I had been receiving  confirming emails from the hotel for a few weeks and it looked great.

Looks can be deceiving.

When I arrived the young lady at the front desk informed me that there was no record of my reservation. I showed her my confirmation number and emails. She said, "Sorry, sir,  I have no record of a reservation and we have no rooms" and smiled. That awful smile. It was 11:00 PM and I explained I was tired and none of this made sense and she said, "Call booking.com" - and then, because I didn't leave, she called her supervisor. After several minutes trying to get the phone number for Booking.com I spoke to someone overseas who said, "Oh, they have to find you a room. We will ring them".  Finally, the hotel front desk had another person arrive to help - a sympathetic and evidently more experienced  employee. She winked and said, "don't worry...we will figure this out." Finally I started to relax a bit until the first employee hung up the phone with her supervisor and said, "DON'T EVER USE A THIRD PARTY. That's your problem."

She then sighed - a huge sigh - and started punching the keys of her computer and then gave me a key to a room - a suite because, "that's all we have". 

April 25

Wow. What a mess. It was now midnight. I was supposed to get my car rental at 8:30.  I got into the room - took a shower and tried to relax -nope - still too wound up by the reservation drama - couldn't sleep - all night. Still, I was thrilled about renting a car and driving through the Mississippi Delta and exploring the home of so many of my musical heroes. How curious and interested I was about my next adventure.

At 7:00 AM I went down to the hotel restaurant, ate a veggie omelette,  and then called Enterprise car rental who said they would send someone to the hotel to pick me up at 8:30. I gathered all my luggage and walked outside. It was a nice morning. I waited and no one arrived.  At 8:45 I called back and someone said, "we are on our way".  At 9:15 I called again and was told, "Sir, we are having a challenge getting you a car".  I can't remember precisely what I said but was later told that the guy expected me to yell and that I remained calm and told them I had no place to go and needed a car and that  they were to come pick me up and I would wait in their office for a car and didn't give a damn how long it took. So far, Memphis had not been exactly a welcoming place. They sent someone for me.

My grumpy strategy evidently worked and I believe they got tired of my pouting geezer face because within two hours I had a car. It wasn't exactly pretty but it was a car.

Fired up, I jumped in and, of course it was on E, but I got 'er filled up and went directly to Stax Museum.

After spending about 10 minutes inside I thought, "Hey, did I get all my luggage from the Car Rental place?" As soon as I had that thought I received a call from "Enterprise - Memphis".

Hello, Dr. Hubbard? Yes, I know - I'll be right over...

I gathered the suitcase I left behind at the rental agency and decided to get out of Memphis. Soon, windows rolled down in the sticky springtime Mississippi heat, I was driving south on legendary Highway 61.

First Stop - Tunica, Mississippi.

I took my sweet time driving down to Clarksdale. My first stop was to visit Roger Stolle and his fabulous Blues store Cathead. He was as kind and friendly and knowledgeable as expected. If you are a Blues fan and make a pilgrimage to the Delta like me - I strongly encourage you to to make Cathead your first stop. Your mind will be full of ideas about what and who to see and where to go...and you'll walk out and feel like you're going back in time to an earlier era. Right next to Cathead is an old Rexall sign...how many years since I'd seen one of those? 30? 40?

From Cathead I drove to my spot to sleep the next few nights - the famed Shack Up Inn. It was my kind of place. Here was my bit of shangri-la. I was in the "Caddy-Shack".

I sat outside at the shack with a cold drink and meditated and read and relaxed and felt that cool Delta breeze on my forehead. I immersed myself in the feeling of the place. It did feel just as I supposed it would. The problem is that as I imagined it long ago there was too much pain to contemplate. Still, I was grateful to finally be in the place I'd dreamed of seeing my entire life. 

APRIL 26

Slept beautifully and was up early and off to the crossroads. Yep. Those crossroads.

I wandered around and ended up at the Delta Blues Museum.

I had dinner at Abe's back at the crossroads and tried one of their tamales. Sometimes we Westerners don't realize that tamales are eaten in the South - there is even a "tamale trail". It wasn't too bad although eating it with saltines seemed pretty darn weird.

April 27

I spent most of the day exploring the Delta with a visit to the Grammy Museum in Cleveland, MS which is right across the street from Delta State University and in the same town as the Martin & Sue King Railroad Museum.  Everyone that day was extraordinarily kind and helpful and generous with their advice and time. Southern hospitality is a real thing.

On my way back to my room at the Shack Up Inn I stopped and made a few photos of the old Hopson Plantation which is adjacent to the Shack Up and the surrounding area.

April 28

The next day I made a leisurely drive to Memphis to spend the day at the National Civil Rights Museum and the Lorraine Motel where MLK was assassinated. I also wanted to see the Blues Hall of Fame Museum (of which I am a member).  In my life - one leader towers above all the others in my estimation - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. His philosophy of non-violence, patience and kindness and love have inspired me my entire life. Thus, it was a deeply emotional experience to see the very place where the world lost him. My breath left me and I had to walk away from other people and gather myself upon witnessing it. In my life I have never seen another site that brought so much sadness for our country and "what might have been". I have not been to Dealey Plaza - perhaps it will have the same impact.

Here are a few other photos I made. I took too many and didn't like any. In candor, I struggled with the fact that this was the place chosen for the Civil Rights Museum - until I saw that Coretta King had agreed to make it so. If she thought it was fine then who am I to doubt it? It is a place that every American should see.

Leaving the Museum was bittersweet but I know I'll be back - hopefully with my grandchildren.

I have been a member of the Blues Foundation for many years. Their museum is located in Memphis directly across the street from the Civil Rights Museum. When I arrived and shared my membership card one of the docents jumped up from her chair and said, "WELCOME We have been waiting for you!".  It was too sweet and, of course, I loved  it.

Here is - no kidding - Muddy Water's guitar. 😲

Soon it was back to the train station and the City of New Orleans on our return trip to Chicago.

April 29

The ride to Chicago and back to the cold weather was uneventful on the City of New Orleans although I had oddly stopped being hungry and, trust me, that it is highly unusual for me. Nevertheless, Arlo Guthrie's version of Steve Goodman's classic song, "City of New Orleans" song was stuck - as it should be - in my head and on repeat. And look! Here is Kankakee! Followed by a few other photos I enjoyed making and that made me hum... "Good Morning, America- how are ya?"

That night in Chicago, despite not having much of an appetite, I walked down the street to the Berghoff and had a Root Beer and a few bites of German food. When I got back to my room at the Central Loop Hotel I checked my Amtrak ticket on my phone and it said, "service disruption". That is trainspeak for, "you are screwed -the train isn't running". I called Amtrak and the agent said, "well, maybe you're getting that information before we are, which often happens,  but it looks like your train is still running".  That was encouraging - or not. I slept fitfully. I was ready to get on the Southwest Chief and come home - it had been almost 3 weeks.

April 30

"Service disruption" no longer was displayed across my iPhone Amtrak ticket. Thank goodness. I took a taxi to the splendid Chicago Union Station. It's really quite a place. Unlike airports (yuck) there is plenty of room to spread out and walk and sit and relax without other people around. There is also no TSA theater where they do things like take away your 6 oz sunscreen because you know... well, actually I don't know. 

I got on the train for long trip home.  It was beautiful ride - the Southwest Chief is a gem.  I was also enthusiastic about going through my father's home town - La Junta, CO on the train where, in the early 1950's, he got on the "El Capitan" and came to Los Angeles and met my mom. 

Unfortunately, my stomach issues really kicked in and I wasn't able to enjoy the trip as much I'd hoped. Still - I was able to make a few photos and I hope you enjoy them and they give you a sense of what riding on "the Chief" is like.

May 1

We were reaching Colorado and I was able to take a few photos of the place where my dad grew up. I will return this September, in my little Mazda, and visit the graves of my grandparents and Uncle and my last remaining Colorado family who live in Pueblo. The photo below is the "old" train station in La Junta - did my dad walk out those doors? Buy a ticket from that window? Wait outside for the train right here?

These photos are all in New Mexico - the next day I'd wake up in California.

May 2

My trip was originally supposed to include a stop in Kansas City - due to Amtrak staffing shortages that part of the trip had to be eliminated - I was bummed at the time but it actually worked out OK. By the time I hit California I was pretty sick from that nasty (and long lasting!) stomach bug. It felt good to be home. And, let's face it, I love California.

What a journey. Of course, a blog post and these photos don't do it justice -if I had the creativity and energy of a younger version of myself I might be tempted to write a short story or novel about it. As it is these words and photos will have to suffice. I can't imagine taking another trip similar to this length on the train - it might happen but I doubt I'd do it solo. Maybe if you came along?

The big Western train I didn't take was the famed California Zephyr - I'll make up for that this autumn. I'll also visit Kansas City when I visit Colorado late this summer while  on my Bob Dylan Center and and family ancestry pilgrimage.

This was a long post because, well, it was a long trip. I truly appreciate you reading and allowing me to share. Connecting with people has always meant a lot to me and, after retiring several years ago, I lost my ability to do much of that. Except with you - and for that I'll be forever grateful - and when I say much love to my friends and readers I mean MUCH love to each of you.

May this summer be the best of your life. Thanks again.

Let me leave you with lyrics from a favorite Dylan song that has inspired me these many years and that I thought of often on my once in a lifetime cross country train trip.

  "Let me Die in my Footsteps".

Let me drink from the waters where the mountain streams flood
Let the smell of wildflowers flow free through my blood
Let me sleep in your meadows with the green grassy leaves
Let me walk down the highway with my brother in peace
Let me die in my footsteps
Before I go down under the ground

Go out in your country where the land meets the sun
See the craters and the canyons where the waterfalls run
Nevada, New Mexico, Arizona, Idaho
Let every state in this union seep down deep in your souls
And you’ll die in your footsteps
Before you go down under the ground.

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

This getting older is an interesting ride, isn't it? The years have certainly simplified things for me. Today I'm 20 years sober. I am grateful for my sobriety and the clarity it has brought me. In my youth, I was, sadly, very confused regarding what was truly important. Then, after retirement and a breathtaking and heartbreaking injustice, I had to re-calibrate everything. Many days I just wanted to go away for good. I can't tell you how low I was because it was an exhausting trial every day just to continue to live. I felt utterly useless and desperately despondent. Fortunately, I did have a wonderful shrink who said to me, "Well, Doc, you tried to change the world. How'd that work out for ya? Maybe you should simplify and just change yourself." She also suggested for me to do things that "soothed" me, reminded me that all things are temporary, and to just hang on.

It became clear to me that two things, besides my beautiful family, might soothe me and help me to make it through the days. One of those was music. The other was nature (part 2 is coming). I have been a music addict since birth (My mother claims that she listened to Calypso music daily while she was pregnant with me in an effort to make me a music lover - evidently it worked). I have been a Bob Dylan fanatic since about 1965 when I was 8 and my cousin Staci played, "Blowing in the Wind" for me. I was also hugely influenced by my blind Uncle Edgar who, in the cool of the evening in his tiny apartment in Southgate, California in the 1960's would put Jimmie Rodgers on his old record player and listen to him yodel and sing songs about trains. He was definitely "soothed" by that and so was I. The songs made my uncle's sadness just vanish. As a result of these particular influences (and growing up the 1960's when AM radio was great) I have been a lifetime lover of American Roots music and the Blues - it's now often called "Americana" and a group called simply, "The Band" epitomized it in many ways.

15-20 years ago I discovered a fellow with the same last name whose music really spoke to me. It's rootsy and swampy and bluesy and the lyrics are witty and hit me right in the heart. He may be best known for "Redneck Mother" and "Snake Farm" and those are certainly fun songs but hardly capture the particular genius of Ray Wylie Hubbard. I could write paragraphs with my recommendations of his albums but couldn't tell you my favorite - there are too many. Occasionally people ask if Ray and I are related and I always say, "Not that I am aware but we do appear to be brothers from another mother". His new album, "Co-Starring Too" has gotten rave reviews and is zooming up the Americana charts so it's an easy place to start if you're just now hearing of him. Email me if you want to know more.

I started following many of my favorite artists on social media and one day while I was out on a walk I got a notification on my phone that Ray Wylie Hubbard had followed me back. Well, lemme tell ya - that was a kick. Then in August 2020 I was lamenting the fact that while I had been sober for 18 years the pandemic sometimes made me feel like drinking again. I then received - in my private messages - a message from Ray which said, "Old timer told me once: "no matter how bad it gets, taking a drink will make it worse. ODAT".

For the un-initiated ODAT means - one day at a time. I was blown away to have the man himself, a fellow friend of Bill W., send me such a kind and meaningful message. I responded and hoped to one day meet my friend in person. That actually happened last December in Las Vegas. Ray was playing at the Golden Nugget and I sent him a message and asked if I could get a picture. To my surprise and delight he said OK. The show was marvelous - I've been attending concerts for many, many years and I cannot recall another where the musical artist connected so easily and deeply to his audience. Ray was humorous and friendly and the crowd adored him.

After the show I was told to wait near the exit and sure enough a gentleman came up to me and asked, "You Doc Hubbard? Ray says for you to come on back." I went back stage and Ray was talking to some people but his son Lucas and drummer Kyle Schneider came right up and asked me how I was doing. They were so damn nice. Then Ray came over and said hello and, you'd think at my age this wouldn't happen, but I got tongue tied and a bit star struck. This, to me, was a really big deal. Dammit! How was Ray gonna know how cool I am? Still... Ray was great and couldn't have been more welcoming and kind-hearted and personable. I managed to mumble something about how much I loved his music. I wanted to be respectful of his time and so asked someone nearby to take our photo so I wouldn't be too much of a bother. Check this out:

Can you believe it? That is me and Ray! We said our goodbyes and off he went - me?  Still on Cloud 9, I  wandered around Las Vegas in a bit of a stupor... it was such a pleasure to meet a man I respect so much for making some of the best music on the planet and being my brother in sobriety. I'm still over the moon that it happened.

Now, go listen to, "Mother Blues" and "South of the River" or "Conversation with the Devil" and tell me what you think...

My 65th year on the planet started fabulously. For many years I have wanted to be with my family in my favorite desert place - Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It was a dream that, candidly as the years have gone on, I wondered would come true. And while my daughter was stuck in Corvallis amid the omicron variant mess, my boys, their wives,  my grandchildren and Lupe were all able to join me. It was a slice of heaven! My only wish is that we could have spent more time out in that glorious green desert. I have decided that, for the foreseeable future, I'll be spending at least two weeks every January in the Sonoran desert. So...who knows - maybe we will be able to do it again. And why don't you too come out to visit?!

 Also in January I got  a new iMac computer which I needed. Sadly and ironically, I lost much of my music library on Apple Music making the transition from PCs to Apple and was told just yesterday by a "senior advisor" that, "Sometimes at Apple we can't  solve everyone's problem".  Wow. I could  spend hours writing about how technology has plagued me for the last few years but that is NOT the point of this post - I mean if we want to hear complaining we can just go on social media, right? Suffice it to say - you know how much I love music - and this has been a setback - fortunately, there are lots of choices for music streaming out there - and I prefer the ones where I can hear Neil Young and Joni Mitchell. My road trip playlists will carry on! Enough complaining...

As I mentioned my daughter Lilly wasn't able to join us in the desert so I decided to drive to her in Corvallis. She is in her junior year at Oregon State and is doing beautifully. I couldn't be more proud. The only problem - and it's a serious one - is I miss her like Hell. So, I drove up and we went to a basketball game and hung out - she showed me around town and it was fantastic.

The weather, as expected, was chilly. I did bring the camera and made a few photos. Here is Mt. Shasta from Highway 5.

I decided to take the coast road home. It rained from Newport to Gold Beach. I was, as always, stunned by the beauty of the Oregon coastline.

Here is the Heceta Head Lighthouse from a distance.

The next day I drove to Fort Bragg and, when I got to California, the sun broke through the clouds - just for me.

Just last week I made my last desert trek of this winter at Anza Borrego. Marty and Dell joined me and it was a kick - until I hit a rut at speed in my truck and ripped off the bumper out in Blair Valley. But, hey, if you're gonna off road... it's all part of the deal.

Here are my two buddies Dell and Marty - for a couple of city slickers they're not too bad. I can't wait until we do it again.

Thanks, as always, for coming along. Next up is my dream trip - a cross country train trip on Amtrak. I'll be on 8 trains and passing through more than half the states in the USA.  As the years dwindle in my life I'm trying to get in as much travel as I can while I am healthy. I do love it so. I'll be making big stops in Chicago, Cooperstown (Baseball Hall of Fame), NYC, New Orleans, Memphis, and Clarksdale MS (Mississippi Blues Trail). I can't wait to tell you all about it. 

Much love and best wishes to all who read these words. May 2022 be a beautiful year for each of you.