We’re almost at the end of February and for whatever reason this year February in the North County of San Diego seems particularly wonderful. It’s 8 AM and we are about to get in the car and drive to Phoenix but in typical fashion I am ready and raring to go a full 45 minutes before our scheduled departure. Buddy is off with his doggy pals at daycare either wondering when we’ll come back or wondering why he isn’t at home or perhaps not wondering at all about anything. I somehow think that Buddy has it right in that you have to just go with the flow and enjoy the day and who you’re with and leave it at that.
I’ve decided (and Kim seems not to care) that since we are coming back through Palm Springs on Sunday in order to have lunch with my friend Steven and his crew, we should not follow the GPS indication to go to Phoenix via Rt. 10 through Palm Springs. Rt. 10, which is a main L.A. artery is all about trucks, and while some of that route’s scenery is lovely, the truck weaving is a big distraction. So instead, we will take the southerly route on Rt. 8 that heads due east from San Diego and winds its way through the Cleveland National Forest, dips down to flirt along the Mexican border, takes you through the Jacumba Wilderness out to Yuma and eventually Gila Bend. The names alone make the route exciting. But in addition, a recent visit to the model railroad museum in Balboa Park taught me that this route was one of the toughest for the transcontinental railroad when those beasts were cutting their way from east to west in the late Nineteenth Century. What was treacherous terrain 150 years ago is magnificent highway today.
I’m a big consumer of Audible books on tape (digital variety), so I used the ride to listen to Wager, the story of a seafaring adventure in the Eighteenth Century of a British naval group trying to follow Drake and Magellan around Cape Horn. It’s a grizzly tale not unlike that of Endeavor and the adventures of Shackleton, and it seems only fitting to listen to it while crossing the desert and in anticipation of being at Cape Horn in a few weeks. Somehow the 100 foot waves of the great Southern Ocean worked for me through the lonely Southwestern wilderness heading to Phoenix, rising from the ashes.
We decided to stop for lunch in Yuma and were expecting standard road fare. But downtown Yuma was in the grip of a Barbecue street festival and it was impossible to park or even navigate the surroundings without committing more time than we had. So Kim found online a bistro called the River Cafe on the outskirts of this old cow town. It looked barely acceptable, but we stopped anyway. Much to our surprise, it was a lovely and quite hip spot that offered great food and very modest prices. The menu was both Southwestern and yet not doughy with Fry Bread. The Blackened Chicken, salad, curried hummus and fresh black beans and rice were as good as we’ve ever had. We almost hated to leave the place when we were done. But there was more desert to cross and half of the Phoenix sprawl to traverse, so we went on our way and found the Martin Auto Museum right where it was supposed to be on Thunderbird Road.
For a city that had 100 days of over-100-degree weather last summer, Phoenix was very pleasantly mild in the mid 70s. The blue skies and clear late February air we had felt on our hilltop had continued throughout our ride into the desert and was still nice as we sat in the parking lot at the museum, wondering when we should go in for our event. We were there for a book launch and while we didn’t know too many of the local attendees, the museum itself was interesting with its pristine and shiny vintage cars dating back to 1886, but emphasizing the American heavy metal muscle cars of 1930-1965. My favorite was the black Tucker from 1947 that was featured in the movie of the same name and which launched many of the automotive innovations we all benefit from today. Our author friend Steve had his yellow McClaren on the floor and his better half, Maggie, was running around making sure the Argentine buffet was all that it could be. We shared a nice few hours at the event and headed out with friends Mark & Jeanne to their home in Carefree for an early evening after a long but seasonally soothing day on the road.
We will breakfast with our gracious hosts and hit Rt. 10 back towards Palm Springs with the hope that Sunday truck traffic is less severe due to the Sabbath. We will be meeting my friends at their golf club, which is how Palm Springs (technically La Quinta) rolls. I have no lingering interest in golf, as I have previously noted, but a nice golf clubhouse lunch on a sunny, mild day when no vapor misters are needed and outdoor dining is at a premium, is anything but a hardship. Where our Phoenix event was amongst gearhead motorcycle buddies, our La Quinta lunch will be about New York business friends. Both friends are Stevens, strangely enough. My La Quinta pal will have his father with him (visiting from Florida), which will add a seasons-of-life dimension to the gathering. Phoenix Steven had his daughters present for a similar inter generational span.
After lunch we will take the familiar and always fun Rt.74 up over the San Jacinto mountains to our side of California. We will drive through Aguanga where my Bison sculpture was forged, and then the Temecula Valley with all its wineries. Our last stop will be for Buddy, who will be thrilled to get back to a place where he can regain his dominance and can get back to misbehaving like he so enjoys.
This was a long way to drive for a weekend but it was all worthwhile. Embracing the season with all its sunny coolness and engaging our friendships with all their sunny warmth, made it a weekend well spent on all levels.