Father's Day Offensive 2015-Deck Mania

The old back deck had turned rickety and hostile.  One wrong move and you might get it.

Right between the toes.

It has been a situation of agitation for me since we first moved in four years ago.  I have actually tossed in a half dozen planks to replace some of the really bad ones.  Dry rot, especially at the ends, and loose screws everywhere, abounded.  It was time for the old wood to go and for the joists, if palpable, to sprout new planks like wings.  Or something like that.

Prior to getting hip deep in a brutal tear off assault, I first had to contend with, quite gingerly I might add, a delicate propane contusion situation type disorder thing.  You see, old Homeboy, the previous owner, was a gassy kind of guy.  I mean, he dealt in propane.  He loved all things gas.  So he ran a line run from under the house to the outside corner of the deck for the BBQ.  Which is fine I suppose if you BBQ every single day.  But every single day is not a holiday and some days the weather can be cold and inclement around here.  Some days we just wanna have a salad, know what I mean? 

I probably would have left it all alone 'cept there was this six inch flange contusion that protruded beyond the deck.  Right at the corner.  Somehow in the last four years no one has been shinned on it, but it was only a matter of time.

First I turned off the gas.  Yes, I want to ultimately demolish the deck, but not at the expense of blowing half the house up too.  Next I removed two rows of decking to get access to the gassy lollapalooza.  Then I proceeded to try and undo the fittings.   Both the top and side protrusions you see above were rusted tight, they wouldn't budge.  But then as I added just a touch more oomph, magically, the entire twenty foot line started coming undone at the juncture under house.  The place I was going to have to ultimately go and undo, only I thought it would be easier by removing all the odd angled crap at the other end first.  Go figure.  That saved me a whole lot of time and trouble.  Then I went and bought a six inch extension to replace the removed falderal and it's all now tucked nicely under the house.  No one should ever get shinned on that.

Then it was time for the all out demo assault.  Bazookas.  Machine guns.  Machetes.  I was taking no prisoners.  During the blitz I encountered three different types of screw heads.  And nails.  Crafty, sinister bastards.  All required different weaponry to remove, but I was up to the task.  And then, at one point, when I was hip deep in crocodiles and barracudas, a good friend dropped by.  Ahhhhhhhhhhh, reinforcements!

He saw the sweat on my brow and generously waded in to battle.  Two AARP ex-hippies gettin her done, slashing, whacking and biting.  The old lumber never had a chance.  Of course, neither one of us could move that night, but stories will be told of our heroic exploits that day.  That's for sure.

Once the tear off was complete, I removed any remaining hardware from old 2x4's.  Three one gallon buckets of metal were ultimately removed.  Then I stacked the better lumber which will be deployed later this summer for the tree house.  Re-purpose Re-purpose Re-purpose.

Complete tear off took a day and a half, then I took stock of the joists.  All of them were relatively sound, but most of them had suffered pretty fair dry rot along the tops.

The main problem with the old deck was that home boy did not leave any space between his top deck planks.  Typically you should have a 1/8-1/4 inch gap between each board, allowing for water to run off, down, through and away.  When they're solid the water will sit and the wood will start dry rotting, especially at the ends.  Even though it was redwood decking, homie had painted it over and essentially shit showed the entire bonanza beyond recognition.

Fortunately there is a way to deal with dry rot at the top.  It's called "sistering" the joist.  Or at least that's what we called it.  Basically you just nail or screw another board along the joist for whatever length you need.  Then screw the top plank into that instead of the dry rotted joist next to it.  Since I wanted a pretty solid screw line, I ran a sister the entire length of each joist.  I simply re-purposed some of the old deck 2x6's, the cost was nil.  If you're paying for the sister, then it would make sense to keep her in line with just the dry rotted section of the joist, which might only be a foot or two.

Once the entire under belly was solid, I treated it with a wood preservative.  That was completed on Thursday, allowing a couple days for the oil to sink in and the smell to dissipate before our fabulous son in law and grandson would be up to help install the new.     

The first thing we did Saturday morning was cover the joists.  Yeah, I preserved them, but I definitely don't want to go there again.  Not in this life time.  They make plastic snap on type covers and they also make a roll on.  Sort of like deodorant, only different.  There's a 4 inch wide roll, which would cover a sistered joist quite nicely.  Based on my figures, I would have needed two rolls.

There was also a 9 inch wide roll for about $5.00 more than the 4 inch roll.  I figured that would cover twice the amount of sistered joists and I would only need one roll, which would save me about $30 bucks.  It's called math.  It comes in handy some times.

The joist tape cut very cleanly with an exacta knife and attached quite easily with a staple gun.  An hour in and we were ready to start planking.

 

What did I choose for my plank material?  Redwood.  Basic redwood.  After looking at the pros and cons of all the happy horseshit non wood "maintenance free" products, I opted for the basic.  It'll last, as long as I splash a coat of water seal on it every year or two.

Look, Homie installed a "Maintenance Free" ironwood deck in front.  Only I have to splash some oil on it every year.  Which doesn't sound "maintenance free" to me.   And ironwood is a lot more expensive than redwood.  So I figured if I already have to annually maintain the front deck what's a couple extra hours to maintain the rear?

I once lived at a house that had trex deck.  That stuff absorbs the oil off a Dorito.  Drop a Dorito crumb and you end up with a Dorito oil stain on the deck.  Have a big party with the appropriate amount of alcohol and your deck is going to get chip besotted, spotted and stained.  Then you're going to have to refinish the entire thing with little corn chip chips so it all looks even.  Who wants to do that?

The first couple rows of redwood 2x6 planks took a little time.  One had to be notched to allow for some PVC, and a couple others needed to be sliced to allow for access to the house water line.  But once those were set we were ready to rock and roll.  My fabulous son in law took the helm, and assisted by our amazing grandson they tacked down the ends on all the wood I fed them.

Since the length of the deck was 20 feet I had ordered the appropriate amount of 12 footers and the appropriate amount of 8 footers to fill the original deck footprint.  How did I do this?  I counted the boards.
By ordering 8 and 12 footers, I was able to leave only two nice, clean seam lines.  Most decks have seams that are willy nilly everywhere, like old Homie did.  Not so here, now.

We did the big section first, then the little after deck off the dining room.  It was a full day of fun and frolic, and our amazing 8 year old grandson stayed in the game the entire way.  Most 8 year olds would have hung out for about ten minutes, then ran off to play.  Not so here.

He not only hung, he helped with the not so fun grunt stuff for most of the day.  His reward?  Once all the pieces were in place I started about fifty screws for him to finish off.

Sunday was a play day, but Monday I got another box of uber fabulous star red screws, which blend with redwood quite nicely, and spent the rest of the day trimming the edges and screwing off.  The deck that is.  Not the rest of the day.

A couple days later I addressed the deck long step issue, and with a little snap sizzle I was able to put it all together.  A little shimmy here, a little shammy there.  Once again, in the heat of battle, photos go by the wayside.  But here are a few of the finished product.

Next up will be the Front Fence Offensive.  All the 4x4's and T-Posts are in, having dug holes and pounded them in while the hard clay ground was still rain moist and malleable.  But there's a lot of wire and a couple gates left to do.  Small tomatoes. 

The next couple blog posts will be about a recent excursion my lovely wife and I made along the Northern California coast.   They will be chalk full of things you probably never knew existed.

My second book is just about half way complete.  I hope to have that available on Amazon later this fall, really really later in fall.  Probably early winter, actually.  Or maybe some time next year.  Anybody got a couple spare ten seconds they can lend me? 

My first book, as always, is still available on Amazon.com.

Happy Spring Y'all.

Father's Day Offensive, 2015-Battle of the Lattice

It was a dark and blustery December afternoon.  Rain was actually falling here in Northern California and lightening was crackling periodically through the dark grey skies.  The wind whistled and howled.

Hunched over pages of graph paper with hundreds of linear, lateral and horizontal lines filled with trapezoids and octogons, I sighed as the fire cackled.  I wasn't sure if that was on the natch or if it really was laughing at me.

I looked up from the massive mess of geometric design and decided the fire was behaving itself.  How could it know what I was thinking, anyway?  Then I looked at my lovely wife and asked, hesitantly, "You want this when?"

A lightening bolt pierced the marauding sky.

The last time I was involved in a major home remodeling offensive was when we first bought this place.  New paint, floors, appliances, fixtures.  It was a howling battle, I lost fifteen pounds during the eight week melee. 

Then there was the time at the last house we owned.  There was something about the living room and family room that just wasn't sitting right, like the furniture, the walls and the floors, so my lovely wife decided four weeks before Christmas they needed to be remodeled.  We had company coming.

It was a blitzkrieg, an all hands on deck ten bells to the stern bow tree frog sort of thing.  Somehow I managed to accomplish it all.  Of course, professionals did the flooring, but I did all the demolition and painting.

The demo on that one was an all out brawl.  Dividing the entry way and the living room was a waist high 2'x4' brick planter.  It was the first thing you encountered when you entered the house.  My lovely wife wanted that gone.

The old brick planter hadn't seen a plant in a while.  A mirror had graced it's top since before we arrived on the scene, a mirror that would have been a big draw back in the eighties.  If you know what I mean.  Since it was made of prized used brick, I originally thought I would just tap tap tap them out with a rubber mallet so that I could reuse them later.  After a few tap tap taps with nothing at all moving, I figured it was going to take me a couple years to bang the thing into submission.  I didn't have that kind of time.  So I opted for a larger, more imposing eight pound sledge hammer.  Instead of tap tap tap I went wham wham wham.  Shards of brick and mortar flew, and dust rose from the battle scene like smoke from an alcoholic bachelor's old burning sofa.

By the way, a word of caution.  If you are taking an eight pound sledge hammer to task INSIDE of a house, best to make sure all your nice, fragile stuff is tucked away and covered.  Or, as in my case, the room was bereft of everything, including old carpeting.  Oh yeah, remember to paint AFTER your demo, not before.

When nightmares of my last major offensive had subsided, I learned the upcoming deadline for the current blitz was on June 20th.  I had a little time this time, The Father's Day 2015 offensive was underway!

A brazen attack was the only way I saw possible for this old man to accomplish the mission laid out before him.  Holy cow.  Most folks would need an army, but this Major Kernal is going to endeavor to try to accomplish the insane.  Inanely on his own.  It's been done before, why not give it a go one more time?  While I'm still young.

The Father's Day Offensive is going to be a ten prong exterior improvement attack near in and around this old homestead.  The old dry rotted deck needs replacing, the retaining wall needs some dressing, another retaining wall must be built, drip irrigation installed, a courtyard designed and outfitted, a clothesline erected, a short privacy fence built and then some form of drought resistant ground cover that's easy on the toes needs to be planted. 

This whole bag of tricks will also include a couple hundred foot long 8 foot high fence across the front of the property, as well as a solar powered remote controlled driveway gate.  That part of the project is courtesy of Bambi and her vegetation decimating ilk.  Yeah, those flea infested varmints, them dang doe eyed deer.

Bah.

Prior to much of this, however, a pretty hefty pre-landscape bombardment of dropping trees and moving lumber needed to fly.  Thank goodness I had one of my able and strong nephews lending a hand for much of that hefty heavy stuff.

A couple of the oaks, which were dying, were up at the top of the property.  Fifty footers with lots of branches.  The most direct route down to the firewood staging area was dropping them on to the future back lawn area.  Why not take them down before and spare the hassle of repairing divots the size of an accordion later? 

The other area required a couple oaks come down prior to the fencing going up.  Makes sense to drop the trees now, before the fence is up rather than drop the trees and the fence at the same time later.  Know what I mean?

I also had to run another sortie during my initial attack.  I needed to run about 100 feet of PVC under the future "lawn" area.  This will allow me to set up three strategically placed hose bibs.  Those will, of course, allow me to run a hose from those locations.  However, I am going to primarily use them to set up timed drip water systems.

Ole Stupid over to the plumbing supply place what threw away my diagram when he should have been making sprinkler plans motivated me to change my mind.  Screw him.  I decided to make five or six zoned drip systems instead. And guess what, I'm buying all my supplies anywhere but at his store.

My nephew and I did the trenching and the PVC is in as well as hose bibs.  It went well, primarily because my nephew did most all the trenching.  We ran the underground line, then I went back later to install the angles, bibs and run the line to the top.  This is a summertime only draw and will be shut off during winter and colder months.  I am not concerned about top side exposure.

Next up was this.  mess.  below.

That old retaining wall right there used to surround (on two sides) an above ground pool.  I cornered it off with some wire fencing and have used it as a garden and nursery for the last couple years. 

From the house and deck vantage points, you could see the old pump house as well as Bernadette, our newer rain water basin.  Since the old retaining wall partially hides a few of these essential but eyesore necessities and it is still in good condition, I decided to add a little razzle dazzle to the existing wall.  To that end, I mustered some of this lumber and deployed as necessary.

First I added eight foot redwood 4x4's to every other existing retaining wall post.  I did this by first drilling holes all the way through the 4x4.  Then I attached the 4x4 to the post by ratcheting in 2-seven inch lag bolts.  The process looked a lot like this:

Once the posts were in I made lattice frames with 2x4's nailed in at the top and then screwed in at the bottom.  Once those were in I attached the lattice.  Sorry, sometimes when I really get involved in battle it's hard to stop and take extenuating photographs.  All you're left with is the finished product!

I'm not quite finished.  I still need to attach arbor arms at the corner, plus I am still waiting on the redwood 2x2's from the lumber store.  Those will go four out across the top to help add a little definition between the horizontal and vertical.  Eventually both the lattice and arbor will be covered with some sort of fragrant, flowering vine.

The garden and nursery will soon be moved out from behind their protective fence.  This will be done when the front fence is complete.  I have already dug 15 post holes by hand that I will need for the front 4x4's.  I  also spray painted the initial coat of paint on the 24 or so T-posts I will be pounding in on the other side of the drive.  Basic black will look a little bit better than agricultural red.  Or green. 

A lesser part of the driveway gate phase will be the delivery box I need to make that will sit on the property but outside the gate.  This way FEDEX and UPS won't have to contact us, they can just drop stuff off.  Unless, of course, it's a wild animal from Borneo or something.  Then we'll probably need to be home.  The box will probably be 2x4' and a couple feet high.  It will be strategically located so as not to be visible from the main road.  Both the new fence and gate locations will allow for unfettered propane delivery as well as a safe, off road turn around locale for the delivery persons. 

Besides digging the post holes while the ground was still somewhat moist and soft, I also pounded in about 20 of those T-Posts this last week.  Just like ducks in a row.  My timing was good, the ground was like butter.  However, it was still work.  I'm beginning to discover this homestead experience is nothing but physical.  Who needs a gym?

I have also done most of  the excavation along the back cliff where the block retaining wall will be going.  Might as well get 'er done while the ground is somewhat soft.  Less work later.  That dirt went over where the other recently erected retaining wall was built.  Apparently when I live on a hill retaining walls seem to sprout up like a white rabbits from a ragout.  Once that is done I can bring all the oak firewood up for final bucking and staging.

When am I going to give me a break? 

Who's idea was this, anyway?

Next up was the old, dry rotting back deck.  It was getting dangerous.

I demo'd that a couple weeks back with the assistance of another aging AARP hippie.  We did the work of a couple twenty year olds that day.  Felt like a couple eighty year olds that night.

That was done next because our fabulous son-in-law, the scientist, wanted to get his carpentry on and help build the new deck when the time came.  And a couple weekends ago was the only time we had available within our conspiring latitudes.  That will all be covered in a forthcoming post.

Once the deck is done I will begin in earnest on the front fencing, as well as shoring up the surrounding existing hillbilly fencing.  Once the perimeter is secure, then I can move the plants out of our future "courtyard" and begin dressing it all up and making it look nice nice. 

Part of that plan is to get rid of the other end of our existing clothes line, that hillbilly looking chin up bar down yonder.

Then I will be installing a regular looking clothesline, a 2 T-Post five line drying bonanza.  And a little privacy fence.  So you won't see our underwear when you drive up.

Very soon I will have forays extending into all intended target areas.  Now if I could only remember my name.


Utah's Place

My lovely wife and I are heading out tomorrow on a little road trip over to the coast.  The first blog post from this excursion will be "The Ft. Bragg You Never Knew."  Guaranteed to be a page turner!

Prior to leaving, however, I was a little flummoxed as to what to do with the bevy of 3 dozen eggs we had on tap.  And, with our flock currently delivering 6 to 8 fresh eggs a day, there appears no end in site.  Until it gets hot.  Then those little fair weather layers will turn to sulking and hanging out in Lake Capon, jabbering and complaining about the heat, and forgetting all about why they are on this planet in the first place.  

So I was listening to our local community radio station, KVMR, this morning on the way home from the dump and they had on a very nice lady who was talking about the donations needed at Utah's Place, our local hospitality house's homeless shelter.  And even though she didn't mention eggs, who the heck doesn't need some farm FRESH eggs?   Especially when they don't even know it.

And that's where they went.

Fowl Update

As I previously mentioned, our flock of ten laying hens is producing 6 to 8 eggs per day, which isn't bad considering 5 of them are entering their third year and theoretically should be laying less.  That's why I've wanted to add a couple three or four chicks every year until I get up to a maximum flock of 20.  That way I should be continually introducing new and productive layers every year.

So "Chick Days" at our local favorite feed store, Ridge Feed and Supply, happened to be on the weekend we worked on the deck, when the grand kids were up.  While the men folk worked on the wood pile, I sent the women folk to the feed store to pick up 2 or 3 chicks.  I mean, how fun can this be for a five year old girl?  And her Mother?  And her Grandmother?  This is what they brought back:

Do you, um, see more than 2 or 3 chicks in there?  Me too.

Moral of the story: send the girls to pick up a couple chicks and they go, "Golly, they sure are cute."

So anyway, we now have 6 chicks in the brooder.  A Gold Lahenvelder, a Wellsummer, A Silver Leghorn, an Australorp, a Silver Wyandotte and a White Rock.  They will blend in very well in a few more months with our other 7 breeds.

Variety, love that spice of life.

Twenty Mule Team Powdered Cleanser

My lovely wife and I recently went on a rather quick, 450 mile road trip from our locale here in the Northern Sierra Nevada Foothills down the back spine of California on Hwy 395.  Final destination: Dante's View, in Death Valley, CA.

You see, one of my cousins left this earthly dimension quite unexpectedly last summer.  Yeah, he went to the hospital with abdominal pain and was gone within a week.  Poof.

I guess he won't be coming to our house for dinner anymore.

He was assaulted by a very aggressive form of pancreatic cancer, leaving his family and many friends more than just a little surrealistically bewildered.  This was a very funny, intelligent and caring man, he was cherished and is missed by many.  His memorial was last October in Oakland, CA, and one of his last wishes was to have his ashes scattered at Dante's View.  Dante's View is at the peak of the Black Mountains and it is considered one of the great photographic and scenic locations in Death Valley.  It was a place he knew and loved, a place with incredible, sweeping views in all directions.

Although quite bitter sweet, it was great to see that side of the family again.  I hadn't seen his widow in several years.  I hadn't seen his three children in several decades, they live out in Michigan and Minnesota.  And I met his grandchildren; young, intelligent, and aspiring.  His influence can be felt and seen within the subsequent generations.  Yeah, his spirit lives on.

It was good to see his brother and sister (and spouses), my only two remaining blood cousins.  Hadn't seen them for about four years.  Ahem.  They only live about forty miles from here, and we had to hook in the middle of the desert, over 450 miles away?  What the?  We all made a pact to see each other more often.  Period.

As to his children, I discovered I must enlighten them as to part of their Norwegian heritage, Lefsa.  It was one of my cousin's favorite edible treats and a family tradition that is definitely necessary to pass along to his kids.

It was a good occasion, we sent him off with love and peace.  I knew it would be good that morning when I woke up and watched the moon set over Mt. Whitney from our motel window.  It was an awesome wink good-bye.

Those are the neon lights of the Dow Villa Motel, in Lone Pine, CA, in the foreground.

The little town of Lone Pine is the gateway to both Mt. Whitney-the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States at 14,497 feet-and Death Valley National Park, with the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere at 282 feet below sea level.  I bet that valley would fill up really fast if a tsunami the size of, say, Milwaukee hit the California coast and pushed inward.  Now that I think about it, the tsunami would probably have to be taller than Milwaukee for this event to happen.  How tall is Milwaukee, anyway? 

Lone Pine is also home to the Alabama Hills, whose unique granite boulders and rock formations have been a backdrop for many Hollywood movies, "standing in" for locations all over the world.

I read on Trip Advisor a number of old actors had stayed at the Dow Villa, so I had an idea a few movies had been filmed around there.  The Dow Villa was built by some guy named Dow back in the 1920's when he noticed a lot of Hollywood was coming to the area.  Scouts, agents, then casts and crews.  Dow built the first accommodations in Lone Pine to serve the burgeoning clientele and industry.

Folks like John Wayne, Roy Rogers, Gene Autrey, Humphrey Bogart and Clint Eastwood have graced the old hotels halls.  At least that's what I read.  We didn't make any reservations though since I wanted to leave our final destination open.  When we arrived in town we drove by the Dow, which looked nice enough, but then we proceeded south to check out all the remaining one motel.

On the way we noticed a film museum and thought it would be great to visit, but we figured there wasn't enough time.  We drove another mile south to the junction with Hwy 136, the route we'd be taking the next morning.  Then we returned, stopping at the very clean cut looking Best Western Lone Pine.  Since there were only a few vehicles in the parking lot, and since it was only 4:00 PM, we figured the "No vacancy" sign in the office window was wrong.  We politely waited while the only person behind the counter talked on the phone for a few minutes.

Kind of like the gal behind the rental car counter who encountered a rather hostile Steve Martin in "Planes, Trains and Automobiles."  Gobble, Gobble.  Only it wasn't Thanksgiving and she was speaking in Spanish.  After she finally got off the phone we discovered there truly was no vacancy.  In English. What the?

We went back to the Dow, quickly, and fortunately we found they had three rooms left.  One in the newer motel and two in the old hotel.  We opted for a room in the expanded motel section rather than stay in the historic hotel because the motel had wifi.  The old hotel did not.  Imagine that.

As we were checking in, we inquired as to "just what the hell was going on in Lone Pine, CA, on March 6th, 2015?"  For crying out loud.

And then we were informed by the desk clerk, as well as the two outdoorsy looking guys that came in after us, that there was a rather famous Trout Derby being held the following day.

OK, so, besides a few movies having been made in the area apparently there were some trout.  Enough trout to sell out all seven of Lone Pine's motels in early March of every year, and enough trout in the area to maintain three very well stocked fishing tackle shops in a town with a population of 2,000.  The Eastern Sierra is, apparently, an angler's fresh water mecca.  It's famous even.  But then you'd have to be a pretty avid angler to know it's famous.  Besides regular type Rainbow and Brook trout, anglers also vie for the coveted Alpers Trout, which won last year's derby with a weight of over 4 1/2 pounds!  For one trout.

What is an Alpers Trout?  Well, first of all, it's NOT a Herb Alpert trout.  It's not going to play any brass musical instruments for you.  So just get that out of your mind.  Basically, an Alpers trout is a hybrid Rainbow, hand-fed and raised in the pure streams and ponds of Alpers Owens River Ranch.  Alpers trout are named after the man who invented them and they are exclusive to the Eastern Sierra. They average 2 to 3 pounds but can weigh as much as 12.  Pounds.  That's getting to be a big fish.  They are prized fresh water trophies sought by anglers everywhere.  But then you'd have to be a pretty avid angler to even know they exist.

So, like, I wanna know what Tim Alpers is feeding these fish besides anabolic steroids.  Fruity Pebbles?

Once we had a brief Derby description, we got our bags in the room, a glass of wine in my lovely wife and then we flew the half mile to the Lone Pine Film History Museum.  It was 4:15PM.  They closed at 5.  Whew.

Let me start by saying, "We. Had. No. I. Dea."

Over 400 movies have been filmed in and around the Lone Pine area.  Naturally there were many old time Westerns, including TV's Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers and Gene Autry.

But then, as we wandered, I began a dialogue with really no one in particular, "No kidding.  Really?  Unbelievable.  This is amazing.  Holy cow.  No fucking shit."  And so on.  And so forth.

Parts of "Tycoon", "High Sierra", "Joe Kidd", and more recently "Django Unchained" and "Iron Man" were filmed there.  Almost all of "Gunga Din".  Oh yeah, parts of a couple "Star Wars" movies too.  Story has it George Lucas was a few Ewoks shy of a full scene one day so he called the Lone Pine Elementary School.  A half dozen first graders became stars that day.  You can't see their faces, but they were there in hood and robe.  Got out of school, made $25 bucks each and got a free lunch.  And are part of a major fun trivia story forever.

The associate director of the museum overheard my lovely wife and I discussing one of the exhibits, some conversation ensued and we soon got a wonderful background glimpse into the museum.  If you're a film buff, this is a must see proposition.  And you've probably never heard of it.  The hundreds of movie posters alone are worth millions.  Costumes, cars, saddles, boots and infinite memorabilia.  It was a hoot.

Our new friend, the associate director, then gave us a map to the Alabama Hills, a fabulously weird area of unique boulders and rock outcroppings.  Oh, did I mention parts of this backdrop have been other-planetary in more than one of the Star Trek movies?

We drove the couple miles west of town to Movie Road, the main route into scenes-ville, but since the road turned to dirt and it was getting dark we ventured no further.  Besides, it was dinner time. 

The Dow Villa is on the edge of the four block main strip of the town that is Lone Pine.  We parked the car in the now full of mostly 4WD pick-ups parking lot and decided to walk to dinner.  We checked in at the front desk for recommendations, and the nice young man mentioned Seasons, Lone Pine's lone higher end restaurant.  Our new friend at the museum also recommended Seasons, so it was unanimous.  

I ordered the special, which was a perfectly grilled New York Steak.  My lovely wife, always the adventurous eater, ordered the elf.  No way, hey, that's a typo.  Who the heck serves ELF for dinner?  And where the heck would they find an edible elf, anyway?  She had ELK, based on our motel clerk's recommendation, and there's plenty of them in them thar hills.  There were even signs along the highway, Watch Out For Elk, they may be your next dinner.  Or something like that.

Actually, I recently learned, just before going to press, that wild game cannot be commercially served.  On a plate anyway.  I learned this from an uncle of my lovely wife who happens to be an avid hunter.  So she partook of a ranch raised elk, probably grown somewhere nearby. And now we know she wasn't eating epicurian road kill.

We strolled back to the old hotel after dinner, and there, in the lobby looked at all the pictures of the Duke, Clint, Bogey, Barry Manilow and others gracing the walls.  I guess they really had graced the Dow Villa's halls back in their day.   It certainly wasn't the Fairmont, or Beverly Wilshire, but it I'll bet it was an oasis to the acting elite back in the day in that inhospitable environment.

After thanking the desk clerk for his fine dinner recommendation, we turned in for the evening.  The next day we spent traversing Death Valley, visiting with family and enjoying the views and vistas as much as we dared.   With everyone shooting off in different directions, the affair split up around 3:00 in the afternoon.  Many were returning to Vegas, where they flew in, about 120 miles away.  One couple was staying in Furnace Creek, and one family, from Minnesota, was off to Disneyland.  After enduring a ridiculously active cold winter in Minnesota I would imagine a couple extra days in California were a great diversion. 

We returned through the spectacular Death Valley the same way we came, only this time we wanted to make it to Bishop, another 60 miles or so north of Lone Pine.  That way the last day of our drive would be a wee bit shorter.  And maybe allow us enough time to visit Bodie, the best preserved ghost town in the west! 

By the way, if you do cruise down Death Valley way it would be prudent to have a full tank of fuel heading in.  There is gas available, but at over $6.00 per gallon it was almost twice what it was in Lone Pine.  If you're just cruising through, bring a lunch.  Rumor has it a turkey sandwich at the Furnace Creek Inn is over $30.  For that price you can get elk in Lone Pine.

Also, if you plan on spending the night at any time on your scenic 395 byway journey, Lone Pine and Bishop are really the only towns I would consider staying in.  The others look, well, Bates Motel scary.

That's a town above.  Population 14.  Either Coleville or Walker.  Actually, Walker amazingly has a population of 782.  Coleville has a population of 495.  I mean, besides ranching and making meth, what on earth would possess an individual to live in the middle of nowhere?  And I mean, NOWHERE.

Granted, isolation is necessary for some individuals, the really eccentric ones, like me.  But I mean, you can be isolated and still live within a few miles of some form of civilization.

Economics?  My mom had no money and managed to get by in a mobile home park in San Diego.  There were a number of small mobile home parks scattered along the scenic byway, but how cheap can it be to live there if you have to drive 50 miles one way for a quart of beer?  And trust me, you'd have to drink a lot of alcohol if you lived out there.

I found the towns socially fascinating and the scenery utterly spectacular all along Highway 395, or the Eastern Sierra Scenic Byway.  The last time I drove that route was around four decades ago, when it was just a two lane highway all the way from here to there.  Most of it now is four lanes, except when you come into towns, and both directions are separated by a wide median much of the time.
 

By the way, the CHP, or California Highway Patrol, was very active all three days we were on the road.  It was of no concern to me, we had planned well and weren't in a rush.  Cruise control at 65 and enjoy the ride!

From here in Grass Valley we found our way to North Shore Lake Tahoe.  From the east shore of the lake we hopped on over Highway 50 East and picked up 395 South in Carson City, Nevada.  It was about a 15 mile slog through fairly heavy traffic until we got through the bedroom communities of Gardnerville and Minden before we finally broke free.  Twenty-one miles later we passed through the vegetation station and we were back in California again.

Forty some miles more, passing through the just plain why the fuck are you living here? towns of Topaz, Coleville and Walker, we arrived at Bridgeport.  We found a place off the highway by an old, historic marker commemorating an old, historic courthouse to stop and eat our brought along lunch.  Left over pizza and an apple.  Yum.

I think Bridgeport had a motel.  And a gas station.  Maybe an old country store.  I mean, these folks are miles from a gallon of milk. 

About twenty miles south of Bridgeport the road turned into four lanes.  Prior to that, it had been two lanes.  However, both directions were well equipped with well spaced passing lanes.  If you didn't want to take advantage of the many dotted line passing opportunities you wouldn't have to shadow a semi too long before a passing lane came along. 

We soon came upon Mono Lake and discovered there was a lot more water in it than there was forty years ago.  Back then there were a lot of stalagmites. Or stalactites.  You know, those weirdly shaped spires jutting up from the ground, or those death spires hanging from the ceiling.  There was actually water in the lake and relatively few whatever they are jutting up.

At the lake's visitor's center we learned an agreement with the Southern California water thieves and the Mono Lake folks had been reached.  The thieves are taking less water.  Mono Lake will never return to its original state, but through the compromise it is slowly regaining some of its luster.

Dotted all along the route were residential domiciles.  From your essential Cousin Eddie three wheel single wide decaying shanty to very fine Cartwright Bonanza ranch style homes, they were prevalent everywhere.

On the other side of the highway from Mono lake is the back door to Yosemite, Highway 120, which is usually closed in winter, which it was.  We had actually been toying with returning that way.

As you might imagine, the western views from the highway were almost magical.

As we proceeded south it began to look like a haven for beef ranchers.  Or elk ranchers.  Herds dotted the panoramic valley with the stark eastern mountains looming in the background.  We then started into the Owens River Valley, which actually looks like it, too, has recovered some from its darkest, man made water thieves drought stricken days.  By the way, if you are not familiar with SoCal's infamous water grab in the earlier part of the last century, here's a little bit of information:

"The California Water Wars were a series of conflicts between the city of Los Angeles and farmers and ranchers in the Owens Valley of Eastern California. As Los Angeles grew in the late 1800s, it started to outgrow its water supply. Fred Eaton, mayor of Los Angeles, realized that water could flow from Owens Valley to Los Angeles via an aqueduct. The aqueduct construction was overseen by William Mulholland and was finished in 1913. The water rights were acquired through political fighting and, as described by one author, "chicanery, subterfuge ... and a strategy of lies.

By the 1920s, so much water was diverted from the Owens Valley that agriculture became difficult. This led to the farmers trying to destroy the aqueduct in 1924. Los Angeles prevailed and kept the water flowing. By 1926, Owens Lake at the bottom of Owens Valley, was completely dry due to water diversion.

The water needs of Los Angeles kept growing. In 1941, Los Angeles diverted water that previously fed Mono Lake, north of Owens Valley, into the aqueduct. Mono Lake's ecosystem for migrating birds was threatened by dropping water levels. Between 1979 and 1994, David Gaines and the Mono Lake Committee engaged in litigation with Los Angeles. The litigation forced Los Angeles to stop diverting water from around Mono Lake, which has started to rise back to a level that can support its ecosystem.

In 1991, Inyo County and the city of Los Angeles signed the Inyo-Los Angeles Long Term Water Agreement, which required that groundwater pumping be managed to avoid significant impacts while providing a reliable water supply for Los Angeles. In 1997, Inyo County, Los Angeles, the Owens Valley Committee, the Sierra Club, and other concerned parties signed a Memorandum of Understanding that specified terms by which the lower Owens River would be re-watered by June 2003 as partial mitigation for damage to the Owens Valley."

Ever see the movie "Chinatown?"

Hint: It has nothing to do with China.

The further south we went in the Owens Valley the more it seemed like I had seen some of the country before.  I felt like Julie Andrews could approach from the west, which looked like the Alps, at any time, lilting a lovely tune. 

From the East, a starker and darker mountain scene, I felt like Rory Calhoun or a band of Apaches could swoop on in on horseback at any time.  Then it would be time to circle the car.  Or turn the car in circles. Whichever would have been appropriate.  When we got into the film museum I discovered why parts of the journey seemed so deja vu.  I had sub-consciously seen the background scenes we were driving past a hundred times.  Or more.

Death Valley, too, was truly remarkable.  There were incredible vistas from every foot of the drive in on Hwy 136.   I would like to have spent another day or two in the area, but, alas, time prevailed.  At least the main event, the reason we all assembled from all over the country, was accomplished with humor and grace.  Much like the man we were commemorating.

We got into Bishop about dusk, or 6:00 PM, whichever is greater.  There were infinitely more motels in Bishop then there were in Lone Pine.  OK, at least five more.  We ended up staying at the Best Western Bishop Lodge.  Both motels we stayed in, by the way, were comfortable, CLEAN establishments.

The town of Bishop is on the back side of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks.  As a matter of fact, Highway 168 heading west out of Bishop is the only eastern approach available by car towards the park.  Highway 168 was also the road our dinner destination lay on, the Bishop Burger Barn.

Referred to the place by our ever loving daughter, a burger queen, we found the ambiance to be, well, downright funky.  Totally our kind of place.

The drive up and walk up window are the same and all seating is outdoors.  It made for a coolish evening dining experience, but we brought out a blanket from the car which helped immensely.  The burger was great, as were the onion rings and fries.  Highly recommend it if you're passing through.  And like burgers.

The drive out was a little disconcerting until we actually got there.  The Burger Barn is a couple miles off Hwy 395, the beaten track.  I thought most all the commercial whatever establishments would have been on or close to the main drag.  We made a right at the light per the desk clerk's instructions and headed out into the darkness, away from the bright lights of downtown.  I was beginning to think the kinda weird young desk clerk with no future in Bishop was leading us out into the wilderness where a crony would steal our hub caps.  Yeah, a mail order hub cap business maybe could fly in Bishop.  Other than that you're ranching or making meth.  Or checking people in at midnight. 

Bishop holds the formidable distinction of being "The Mule Capital of the World" and actually holds an annual week long festival celebrating pack mules.  Other than that, the main draw of Bishop, population 3,879, has to be for the outdoorsy experience type people.  There are a lot of motels for a town that otherwise really doesn't have much of a draw itself.  Besides fishing, and mules, apparently there are a lot of rock climbers in the area too.  Or at least that inhabit the Burger Barn.  The guy in front of us ordering was a climber.  Or so he was saying.  The two guys at the table next to us were climbers too.  Or so they were saying.  And then I read some promo literature when we got back to the motel.  It's a climber's mecca.

The next day we hit the road after a fairly decent motel breakfast.  You know, waffles, sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, muffins, fruit, juice, all that.  I had coffee.  I can't eat breakfast.  I'm still digesting dinner.

The drive north was just as spectacular as the drive south, only the Sierras were on the left instead of the right.  And Mono Lake was on the right instead of the left.  Stuff like that.  Just north of Mono Lake, on the east side of the highway, lies Bodie, an original gold mining "ghost" town from the late 1800's, frozen in time.

The road to Bodie can also be closed in winter, but we were happy to find it was open.  No snow.  We passed the open gate on a finely paved road and imagined how it would have been to traverse the rough and rocky terrain on a horse, or stagecoach.  We also tried to imagine what the hell William Bodie was doing in the MIDDLE OF FUCKING NO WHERE to eventually discover gold and draw ten thousand more seekers to no where land.  And I mean NO WHERE.  There's not even a lamp post.  Or an elevator.

Ten miles in we gave up the ghost, so to speak.  The road turned to dirt the last three miles.  We were in our touring car, which does not do dirt.  Not three miles of it.  That's my car, it was at home.  So, keep this in mind.  If you want to go see Bodie do it in your truck.  Or a nice rental car that you feel comfortable destroying.

We tucked our head between our tail and headed home.  A continued nice drive through our lovely back yard high mountain terrain, past Lake Tahoe and back to reality.  Which is nice to leave every once in a while.

If you live out here in California or Nevada, The Eastern Sierra Scenic Byway is a drive you really don't want to miss.  I was totally unaware.  It is amazing. It is inspiring.

If you're an angler there's another reason to go.  You need an Alpers Trout above your mantle.

If you're a film buff you need to go.  You need to visit the Lone Pine Film Museum and the Alabama Hills.  You'll appreciate it more if you're over fifty, by the way.  Sixty even more.  The Hopalong Cassidy exhibit is epic.  Anyone under thirty ever hear of ol' Hoppy?

If you simply love unbelievably glorious, majestic scenery, it's a fabulous jaunt and contains all the elements for an excellent road trip.  If you're on a budget, campgrounds abound.

My cousin could not have chosen a more magnificent location for his send off, and the adventurous journey to and fro was an unexpected, exemplary treat.  Thanks for the gift Cuz, who knows if we ever would have made that drive without your final wish.  Happy trails, we'll catch up with ya 'round the next bend.

Gettin Old

The other day a couple of months or so ago I was out with the boys.  Out with the boys?  My son and son-in-law, plus my grandson.   A few decades ago out with the boys would have meant I was running errands with a few of my homeys, no doubt misbehaving and exploring the limits of alcohol and other ethereal substance consumption.  There are glorious, hallowed stories that could fill a shelf.  I almost remember some of them. 

All us fellas were out picking up a wood dining set my son had purchased on Craig's List.   It was around the holidays and I think we needed to get out of the house and do some guy stuff.  Like flex our muscles and pick up some furniture.  Eat beef jerky and tell third grade jokes.  You know, guy stuff.

My son went in the house and did the deal while the other three of us waited respectfully outside.  After the money exchanged hands it was time to get the oak set into my son's truck.  A little bit of this and a little bit of that and the table and six chairs were almost in the back of his truck and tied down.  Around this time the former table owner came out of his house to inspect our handy work.

Some chit chat ensued and then the former table owner inquired, "Is this set for the older gentleman?" referring to me.

WTF?

Granted, I hadn't said much.  I had carried out a chair or two, but I left the heavy stuff to the younger generation.  At 60 I've earned that right.  I've moved a lot of stuff.  Heavy stuff too.

My hair isn't totally grey.  It's salt and pepper, a little more salt than pepper, but it's still got some pepper.  I'm in pretty decent shape.  I can do a sit-up.  And a push up.  I can still converse.  I'm reasonably articulate.  I wasn't drooling.  I can still answer a direct question and do not need to be referred to in the third person.  Yet. 

WTF.

I'm a San Francisco Giants baseball fan.  I have been since 1962.  I'm also a Grateful Dead fan.  Have been since, uh, well, I can't rightly remember.  It's quite possible I was stoned the first time I saw them.  What decade was that, anyway?

When a T-Shirt appeared combining these two wonderful by lines of my life it was a natural fit for me.

So I was wearing my T-shirt a couple summers ago when a guy I would put in his mid-40's happened upon me in a grocery store.

"Wow, great shirt," he said, nodding in affirmation and pointing at me, "I was there.  I was there too."

"Like what, when you were two?" I was thinking.

He was getting excited, you know, like maybe he was having a flashback or something.  And then he turned, calling to his son, "Hey, Jimmie, come here.  Check out this old timer's shirt."

What The Fuck.

I will turn 61 later this year.  I sure don't feel like I'm going to be 61, at least mentally.  I'm locked in somewhere in my early 30's, and when I see folks with grey hair I think they are old.  Then I look in the mirror.  I see way graying hair and I see my father's neck when he was gettin old.  Damn.  What the hell happened?

My poor, old, tired, used and abused body, that certainly feels much older than the early 30's.  Of course, when my appendix burst last October, that also knocked the wind out of me.  I'm still not quite up to 100%.  I keep on thinking I am, then I really push and my body says nope.  Stop.  Cut it out.  I'm still within my three to six month recovery window, so hopefully I'll grow out of it.  If not, then, I guess I will have to accept that little slice for life permanently slowed my roll a bit. 

Sigh.

How do I feel about gettin old?  Melancholy mostly.  Now that I'm on the downhill side of things it means there's less time to laugh and love here on the planet.  And I so don't want to leave my children and grandchildren with a heartache, which I know I'm bound to do.  Sorry gang.  

They make pills for boners now.  I'm hoping somebody develops a pill soon for that other type of longevity savored by man, you know, life.

On the positive side, I had a vision that I am going to peak at eighty, so I got that going for me.  And them.  Some folks peak in high school, I'm gonna peak when I'm a real dirty old man.  Plus I just figured out what it is I'm supposed to be doing with my life, I should be allowed to do that for a little while.   

Actually, I never thought I'd live past forty.  See "Late Night Letters to the Moon".  There were at least three times I should have bought the farm before that tender young age, but somehow I survived.  Lucky me.  Lucky you.  If I wasn't here, how the heck could you possibly be so mindlessly entertained at this particular juncture in time?

I'm not afraid of "death" either.  I've already danced in the bright white lights, it was ecstatic.  Or maybe that was the acid.  Whatever.  However I got to where ever I was I found it to be profoundly limitless.  And unbelievably euphoric.  There's more than a few dimensions out there, enough room for a wastrel like me to bump, grind and shine for eternity.  Probably enough room for you too.  We'll surely get down when the time is right.  

You know, there's not a whole heck of a lot of stuff I urgently want or need to do, no bucket list per say.  I am happy to be here, on this planet, breathing.  I want to be here with my family and friends, to share in their stories and further exploits.  Don't need to climb a mountain.  Don't need to jump out of a plane.  I wouldn't mind a little more travel, it's a pretty big planet.  See and experience a few more worldly treasures.  There's eternity for the rest of the universe.

I like to witness my lovely wife when her face lights up looking at a work of art in a museum.  That makes my heart sing.  The laughter of my kids, my grand kids.  That'll make my heart sing.  A great tune will always make me think that this is More Than Just a Dream.

Snow capped vistas, high mountain meadows, cool, clear meandering streams.  The piercing cry of a hawk on the wing.  The melodic tune of the Canadian Geese as they traverse their ancient course on high.  A pristine sunset.  Or sunrise.  The purr of a cat, the wag of a dog. The clean, fresh smell of the earth after a rain.  Cookies.  These are a few of my raindrops on roses.

I first kinda knew I was getting old back in my early forties.  It was another place in time, around the corner, up the bend.  It was around the holidays, I was out on our acreage looking for mistletoe.  The twenty acres we lived on was scattered with oak, many of which also harbored that parasite, mistletoe.  I found one with a huge patch that looked accessible and began my ascent.

I have climbed a lot of trees in my time.  That's one of the best things ever for a young boy to do.  I'm not that afraid of heights and my target was probably only twenty five feet in the air.  But as soon as I got myself contorted into the initial bowel of the lowest branches, I found I could not un-contort in a plausible fashion as to further my ascent.  I was able to descend, fortunately, which I did.  It's called jumping.  Four feet on to soft dirt.  Then I went back to the house to get the .22 rifle.  Upon my return to the tree, I banged off a half dozen shots where mistletoe met oak.  The mistletoe fell, defeated, and I ended up with a wheel barrow full of the stuff.  So, you know, now I can add "Mr. Mistletoe Hunter" to my resume.

There was a time in my life when I was actually trying to look older.  That would have been back in the high school era trying to score beer.  Somewhere along the line I found an old dress suit, probably at the Good Will or Salvation Army.  I had also scored a greying fake mustache at a costume shop.  Sporting that stash with the old, ill-fitting suit and tie, and further emboldened by some of my mother's talcum powder splashed on hair and sideburns, a few of us tried the ruse.  I don't think it ever worked once.

A funny, underage, youthful scoring story:  One of my best buddies and I were waiting in line overnight for some George Harrison tickets.  Ya, this was in the days before the internet.  Jobs, Woz and Gates were still tinkering in their garages.  For really big shows, sometimes it was necessary to wait in line overnight at the ticket outlet to ensure tickets.

We, of course, brought some beer.  But silly us, we probably thought at some point we might actually put our bodies into our sleeping bags and close our eyes.  Nope.  This was becoming an all nighter.  So somewhere around 3:00 AM Miguel and I went off in his jalopy in search of some hops.  We found a 24 hour convenience store, went in and tossed a couple six packs on the counter.  $1.29 each.  The checker, a recent transplant from New York, rang us up.  We paid and were on our way.  Sort of.

We walked out and jumped in his car.  Mind you, we were both decently buzzed with at least a six pack, if not more, each, under our belts.  As soon as we sat down in his car there came a knock knock knock on my passenger window.  Probably on his too.  I looked over and saw the cop's badge.  What the?  Where'd they come from?  There was one of them at each door and they ever so politely ushered us out of the car.

"What's in the bag, boys?" one of them asked, taking the bag out of my hands.

"Uh, beer?" I think maybe I might have said.

"Let's go back in the store and sort this out," one of them said.

So back in we went.  New York was dismayed.  Being a recent transplant he wasn't used to California law which forbade commercial alcohol sales from 2:00 to 6:00 AM every morning.  And that seemed to be the only thing on the cops docket that morning.

We laughed and joked with them as they ran New York through the ringer.  My friend Miguel asking at one point, "Hey, are those bullets real?"

The final upshot of the entire deal was that the store was in trouble for selling alcohol during the forbidden hours.  The cops NEVER looked at our IDs.  Otherwise they would have known we were both under 21.  New York even asked us that, off the cuff, during the procedure.  We lied and said of course we were of age.

The cops didn't give us a drunk test either.  We were, apparently, funny golden boys.  We weren't allowed to take our ill purchased beer with us, so we lost a couple bucks there.  But considering what could have transpired I think we were pretty damn lucky.  We certainly would have lost our place in line, that's for sure. Fortunately we still had a few beers left in the ice chest when we got back.  That allowed us a cool down period before we actually slept for a while.

The George Harrison concert at the Cow Palace in San Francisco in 1974 was excellent by the way.  In case you weren't there. 

One thing I have found as I get older is there seems to be more story reminiscing than story creating.  You know, like, I'm not going to spend the night in line for concert tickets anymore.  I don't care who's playing.   And I doubt I'll be going mistletoe hunting again either.

Life seems to be slowing down a little.  Invitations to weddings have dwindled, while obligations to funerals have been on the rise.  At this rate I'm going to know more people in hell than I will here on the planet.

By the way, I don't believe in hell as far as an after life is concerned.  That is of our own personal creation here on this planet, in this dimension.  Been there, done that.  Heaven, in case you're interested, is not a mythical paradise in the sky possibly accessible sometime in the future.  It's a real paradise in your heart.  Accessible now. 

I've discovered a few other things along my life's journey here.  Discovery seems to happen if you're open, honest, receptive and alive long enough so that enough repetitions of whatever it is smacking you upside the head sometimes allows for some semblance of understanding to sink into your soul.  That and buttermilk.  

As I previously mentioned, I have also recently discovered, with complete abandon, what it is that I am supposed to be doing with my life.  This, writing.  Being whimsically silly.  I've always written as a hobby and being silly has always been kind of a full time preoccupation.  They combine so naturally for me, just like my T-Shirt.  As long as I stay crazy and my fingers stay in shape, I should be able to doodle for a long time to come.  Another major benefit of my chosen golden age career, I don't have to climb any trees to do it.

Homestead Update 

Things are just rollicking along here on the hill.  Speaking of trees, Tarzan, our tree guy, was out just yesterday.  One of the things he did was to complete the view by slicing off a big branch from the last large oak in front.  That action also required the rope swing to be elevated another 10-12 feet, now making the overall fall about 40 feet.  It might be possible to go supersonic once I get the seat back on.

That cut should also allow us to view sunsets unobstructed all year long.

One thing I have noticed is every time I get that dang guy out here he leaves me an almost insurmountable mess.  I've probably got about 3-4 cords of wood on the ground right now, all over the place.  That means brushing, burning, bucking, hauling, splitting, and stacking, thousands of pounds overall.  Who needs a gym?

Besides all that wickedly fun stuff, I have also embarked on a number of major exterior improvement projects that must be completed by mid June.  Here's a pile of stuff I'm going to deploy over the next couple months.

Ambitious?  Hell yeah.  But, as I've been saying since we got here, I need to get all this heavy stuff done while I'm still young.