Le dernier blog du voyage

At the risk of being accused of blogorrhea I am making one last entry for this trip.
I am so glad I chose the route I did to return, even though it was slightly longer. I made it home in three days, putting 1,700 miles behind me. The forecast storm started at Emporia, Kansas, about two hours south of KC. The snow wasn't sticking but it sure was blowing! One of the scariest experiences in this weather is driving at 65 mph when a semi passes you, creating a wake of blinding snow behind it, leaving you with zero visibility. Yikes! Just after I left Amarillo this morning I encountered a fog as thick as pea soup. It lasted for about a hundred miles. That was a bit scary, too. I know I didn't miss anything interesting scenically -- the Texas Panhandle is about as exciting as plain oatmeal. Oklahoma is edenic by comparison. To be honest, I am not all that fond of long road trips. I could have flown to Phoenix and rented a car (as I have done several times before) but there is a lot I would have missed. This great land of ours is so vast and so varied. Despite the long hours behind the wheel it was worth it to experience the immensity and diversity of just this one small part of the American continent. Record cold is predicted now for much of the country. The snow on my deck is three feet deep, no doubt left over from the last storm. I can conjure up the memory of California sunshine and palm trees and of the Arizona desert to warm myself.

Homeward Bound

The plan was to return to the Midwest via the scenic route, through Utah and Colorado, but due to the ominous weather forecast I opted for a more southerly path to take me home. When I left LA it was in the 70's with palm trees swaying in the light breeze. Well, you can kiss that goodbye, I thought. It was below zero in KC last night. Driving east to the edge of LA on the San Bernardino Freeway I then turned onto the I 15 headed north. With the increase in altitude came drastic changes in the vegetation. I was going to cross the Mojave Desert. It was mountainous, but everything was brown and it was sandy, not a trace of a living thing. It was one of the most desolate landscapes I had ever seen. And possibly the ugliest. Yet there are a few settlements here, places like Victorville and Hesperia. At the town of Barstow I turned east again and entered the desert. Barstow is a god-forsaken pit. Why anyone would want to live in such a place is beyond me. The desert proper turned out to be quite wonderful, in an austere kind of way. It must be brutal in the summer. I stopped for lunch in the town Ludlow, or better said, what remains of the town -- and it ain't much. It used to be a mining town. Now it consists of a service station (surprisingly ultra modern), a café and an assortment of abandoned buildings. The food and service were good in the café. It was like being in a time warp. I crossed into Arizona again, this time through the northern tier. Just before Flagstaff the road reached its highest point at 7,500 feet. This higher altitude is covered with thick forests. The Grand Canyon is just north of here. I had been there before and didn't wish to take the time now to see it again (maybe some other time...) The only stretch of my incoming route that I am re-tracing is that from Holbrook to Albuquerque. I don't mind driving this route again as it is really splendid scenery. The sun is shining and there is only light traffic, which means I can zip along at a steady 75 mph. Between Albuquerque and the Texas border the mountains gradually disappear. It's back in the High Plains again. I wanted to avoid Texas, but I find myself in Amarillo. On approaching the city limits there was a strong odor of cow dung, eau de merde de vache. The weather report for tomorrow is alarming as I will be driving into a snow storm. But the allure of sleeping in my own bed impels me ever forward.

Malibu

Malibu -- the very name is exotic and conjures up images of well-secluded beach houses and movie stars gliding about incognito. I had a few hours before the party and decided to take a drive north up the coast, on the Pacific Coast Highway. I had never been to Malibu and, after driving all this way, I just had to see the ocean. I found access to the shore from a stairway that went down from the road. The pic is of cormorants and pelikans hanging out on a rock; the other pic is facing north. Malibu and the surrounding area are really beautiful. Part of it is on a narrow strip of land that runs between the shore and the cliffs, the rest is perched on the hillside. I passed the campus of Pepperdine University with its rather spectacular view of the ocean. Returning, I drove through Malibu Canyon Road, a dramatic, narrow winding road through arid, rugged mountains. Coming out the other side the vegetation changed again (California is like that), becoming lush and green. There was plenty of grass here, as well as many eucalyptus trees. California may be enchantingly beautiful, but that is not enough to entice me to live here and deal with its many problems.

To the Pacific

Approaching the Los Angeles area the traffic gets thicker and the roads ever wider. It is a maze of roads all packed with vehicles day and night. Eric's Birthday Bash took place at the 'Arbeter Ring', or Workman's Circle, where he works. It is a venerable institution that was originally founded to help Jewish immigrants find their way in America but it has now lost its purpose. There was great (vegetarian) food and a Klezmer dance band -- a lovely party. Eric had asked me to write a piece for him in commemoration of his 65th birthday and I obliged him with a piano piece. I played it at the end of the program and was genuinely surprised at the warm reception it got from those present. Ironically, Eric is the person who got me composing in the first place. What better present could I have given him?

Palm Springs

When I originally made my plans to visit Phoenix I didn't know that there was going to be a Birthday Bash for one of my oldest and dearest friends, Eric Gordon, in Los Angeles on the 3rd of January. It was a stroke of good fortune that it happened to be the most convenient day for me to be there. After driving all the way to Arizona, what was another six and a half hours? The drive due west from Phoenix continues through the mountainous desert. One wonders how any town can exist in the bone dry environment, but there are a number of them. I stopped for lunch in Palm Springs, meeting a colleague from the Conservatory there. I had been in PS before. It's a beautiful place though I hear it is rather dull. It has been warming up with daytime temps now in the 70's. How lovely it was to walk about in shirtsleeves, basking in the warm sun. I snapped this quick pic of some street or other, adorned with the ubiquitous palms.

A Musical Treat (?)

My cousin suggested we go to a place called The Organ Stop Pizzeria in Mesa. It was described as a pizza restaurant with live organ music. It is so popular that it is advised to go early to avoid the long lines. Well, I'm game for just about anything. The place was pretty big. We ordered our pizza (which was very good, by the way). At four-thirty exactly the sound of organ music drifted up from somewhere. At the front of the place a huge (and I mean HUGE) Wurlitzer organ rose from the depths, on a rotating stage. Holy Cow! It was the gaudiest, ugliest monstrosity I have ever seen. And it was LOUD! This four-manual baby has every bell and whistle (quite literally) ever invented. While the music blared away there was a kind of light show. At the same time hanging glass panels danced in the breeze from the mass of pipes that was displayed behind them. This is not the kind of music that interests me at all. After the novelty of the situation wore off (ten minutes) I was bored with the spectacle. Obviously a lot of people enjoy this sort of thing, and that's fine, but I am not one of them. This show was so over the top that Liberace was a choir boy in comparison, Lawrence Welk's Champagne Hour was a Zen meditation retreat. If they gave a Nobel Prize in Kitsch the Organ Stop Pizzeria would win it hands (and feet) down.

Squaw Peak

For something closer to home we went to a mountain called Squaw Peak on the edge of Phoenix for a short hike. Actually the rather un-PC name has been changed to something else, but I don't know what it is. It was not the easiest climb. I took a shot of the view towards downtown Phoenix with its disgusting blanket of smog hovering over the city. In that respect Greater Phoenix is like LA.

Sedona

When I wintered previously in Arizona it was surprisinglg warm, in the 80's. This time around it is on the cool side. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the perfect day for a hike in the mountains around Sedona. This town lies about two hours north of Phoenix, just south of Flagstaff. Sedona is famous for the remarkable reddish hue of its soil and the surrounding mountains. Massive formations rise up from the valley in every direction. Brilliant blue skies offset the deep green of the pine forests and the red hills. It is an indescribably magnificent landscape. The pics hardly do justice to the place. After our walk we visited a chapel from which one could enjoy a great view of the area. The Roman Catholic chapel itself is an unfortunate modern, angular, klutzy cement affair that is as ill-suited to the surroundings as a saxophone in a Mozart symphony. It wasn't worth a pic. Sedona has suffered from its popularity with tourists, especially the New Age set (it is claimed that there is an 'energy vortex' here) and the town has been overbuilt. Property values are exorbitant. We stopped for lunch at a Thai restaurant. I had a dish called Tofu Radh Prik. What an odd name.