Thursday, September 24, 2009

Day 14: Barstow to Santa Monica, California

24 September. Calabasas, California. 11 pm. We finished our journey, toasted our success, and snapped some pictures before parting company in Santa Monica temporarily for logistical reasons.

Executive Summary: Barstow – Oro Grande – Cajon Summit – San Bernardino – Rialto – Fontana – Santa Monica (and on to Calabasas and other points in the greater Los Angeles area). 7am start, 2pm finish, 151 miles.

I wakened at 4am and couldn’t get back to sleep, still puzzling over why exactly spending those 3 extra minutes in Oatman would have been so horrible. I still haven’t been able to figure it out and would love to understand. Dad, also an eternally-early riser, got up a little after 5:00, and the two of us pulled on shoes and left the room, walking out into the still-dark, pre-dawn air of early morning beside the desert, awaiting the first rays of the sun.

Walking over to a nearby coffee and donut shop, Dad offered the option of returning to Oatman on Saturday from Lake Havasu, where we’ll be staying with June and Brian over the weekend, so that we can see the other show. It was sweet of him to offer, but as I explained with a resigned shrug, it isn’t about seeing that show. That whole place isn’t my kind of thing; I wasn’t particularly enthralled to be there in the first place... but, once there, I wanted to at least experience it fully, if for no other reason than to feel as if I had the entire experience. As it turned out, we devoted 7 hours getting there and back – but without having the full experience, by a margin of exactly 3 minutes. That is what frustrates me. It’s like the Great Barrier Reef all over again and, having gone to the trouble of getting all the way there expressly to go SCUBA diving, being ordered by Paul not to go SCUBA diving so that I wouldn’t be away from him and Maura for 60 minutes, leaving me unable to dive the Great Barrier Reef, as I had wanted my whole life to do (the whole reason I got certified in the first place all those years ago)... but not necessarily wanting to make the trip all the way out there again just for that. The chance is lost – precisely the reason for my frustration in forsaking it, for the sake of 3 minutes.

This morning’s driving was easy, a slower-paced meander along gently-curving country roads that became steadily more lush as we distanced ourselves from the parching desert. We began by crossing sandy, sagebrush-dotted hills along the Santa Fe Railroad and the tree-lined, mostly-dry course of the Mojave River, starting our day along the National Old Trails Road.

We passed through little Hodge in a blink, finding an old sign for Newton’s Towing in Helendale, where its ponderous parrot (mascot for the old "Polly" gasoline brand) perched atop a sign proclaiming the once-current gas prices (18.9 regular; 21.9 ethyl – a far cry from the over-$3-per-gallon that is not uncommon these days) and the roadside remains of a stone residence adapted from the old Sage Brush Inn, where Sagebrush Annie formerly operated a rumor-inciting roadhouse. Next was a Bottle Tree Ranch, an artistic creation composed of countless colorful bottles arrayed on "trees" intermixed with 66 signs and other artifacts in the tradition of Miles Mahan. Oro Grande was both depressing and fascinating: a line of old strefronts on one side of the old road, now relegated to some kind of aging antique mall alongside Route 66 near a dust-producing cement factory, near the abandoned Mohawk Mini Mart and the false-fronted Route 66 Antique Station complete with a big, old, bright red caboose.

A majestic 1930 modified Baltimore truss bridge carried us over the Mojave River, featuring ornate guardrails along a curved approach near Victorville, where we bypassed the California Route 66 Museum, observing a series of vintage motels and signs.

Hopping unavoidably onto the interstate, we cruised up I-15 to the Oakhill Road exit at the top of Cajon Pass, a regular stop back when topping the pass was still a big deal, and made our way to the Summit Inn, which has welcomed weary travelers on Mariposa Road since 1952 with its cinnamon rolls, coffee, and ostrich eggs – which Dad ordered for breakfast (they tasted like regular eggs). All of our portions were enormous; a single meal could have fed all 5 of us.
Where I-15's east- and westbound lanes separate, the old 1920s Route 66 once fell between them. Intact sections of pavement remain, but they are inaccessible today. We were, however, able to enjoy a short section with a wonderful feeling of time suspended, just beyond Cajon Junction. Taking the Cleghorn Road exit, we found this great stretch of Roue 66, where the former 4-lane winds its way along Cajon Creek, through rugged topography created by the infamous San Andreas Fault, some classic old bridges crossing normally dry gulches along the way. There, Swarthout Canyon Road was the site of an old migrant workers’ camp during the Great Depression. Further along, the Blue Cut is named for blue-gray colored rock through which Cajon Creek cuts, its immediate area including a wide, tree-shaded spot on the creek bank with an historical marker that must once have been a great place to picnic or watch trains.

A brief interstate interlude was necessary, but we soon exited again in Devore, watching for vintage motels and other businesses on our way to San Bernardino, home to more long-ago-bypassed vintage motels now catering to long-term guests. We watched for, but weren’t heartbroken to miss, the location of the world’s first McDonalds, begun in 1948, when the McDonald Brothers branched out and evolved their "speedee service system" and golden arches long before Ray Kroc bought out the fledgling chain. We did find the tee pees of the Wig Wam Motel between San Bernardino and Rialto, the other remaining wigwam motel on Route 66 and the last of the chain built. Although there were more of them at this location, we decided that the ones in Holbrook had more character – and all the vintage cars to boot!

We followed the old road through Rialto, Fontana (finding Bono’s Historic Orange, the last of the giant orange stands that once lined California roads), on through Rancho Cucamonga (finally finding the historic Sycamore Inn that originally was a stagecoach stop, a place with metal dinosaur sculptures), and into Upland (where two former wineries, Virginia Dare Winery and the Thomas Vineyards at Vineyard Avenue have been adapted as shops).

The Skyliner was protesting the climbing temperatures and frequent stops due to traffic and stoplights, so at this point we decided to head for the highway and make our way to the coast at Santa Monica. Although it was interesting to see the original route, years of corporate development and modern landscaping have forever altered the original surroundings, so I don’t think any of us felt that we were missing out on Route 66 ambience here. So we hopped on the 210 heading west, making our way south onto the Pasadena Freeway and eventually the Santa Monica Freeway, which dropped us off almost right at the terminus of Route 66.

The actual, "official" end of Route 66 at Olympic and Ocean has been all but obliterated by I10, fairly well trashing the original intersection and its 1950s coffee shop. But a few blocks northwest, we found the plaque memorializing Route 66 as the Will Rogers Highway, ending our journey along the path in Palisades Park, above the Pacific. The afternoon sun and heavy mist over the ocean, however, made this less-than-desirable for photos, so we also snapped several at a nearby tourist marker created in the shape of the Route 66 highway shield, proclaiming the End of Route 66. (If only Chicago had erected such a sign at the start!). Murphy’s Law precluded us from getting a penultimate shot of the 5 of us standing in front of the Skyliner at that sign, when a tour bus pulled up to take over after the space had sat empty for the preceding 30 minutes – but I did manage to snap a picture of at least the car before the impatient bus driver blasted his horn and forced Tom to take off.

Thus ended the Stiches’ Route 66 roadtrip, slightly anticlimactic without any fanfare or welcome committee, on a hazy afternoon along the Pacific Coast Highway near the Santa Monica Pier. But, as with any road-weary travelers at the end of an epic voyage, we were able to bask in the relief and the pride in knowing that we had done it; we had made it. To paraphrase Timothy, we have fought the good fight; we have finished our course; we have come to the end of our journey; we have kept the faith.

Mom, Dad, and I headed northwest to Calabasas, where we were to stay with cousins June & Brian, while Tom and Don headed for Don & Dianne’s home in nearby La Palma. There, they dropped off Tom’s car, picked up Dianne, and headed up to hang out with us for the rest of the afternoon and evening. This was June and Brian’s 9th anniversary, and we reflected that all of us had been together in southern California 9 years ago today – a fitting way to celebrate their anniversary and the end of our roadtrip. The La Palma contingent departed around 9:30, with a feigned misty moment when we realized that this would be our first night apart since our start 2 weeks ago back in Bloomington.

When we spoke on the phone later, I learned that poor Bernie got chewed out at orchestra rehearsal for making plans to be out of town to meet up with us this coming weekend; poor thing! I’m in bed in Madison’s pink princess room, having taken over June & Brian’s daughter’s place for a couple of nights. An enormous couch downstairs would have served just fine, too – in fact, I caught a catnap there in the afternoon after we first arrived – but it will be a nice treat to sleep in a real bed, in a real house, and to relax for a couple of days (until we have to start heading back east) without having to pore over tour books and maps or scour the landscape for this or that historic marker or landmark not to be missed.

I have more thoughts, but will have to add them later (along with stats like total mileage, expenses, etc.), since I need to try to get some rest for now, knowing I’ll likely awaken earlier than necessary, even with the luxurious option of sleeping in pretty much as late as I would like.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Looks like you are an expert in this field, you really got some great points there, thanks.

- Robson

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