Yes, we made it -- to California, that is. It's my first time visiting this state since 1978.
During the past 15 months, I've been fortunate to spend time in Maine, Savannah GA and Charleston SC, Chicago and now the Southern California desert. Lobstermen, sea islands, broad shoulders and Rebels; now Route 66, Pueblos, Ponderosa pine, and the Joshua Tree. From the Mississippi to the Colorado.
It's my first real desert. Tomorrow, the Pacific coast highway. Later, redwoods and wine.
It's powerful tonic for the Europhile, but I haven't reverted to alt-country quite yet, although the late Buck Owens hit it big just up the highway in Bakersfield. LA's somewhere to the southwest.
There were bike lanes in Santa Fe, Albuquerque and Flagstaff. I wanted to ride on them, but not past Wal-Mart.
Tonight my buddy Graham and I hit a Barstow steak house and enjoyed medium rare fine London broil accompanied by Sierra Nevada Pale Ale from upstate California. Luckily, we hit anniversary night and an unexpected buy one, get one free bonanza. Emerging from the restaurant, it was sundown over the cactus, and the cool evening breeze. Perhaps the aesthetic wasn't the reason for the wagon trains west, but I'm happy to experience a slice of the contemporary symbolism.
On to San Luis Obispo ...