Adventure 193: Furnace Creek Resort/Death Valley/Post B

Frac bathed in the full moon.

Oh, my goodness what a day. And it started last night with the full moon rising at Douglissimo"s campsite at the Furnace Creek Campground. After arriving in Death Valley around three P.M. we made contact with my cousin Douglas who had pulled his Dutchman pop up trailer over from Las Vegas down from the Sundance Film festival in Park City through Phoenix driving at least ninety miles an hour (Those of you who know him know he drives with intent). We took dinner (BBQ chicken) to fix at his campsite to cook after the moon came up. While we waited for the coals to ready, his neighbor, Sheri, came walking by with her dog. Long story short and much flagrant flirting later (Douglissimo is incorrigible), she sat down to play cribbage with us. She and her husband are from Vancouver Island, and they're traveling as we are wherever the wind blows. She left several laughs later after two games of cribbage only to come back after dinner to enjoy the fire. Judy and I went back to Frac for the night. The next morning about eight-thirty, Douglas picked us up to begin our first tour of Death Valley (It seems so long ago now). We took in four of the most significant sites in Death Valley: the Borax Works, the Natural Bridge, Bad Water Basin, and Dante's Peak. Each was spectacular in its own way. All told, we walked Stumpy around for about three and a half miles (Good therapy, we hope). We returned to the resort at 2 P.M. and then lounged around the pool which is naturally fed from a warm spring. We topped off the evening with a stupidly expensive but fabulously enjoyable dinner at the Inn at Furnace Creek. (I mean, Karen Franz, this was some good food!) Dinner was the cherry on top of a constant string of marvels which were anchored by the natural geology of the place, and also by its intriguing history.  A side note: today's temperature (February 4th) was a perfectly pleasant 70 degrees. By next month, Death Valley's daily temperatures will climb to the nineties. It is then that the place will live up to its name. From March through September, most days are over a hundred. There's been an amazing amount of human activity in a place so unforgiving. Naturally, most of the history comes from boom and bust mining, and life here has mostly been hard. The Twenty Mule Borax teams (Some of you remember the old TV show based on them), for example had to pull loads of Borax out of the valley for 156 miles to market. And of course, there were the "get rich quick guys". One story goes that some gold prospectors were trying to find a short cut to the gold fields further on in California and decided to cross the desert valley. All but one wagon was lost. As the last survivor made it out of the valley, he looked back and said, "Good Bye forever, Death Valley". The name stuck. As for those of us who spent the afternoon paddling around a warm pool in the afternoon light in our Sea of Cortez chairs, we could hardly think of hardship, let alone death. Instead, we thought: Life is good, especially today.  

 Douglissimo's pop up trailer.

 Hey, honey! Want to see my pop-up?

 Douglas is my name, and crib is my game.

 Hey, honey! Want to see my pop-up?

 Twenty Mule team minus the mules.

 Hey, honey! Want to see my pop-up?

 Bad Water Basin.

 California Hot Rod of the Day: Death Valley Style.

Off road to the natural bridge.

The view from under the natural bridge.

 Stumpy is feeling so good, she's ready for a little scrambling (Maybe to escape Douglas).

 At the end of the canyon. Turn around and smile.

 The view from one mile up at Dante's Peak.

 Hey, Karen, I have a Sea of Cortez chair waiting for you.

 I think they might be playing footsie.

 Who, us?

 Sunset over the desert (I think this view was part of our dinner bill).

 The foyer of the Inn at Furnace Creek.

 Miss Judy enjoying a glass of the bubbly.

 Ribeye steak smothered in King Crab bernaise sauce over asparagus and whipped potatoes. 

 Judy had Colorado Lamb formed into a replica of the Natural Bridge.

Bluebeery Cobbler with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream served with complimentary chocolates and a cup of espresso. Magnificent!

Adventure 192: Furnace Creek Resort/Death Valley/Post A

Death Valley Beyond.

Squawking, moaning, groaning, and droning on endlessly like a Seattle Seahawk who had just snatched the sniveling stink of defeat from the glorious grasp of heroic victory, I misplayed one lousy card. Like poor Russell Wilson, I threw a bad ball (Yet I'll not let it define me, either [I'm only sixty-three, after all]). I held a slim lead with the final hand to play in the Victorville Open. We were playing for all of the local single wides, a heady prize indeed. I played a queen to start the pegging. The Wily Cager (Stumpy for Short) played one of her sisters for two, and then it happened. Instead of playing a third lady for six, I pushed out a King (for three, I thought to finish the J-Q-K run). But woe of throws (That's what Russell said, too!), I had misread the hand. Naturally, I tried to pick it up under some lame "It slipped..." but before I could snatch it, the Cager whipped out a small revolver she had purchased at a local Victorville pawnshop  and removed my left pointer finger with a shot reminiscent of Dead Eye Dick. "A card laid is a card played," she squawked. And that is the sad reconstruction of this morning's action (ESPN will be rehashing it for some time). Tail tucked between my legs, I merely loaded myself (And Stumpy) into the truck for the 206 mile trek down into Death Valley. Our drive was uneventful (Thank you, Jesus). We saw nothing spectacular unless you call sand, rust, old trailers, abandoned buildings, sage brush, and road debris spectacular. We did see the Ten Commandments posted like an old Burma Shave commercial along the highway. Actually, I'm not being totally fair to the terrain. The desert mountains and the ripple of the hills plays nicely off the senses as the sun moves the light across the day. And, of course, once we dropped into the majesty of Death Valley, we could barely remember the long haired surfer dudes along the coast (This, too, is California). We're tucked in nicely at the Furnace Creek Resort, which is as out of place in this environment as I would be dining with Mitt Romney in his mansion in La Jolla. But who cares, life is good, especially today.

 The desert highway.

 Some of the pretty light in the distance.

 More desert highway (Isn't that part of a song lyric).

 The highway to Death Valley.

 More light.

 Art shot of the day.

 California hot rod of the day.

 Really?

 Steel belted radials on a solid wood wheel.

 Water is easy to find here, believe it or not.

 It may have been a long way to anywhere in this rig.

 Big diesels keep on rolling.

I think this place inspires hallucinations.

Adventure 191: Where's the Beach/Victorville, CA

Quite a cribbage trophy!

I was the big winner of the San Elijo surfboards, which other than safe travels may just be the highlight of the day. We traveled from San Elijo to Victorville, CA, which took about three hours and thrust us into the thick of Southern California freeway driving. Thanks to Susie GPS, the trip was uneventful. However, this stopover is quite a downgrade from the lovely locales we've most recently been enjoying. Where's the beach? "I don't know, Dewie, but you're in the desert now." We spent most of the afternoon doing housework. Judy washed the sand off of our sheets, our clothes, our napkins, and our towels. Meanwhile, I washed the salt spray and seagull poop off Frac. Then we stocked up on groceries for our Death Valley visit, and that's all folks. But I must tell you, life is good even in Victorville, especially today.

Site #21.

Not too many neighbors. We were allowed to choose our own site.

Adventure 190: San Elijo State Beach/San Diego, CA/Part C

Surfer Dude at San Elijo State Beach

A normal Sunday morning: Fried potatoes, eggs, and church in the temple of the traveling Frac, where, woe is me, the Wily Cager came storming back to life like Lazarus to slap me with a smelly skunk. This means we're all tied up, and we'll play tomorrow morning for all of the San Elijo Surf Boards. After breakfast, we spent another lazy day at the beach under beautifully warm blue skies. Pods of surfers played in the waves while others combed the beaches doing beach things. Kids built castles. Lovers held hands, and many, like us gazed at the parade of life passing by. Around three we arrived at the Cramers for our Super Bowl Party. We immediately began eating and gabbing and enjoying. Jim had prepared an avocado goat cheese spread on tiny toasts for starters which he served with a sparkling rose.We then moved to the devilishly hot "Dragon Toes" (Sea Scallops imbedded inside a hollowed out habanero pepper wrapped in bacon). Jim grilled them until the bacon was crisp. He paired those with Mexican made Modelo beer. They were so hot, sweat popped out of my bald head, and my tongue, some five hours later, can  still feel the singe of the pepper. By the time my mouth could enjoy some thing different, the game was at half time, and we Seahawk fans were buoyed by the bold call to tie the game in the last second. We moved to a mushroom, shallot, gruyere melt on puff pastry, which Jim paired with a Pinot Noir from Olenik winery in the Willamette valley. A friend of his owns the winery, and Jim is the first employee. His job title is Fulfillment Manager. He certainly takes the "job" to heart. One of his great joys is preparing good food, matching it with appropriate wine, and enjoying it with others who also appreciate it. Much of his joy is seeing the joy in others. As beneficiaries, we were most joyful. I missed most of the third quarter in order to help Jim prepare the main course: Thirty Minute Cassoulet-a Jaques Pepin recipe. It was out of this world. We were eating it in bitter sweet fashion right at the end of the game because the taste sensations were as exquisite as the pain we felt when Wilson threw the interception. Woe it goes. With dinner we finished the Olenik Pinot Noir, which held up nicely against the Cassoulet. Dessert was a simple dish of exotic German cookies and real vanilla bean ice cream. I passed on the dessert wine in favor of sparkling water ( I made the mistake of asking Judy). Finally, we hugged our hosts, promised not to let another eight years go by between visit, and made our way through the tangle of San Diego freeways back to the trailer. Side Note: I have quit drinking, which I will resume again tomorrow, but a visit to the Cramers without enjoying the pairing process they love so much would have taken the luster out of the weekend. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our friends. Needless to say, l through myself on my sword willingly which means that life s good, especially today.

 Hot rod of the day.

Art shot of the day.

 One of at least a hundred surfers.

 The wine glass line up for the day. Plastic glasses are against the rules.

 Avacado, goat cheese, lemon squeeze, a splash of tobacco on toast. 

 Dragon Toes!

 I had already eaten one, and Jim was goading me to have another (I had two more).

 Jim in his glory (He's thinking, "Do you like it?"

 The meat for the Cassoulet: Hot sausage, mild sausage and pork shoulders

 Puff pastry paired with the Pinot Noir (Notice the volume; it's more about the pairing than the drinking).

 I think the French call this the "frond" (Anyway- the juices after we deglazed the pan).

 The browned meat resting.

 Mushroom, onions, white beans, whole tomatoes, the frond, some wine, a couple of bay leafs, and some thyme.

 Slowly simmered

 The meat cut just before serving

 The host happy with the product.

 My serving.

 The cookie plate. (You could cook your own cassoulet just from this blog post. Enjoy (We did).