Holy Jumping Hawkeye, it had to start happening! The Wily Cager is back to her old tricks (Which is why her stumpy digits, toes included had been shot off in the first place). You'd think a former math teacher could add sixteen plus nine and come up with twenty-five (Not twenty-seven), and what is this about moving her front peg after the hand is over, and what's this about counting fifteen two, three is five, and a pair is nine? I'm telling you, if I had lost the game I would have been fuming. But no worries, my two game lead feels great! After a morning of near apoplectic card playing, we took the back roads through Los Osos to San Luis Obispo Los Osos is a darling bedroom community on the south side of Morrow Bay. Between it and San Luis is about ten miles of mixed use agriculture ranging from artichoke fields to grazing land for livestock. This time of year the hills are verdant-the green literally vibrates in the sunlight. On Saturday, we're going to attend a blues show headlined by an up and coming singer named Sugar Ray Rayford, a giant of a man from Texas. Even die hard blues fans won't have heard of him yet, but that may not be the case by next year. We also visited another mission, which dot the coast like rosary beads. The central coast of California must have been absolutely stunning when the friars first trekked through because it's pretty cool right now. We asked the owner of Boo Boos, the record store where we bought our tickets, where we should eat lunch. He asked, "What are you up for?" Stumpy replied, "Something healthy." So of course we were guided to the Big Sky Cafe, a sprouts and recycle joint in the downtown core. I must say it was excellent: very busy, very fresh, and unusually reasonable for California chic. After lunch, we drove around San Luis, first to find the Veteran Hall where the show will be on Saturday, and next just to do what we do. San Luis Obisbo has a well preserved section of "old town". Elaborately decorated wooden houses, built in what looks like the nineteen hundreds, have been restored in ways that have kept their historical presence. The curly cue bric-a-brac which flows from the eaves to the porches right up to the screen doors made me think that Andrew Carnegie was going to emerge in his top hat and worsted wool overcoat. There must also be a significant Catholic presence as well because the College Prep Catholic High School looked to be well healed and vibrant. For a town of around thirty thousand, the downtown presence felt much bigger. SLO (San Luis Obispo) has strict growth covenants, so I'd guess that any house that goes up for sale, immediately has thirty or forty offers. I'm just guessing, but this looks like a very nice place to call home, especially if a person could ignore the possibility of the local nuclear power plant melting down. As for that, we live in an area much more potentially dangerous when it comes to nuclear problems. I'm really glad our government is ignoring the issue. That should protect us. GRRRR! I must have a political hangover from listening to the State of the Union last night, or maybe I got the headache from the analysis we've been listening to all day. There, I stepped off the soap box just in time to wander back to Morro Bay, stop at the grocery store, take a nap, and drive down to another part of the beach to catch another sunset. Clearly, life is good, especially today.
Sweet Springs Nature Preserve is the home of assorted birds and eucalyptus trees, which were dripping with Monarch butterflies.
That's Morro Bay Rock in the distance.
The sanctuary at the Mission San Luis Obispo. Quite plain, actually.
I think this Bird of Paradise whistled at Stumpy!
This juke joint was jumping.
Turkey burger, fries, and bean with pumpkin and bacon soup. A basket of tiny corn muffins were served as the pre-meal bread. Yummy!
California Hot Rod of the day.
A sample of the bric-a-brac adorning this old Carnegie library.
Stumpy managed .8 of a mile on the bike. Woo Hoo!
Art shot of the day.
Judging by the Jamaican sprinting technique of this surfer, I have to believe the ocean is quite brisk.
Californians may take these sunsets for granted, but we dry land farmer types don't.
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