2021 Huntsman Trip, part two

This is part two of a multiple-part post. You really should read them in order. You can find Part One here, and then click "newer post" at the end of each section. Pictures taken on this trip can be seen here.

 Unfortunately, the blog post I'd written about this trip for the days between Monday, October 4 and Friday, October 8, got deleted. I don't know how; I'd highlighted a single sentence near the end that I was going to rewrite, and hit "delete," and the whole post's text was replaced by a symbol that looked like two wavy lines. I then hit "undo" (Command-X on this Mac computer) and an Omega symbol appeared. At that point the blogging program saved the post. And there is no way I can see to get it back. 

 So I can't really say what-all happened on those days. I apologise for the rambling nature of this replacement post, and who knows; I may actually be able to reconstruct something like a cohesive narrative. But it will never match the lost original, which was perhaps the single most significant piece of non-fiction literature written in the past two and a half centuries, a classic to rival, nay, to surpass Common Sense, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, Walden and The Glory and the Dream. Such a loss to the world of letters. I blame technology.

 I remember that the other folks took the boat out one day, and they took the jetski out another day; I know I went to watch Italy lose to Spain in the Nations Cup, and I recall that the fly perched on the screen for most of the second half was the most interesting thing on that screen. At some point, while everyone else was out on the water, I watched a movie on DVD called The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, with Judi Dench and Dev Patel, which was pretty good; and another called Seven Pounds, starring Will Smith, which was not. I also remember that I rode out into the wild lands in Bryan's Jeep, with Nancy following us in the rail, one evening, and that it was kind of eerie being out there in the dark. But we saw not a single bit of wildlife, not even the reflection of headlights in eyeballs. Not so much as a rabbit. 

 I know that on one afternoon, I went next door and talked to the neighbour who trades in antique cars. He has just acquired a bug-eyed Sprite, a '49 Chevy, and a Rausch Mustang. The cars he currently has that are most of interest to me, though, are a '71 or '72 E-Type and a '52 Rolls. If memory serves, he spends his working life, about half the year, in Wyoming where he owns a craft brewery, and the other half of the year he's here, tinkering with his collection of old cars. The garage on his property holds about a dozen cars, and the garage attached to the house holds two more. He's serious about it. So you'd think he'd be a great person to get to know, a man with interesting stories to tell. So far, though, there has been no spark to suggest an incipient friendship there.

Carly in the English Village

 And I remember that Sherry and I went downtown to watch the US beat Jamaica 2:0 in a world cup qualifying match. That must have been on Thursday, because it was Old Car Night in Havasu, and the main drag downtown was full of maybe 100 interesting cars, mostly authentic American classics like Chevies from the 1950s and '60s, many of them modified, with a smattering of European cars (I recall a '60s-vintage Volvo and a Triumph TR-6), and there were a couple of replica cars, including a beautiful 1933 Mercedes replica in candy-apple red. And it was Taco Night at the bar where we watched the game, but we didn't have any because later that night, we had plans to get together with some friends of Sherry's family who live here now. This we did, at a restaurant in the English Village by London Bridge that had a nice outdoor seating area and live music. And finally, I remember that on Friday, we went back to the English Village to do the walking tour of London Bridge, which none of us had ever done before, despite having come to Havasu over and over for the last 30 years (longer than that for Sherry and Nancy).

Maybe I could dredge up a few more memories of that missing four days, but who really cares?

 

2021 Huntsman Trip, part one

All the pictures taken on this trip can be seen here.

Something went right to start out this trip. Actually, two things went unexpectedly right, but I can't remember the second one, so let's not dwell on it.

The thing I remember that went right is that Sherry noticed there was a yellow jacket inside the car before we had gone very far, and before it got warmed up enough to start flying around in the cabin. That would have been more excitement than either of us would care for. 

Against that one good thing, and the second good thing that I can't remember -- Oh, plus the fact that Carly didn't throw up all the way to Havasu, a first for her -- there's the fact that none of the electric window switches in the Subaru are working, for some reason. This means that we can't leave Carly unattended in the car when it's the least bit warm out. Which in turn means lunch is a take-away sandwich eaten at a city park -- once in Fort Stockton, Texas and once in Tucson, Arizona. Not really too bad, except that the Subway sandwich we bought in Fort Stockton cost like ten bucks, which is way more than it costs back home.

Also, the electric door locks on the driver's-side door don't work now. A minor inconvenience that probably has something to do with the window switch malfunctions.

And the rearview mirror came off in El Paso. That was more of a surprise than a problem, since it was easy enough to slip back onto the holder. Just a weird thing to have happen, and of course it happened where there was no place to pull over for a couple of miles

Other than these oddities, the trip over to the Lake was uneventful. We listened first to Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, one of those books you're supposed to read in High School, so of course neither of us had ever read it. A short book, a novella really, and in audio form only about four hours long. So now we're familiar with it, and neither of us is entirely sure why it's considered such a classic and important piece of fiction. (I had chosen it because I've seen so very many references to it in the last few years.)

After that finished, we started the new murder mystery featuring the Thursday Murder Club: The Man Who Died Twice, by Richard Osman. I actually thought to myself, in one of those moments where you reflect on Life In General and Your Place In It, that I was happy to have lived long enough to hear (or read) the first two of these amusing mystery stories. We're only about 2/3 of the way through the current story, so I won't talk more about it.

We got to the Lake in time for dinner yesterday, Saturday. Nancy and her son Bryan were already here, and Nancy had prepared dinner for us. My only function was to figure out where we'd be able to watch the Liverpool-Manchester City match at 8:30 this morning. Juicy's, a burger bar near downtown, opens at 7am on Sundays, so we thought we were set.

Headed out this morning to watch the match, only to find that Juicy's has only one full-sized TV, which  was tuned to an NFL Preview show, and they "couldn't" change the channel. So we started back to the house. (All the other places listed under "sports bars in Lake Havasu City" open at 10am or later on Sundays, by which time the match would be almost over.) Sherry noticed a little grey building with several cars outside that looked like an open bar or restaurant, so we circled back to check it out. They didn't open until 9, but they were perfectly happy to have us sit in there and watch their television; they put the game on, coffee was available, and we were as happy as Granny Clampett with a fresh batch of potion. They had a buffet that included all the Mimosas you can drink, so the price was a little steep but no more than we would have spent on food and drink at the bar back home for a match that isn't available on our TV at home. (There are a few.)

After a disappointing but not upsetting result (a 2:2 draw, leaving Liverpool in second place, a point behind Chelsea and a point ahead of both Manchester clubs), we went back to the house and planned an excursion out in the wild lands east of town. Bryan had driven his Jeep down from Colorado and wanted to take it out on the trails; and we took the rail, which is like a dune buggy without a body: it's basically a VW engine mounted on an open chassis. 

Made it! Bryan tops a rise

Something goes wrong with the rail every time we take it out. Last time it was the steering. This time it's the suspension. But it was functional, in a minimalist sort of way, and we had a great time. Nancy drove this time, and started out nervous and overly cautious (just like I do when I start driving it), but by the end of the afternoon she was slammin' over rocks and up and down steep hills like a pro. Which is a fortunate thing, because Bryan led the last segment in his Jeep (because he had some kind of satellite software on his phone that would enable him to figure out a way back to the part of town our house is in), and he was like a stately ship on Disneyland's Jungle Cruise, while we followed along like we were on the Runaway Mine Train at Six Flags. 

Bryan's planning to go out on the trails at night some time soon, and I said I'd like to go with him. He's used to much more challenging excursions in his Jeep Club back in Colorado, so none of the trails out here will be beyond his capacity, I don't think; probably nothing to require the use of a winch and a second vehicle, which seems to be par for the course from the stories he tells of his club trips.

A First! Well, a Second. A Second!

 People often tell me I should be a writer. This ought to shut them up:

 I used to write a lot, for my own entertainment, and occasionally for other, more serious purposes. College pretty much ruined writing for me. 

 Law school put the tombstone on the grave, though afterwards I would on rare occasions put together enough of a coherent thought for a law review article and, on one occasion, an editorial. But there was no real joy in it. It was nice to see my name in print, and even nicer to see my work referenced in a court opinion (that happened once or twice, no more), but by the time I retired from the practice of law -- or, more accurately, quit -- I was ready to go the rest of my life without putting words on a page. Comments on soccer websites we're about the extent of my public expression.

 And then I found blogging. By the time I started doing it, in 2009, it was already passé, but it has limped along as an alternative medium, one where anyone can have their say, confident that few people will ever see it. 

 And now, after 14 years, I have finally returned to the exciting world of journalism; meaning, writing that somebody else publishes. There's no money in it, but there's an undeniable ego boost. 

It's a thrill.

August '21: Stained Glass Trip, Epilogue

This is the last post of a series; you really should read them in order. You can get to Part I here, and then click on "newer post" at the bottom as you finish each part.

The pictures from this trip are all in this album. 

OK SO ONE LAST LITTLE BIT. The rest of the trip went pretty much as I anticipated. I spent Friday morning at the Petersen Automotive Museum, They have a parking garage, but there's also metered parking on all the nearby side streets, and it's much cheaper, a dollar an hour.

I had parked at a meter the other day, farther up towards town. The meters LA uses have LCD screens that, after a certain number of years in the Southern California sun, are pretty much unreadable. But on that occasion, I stuck in my credit card and kind of guessed at what the screen was saying, and ended up buying two hours' worth of parking when I only wanted about half an hour. This time, when I saw I couldn't read the screen, I checked the other five or six vacant meters in that block and couldn't read any of them. Then I noticed a phone number to call when there's a problem with the meter; so I called it, thinking maybe they could walk me through the steps. There were 26 calls ahead of mine. Their recording kept telling me I could report problems with a meter on their website, and after hearing it 2 or 3 times I could remember the URL well enough to plug it into my phone and see, while on hold, what it might tell me. After wandering around their poorly organized website for about ten minutes, I finally located a link that allowed me to report the meter. I put in the information, got a confirmation email from them, and went into the museum. When I came out two hours later, I had a $63 parking ticket which I expect to get dismissed when Monday comes. 

1924 Mercedes Targa Florio

Jaguar XKSS

Ferrari Barchetta

The Petersen is nearly completely rearranged since my last visit. The concept cars that were on the third floor, the ones I found so interesting last time, are all tucked away in the Vault (a separate storage area of the museum). The movie and TV cars are now down on the first floor. The top floor now hosts an exhibition that deals with the relationship between auto racing and production. It starts off with a 1924 Mercedes Targa Florio that was built to be both a racer and a road car; it ends with a line of "supercars" that ... well, you can figure out that relationship yourselves. I was particularly struck by the juxtaposition of a 1952 Ferrari Barchetta Superleggere (super-light), in gorgeous black, with a 1955 Mercedes-Benz SL (for SuperLeight, a designation they still use) gullwing coupe, also in gorgeous black. Each car influenced the designs of a number of later vehicles, but in two distinct lines. The Ferrari became the Ford Thunderbird and cars in that line, while the Mercedes, after a long interval, is the stylistic ancestor of a great many currently manufactured sporty vehicles, particularly from Audi, Volkswagen, Hyundai and, yes, Mercedes. 

After the museum I spent some time with a friend of mine, a lawyer formerly in banking but now doing non-profit work. I met him on an earlier visit to LA and have sort of kept in touch. Then I went back to my hotel and started writing my article for automotivemuseumguide.com. 

Saturday morning I checked out of my hotel and went down to Culver City, a suburb about half an hour south of LA, to watch the Norwich:Liverpool match with a couple hundred of my new best friends, the Los Angeles chapter of the Liverpool FC Fan Club. Wow! what an atmosphere! It's like being in the Anfield Road end of the stadium. They sing pretty much the whole time, and loudly, and every now and then I could even understand the words. (About half of them had British accents, but I don't know if that had anything to do with the trouble I had understanding their songs.) A really fun way to watch a match. I compare it to those occasions when we go watch a match at the Winchester in Alamo Heights, where the San Antonio chapter of the fan club meets. There, nobody sings; there are seldom more than fifteen or twenty people there and nobody talks to anybody not at their table. 

After the match I headed east, getting as far as a suburb of Phoenix before calling it a day. (I nearly killed myself shortly before that, falling asleep at the wheel. Thank God for those noisy ruts they carve on the edges of the freeway these days. Naturally I was wide awake after that.) Today I felt a little tired early in the day, but after taking a walk in Deming, New Mexico I felt fine the rest of the trip, and have now arrived in Fort Stockton, Texas for the night, about six hours from home.

The last picture of the trip.

Postscript: while reading one of my old blog posts, trying to fix dead links from years ago, I came across this in a post from September 2009:

Had I had the luxury of time, I could have made the trip from San Antonio to Phoenix, and presumably on to San Diego, much more interesting than it is when we just get on I-10 at Hildebrand and get off at the 202. I could drive west out of San Antonio to Camp Wood, and up the South Llano River, or over to Langtry and up through the Big Bend Country or the Davis Mountains; I could cut across the corner of New Mexico, through Cloudcroft and Alamogordo, and up through Silver City and into Globe. It'd take a long, long time, and it's all country I've covered before.

 Considering how this trip started, I find that almost eerie.