San Diego County, that’s my three words. Last week we were frolicking through wildflowers and looking at rainbows in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. Today, we were snowshoeing in Laguna Mountain Recreation Area. I never tire of extolling the virtues of San Diego County!

Last night our friend Quan texted Amelia, “It’s a long shot, but do you want to snowshoe tomorrow?”

Amelia’s response, “Ha! We just loaded the car, we are going!”

So we met Quan and her puppy at 7am at the trailhead. The early bird gets the worm!!

I know how much everyone enjoys the photos, so here’s a pictoral of the morning.

Desert Sand Verbena, feel free to download it and use as wallpaper on your device

I don’t know about the Harrises sometimes…granted it has been seven months since we’ve been out in the Airstream, but still! It was Wednesday night; we picked up Opal, that’s the Airstream’s name in case you didn’t know, and brought her home so we could load up for a Thursday afternoon departure. We had the inside completely loaded, including the refrigerator and freezer when I noticed the LP light on the refrigerator flashing. You’ve got to be kidding me! So I checked both propane tanks and sure as shit, they were empty. We grabbed the tanks and hauled ass to Costco Poway to get propane. That shot the evening’s dinner plan; instead it was a food court hot dog for the missus and a pep slice for me.

It still amazes me this is San Diego County! There are so many nice things about Anza-Borrego as well documented throughout the years in this blog. One of the cool things is we get more people staying or visiting us out there than we do at home. This trip our friend Donna was staying in Borrego Springs, so we spent Thursday evening and Friday with her. Our neighbors John and Monica drove out in his new Jeep for the day on Saturday. It was their first time, so we took them to the main tourist spots, Fonts Point and Coyote Canyon. It’s always enlightening to see something you know so well through a newbie’s eyes. On Sunday, my old buddy Needles rode his Harley out from his winter home in Indio.

The forecast held true: cold, as in the 30s, at night and morning. Nothing drains the batteries faster than the furnace. So it was a good thing we borrowed a friend’s generator. I’m now convinced there is a time and a place for a generator, but the noise still bugs the crap out of us.

It wasn’t a super bloom, but I would rank it as an above average bloom. The most abundant flowers were Desert Sand Verbena, Desert Sunflower, and Brown-eyed Primrose.

What a sight we saw one morning while driving. I wish we’d been able to take a pic. On the top of a telephone pole, two Turkey Vultures were mating or go ahead and insert your favorite synonym 😳.

You know you’re getting old when you’ve know someone for 50 years! Amelia and Donna met in kindergarten.

Desert Datura

A buddy called me the other day and said, “I don’t know if you realize this, but it’s been a long time since there’s been a post on the blog. These are the dark days and a guy could sure use some relief.”

My response was, “Trust me I know, every morning on my walk I try to conjure up a story for the blog!” (Amelia’s foot surgery has halted our travel for a few months.)

He said, “How about a story about your brother?”

I hemmed and hawed for a few seconds, and finally said, “Like what?”

His response was, “The thousand dollar cat. It’s a classic EJ story.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the early 80s, we were both still living at home.  My brother was there most of the year. He hadn’t moved to Mammoth full time yet, so if it wasn’t ski season he was back home.  I was pretty much always at home with my mom, especially after the debacle on Thanksgiving Lane in Mira Mesa, but that’s another story that might not ever get retold. Anyways I digress, back to the thousand dollar cat.

Our home was a classic single level early 70s Pardee constructed Peñasquitos house. Much to my mom’s delight and sometimes chagrin, it was the house where everyone hung out. The garage had a weight lifting bench and the driveway had a basketball hoop. If we weren’t doing one of those two things, we were hanging out in the garage listening to music and shooting the shit.

On this particular day, someone had posted a flyer about a lost cat on the lamppost in front of our house. They were offering a thousand dollar reward for its safe return. There was an awful black and white photo of the cat with a phone number.

Like any legendary tale, the list of participants has seemed to grown over the years. And truth be told, I can’t remember who was present, but the essence of the story is imprinted in my mind.

We were all hanging out in the garage talking about what we would do with a thousand dollars.

All of a sudden EJ yells, “There’s the goddamn cat.”

And he bolts out of the garage like Carl Lewis exploding out of the starting blocks in the 100 meter dash. The cat is scared shitless and hauls ass straight down the street. All of us are chasing it. Six houses down, where the street makes a right turn is young Jack Jr., the milkman’s kid. We somehow funnel the cat into the milkman’s garage and get the door shut.

EJ points at Jack Jr. and announces, “You’re in for a hundred.”

Then he looks at all of us, “Boys, we are drinking big tonight!!”

We were so excited, but decided it would be smart to let the cat calm down for a few minutes. It was the quickest few minutes on record. In no time at all Jack Jr. and EJ go into the garage through the house to fetch the cat. EJ comes walking out holding the cat by the scruff. We all circle him, fast walk back to our house, and lock the cat in the garage.

Everyone was gathered in the kitchen. We couldn’t believe our good fortune. We were rich!

“G, run outside and get the reward poster,” says EJ.

I rip it off the lamp post, bring it in, and hand it to my brother. He grabs the telephone off the wall and dials the number.

Next thing we know, he blurts out, “Lady we’ve got your cat! Bring a thousand dollars to the corner of Via Cabezon and Paseo Montril. We’ll be waiting for you.”

We are all laughing our asses off listening to EJ sounding like a kidnaper with a ransom demand. Our imaginations are running wild. We keep yelling, thousand dollar cat! Then we start reliving the chase and laugh so hard we’re all crying.

Finally, about an hour later, the lady shows up with cash. We all escort her into the garage.

“That’s not my cat!” she proclaims, staring at all of us in disbelief.

“Are you sure lady?” EJ asks.

“Yes. I’m positive.” She just shakes her head and walks away.

Then depression set in. One moment we were on top of the world, rich beyond belief, only to have our dreams crushed.

And that’s the story of the thousand dollar cat.

The End

Here’s a few photos from that time frame.

The last hurrah, five nights in our local mountains. Amelia goes back to school on August 3rd. Crazy, huh? Only us old folks remember school not starting until after Labor Day. It’s still the same amount of school days, more or less, just more holiday time during the school year. Therefore the summers are shorter. As a kid, I really used to look forward to the long summer break. I guess today’s kids don’t know any different.

It’s easy to spot someone who enjoys their job and is excellent at it, because it’s so rare. Beth, the site manager at Laguna, El Prado, and Burnt Rancheria campgrounds is one such person. The site manager basically is in charge of the camp hosts and runs the campgrounds. She’s a real character with a heavy Boston accent that seems so out of place in the San Diego mountains. Her companion, Bailey, a poodle/healer mix is always by her side. And the stories she can tell!

No mechanical issues for the truck or bikes. And no injuries, just a little blood on this old man’s skin. Nowadays, I just brush by a plant and it seems to happen.

Here’s a real duh, Channel Islands is the least visited National Park in California. I’d venture to say most people don’t even know it’s a National Park. There are eight islands in the chain, five are part of the National Park. In 1980, it went from National Monument status to National Park. Santa Cruz is the largest island. It is 24 miles long and 2 to 6 miles wide. The highest point is Devil’s Peak at 2439 feet.

I had two things that I really wanted to see, the Island Fox and an Island Scrub Jay. We saw both. The Island Scrub Jay was number 318 on my life bird list. And as a bonus we saw a Bald Eagle. What surprised us was the amount of plants endemic to the island. It was beautiful, and must really be something in the spring.

As we were boarding the ferry with sixty other folks we were kind of bummed about the amount of people. It’s not what we envisioned, but much to our delight, once we docked and separated into the two groups, kayakers/snorkelers and hikers, there were only seven hikers! We walked around for five hours, all by ourselves, taking it all in. It was amazing. Another nice thing, hardly any trash at all, as close to pristine as one can probably get in this world.

There’s so many places to see, and the clock is ticking, but if the opportunity arose, we’d visit the Channel Islands National Park again, a different island, and in the springtime.

The best laid plans of mice and men…we were so fired up to leave for vacation, especially after our first summer trip was scrapped because I got The Covid. The night before, we were hitched up and completely loaded except for the bikes. We went to move the truck, but it wouldn’t start. My brother was the mechanic, not me.  But I knew enough to know we had a dead starter and a real predicament on our hands. The Airstream was hitched up on a downhill slope and the truck was unable to move.

So that night I contacted Eric Mobile Mechanic. He showed up Saturday morning with a new starter. He had a hell of a wrestling match with the Tundra, and I was having doubts. Three plus hours later, he won the battle, and we were good to go for a 1:00 pm departure, which is not the ideal time to drive through Hell A (translation: Los Angeles).

We were living the high life; eight days of full hook ups at the cheap, cheap rate of $38 a night. Foster Residence is a Ventura County Campground. It’s located in the sweet spot between Ventura and Ojai.  In Ventura, most days the fog never lifted and it was chilly. In Ojai, it was hot. Foster Residence had absolutely delightful weather. It’s a small campground with only 16 sites, 10 of them full hook ups. There’s a bridge about a quarter of a mile away that clanks every time a vehicle crosses it. That’s about the only downside.

You can pretty much find dirt trails to mountain bike everywhere. However, not everywhere is a mountain biking destination. Ventura/Ojai area is not a mountain biking destination. We did four rides; Romero Canyon in the Santa Barbara front country, Ventura River Preserve in Ojai, Sulphur Mountain, not too far from our campground, and Harmon Canyon in Ventura. Harmon was fantastic! We highly recommend it.

So, you’re probably wondering, if it’s not a mountain biking destination what were we doing there? It was the opportunity to spend some time with Denise and Rob and visit Channel Islands National Park…that’ll be the next post!

All in all it was a pretty good trip, especially when you add in the Channel Islands visit. We were feeling particularly blessed just breezing through Hell A with no traffic. What a rarity! We were just south of Corona, about an hour from home and Amelia needed to pee. Me, I can always urinate, so we exited off the freeway, then back up the on ramp, and stopped on the wide shoulder.  We both did our business, jumped in the truck…nothing. It would not start! F@#k!!! Unbelievable. An hour from home, stuck on the side of the road in 105 degree heat. A couple of good samaritans stopped as we were waving jumper cables, but the battery wasn’t the problem. So we called our insurance, two and a half hours later the tow truck showed up. The heat was really beating down on us during the wait. Towing a truck and an Airstream 66 miles isn’t cheap!

The next day, Eric Mobile Mechanic came out. This time he solved the problem in five minutes. It was a blown starter relay fuse. I didn’t even know there was such a thing. But like I said, my brother was the mechanic, not me.