Go West! Mission San Juan Buatista

Mission San Juan Bautista
(Bell wall)

All the family gathered for custom omelettes on Saturday morning at the Holiday Inn Express in Gilroy where we were booked.  We confirmed the wedding time for that evening; and while Barth and Wendy were obligated to attend rehearsal in the afternoon, that left a gap for the early afternoon for those of us not standing upfront at the evening's big event.  What to do?

I suggested a return to San Juan Bautista for a look at the Mission.  It ends up that my suggestion turned out to be quite the chick magnet kind of idea, my mom, my wife, my daughter and my sister all hopped into our car and we headed south 11 miles on Highway 101 (I guess the term now in California is "The 101").

La Mision del Glorioso Precursor de Jesu Cristo Nuestro Senor San Juan Bautista was constructed in 1797, the 15th of the 21 California missions established by the Franciscans along El Camion Real (Highway of King's). El Camion Real is now basically The 101, and the 13 word title of this mission has been reduced by the efficient Americans to merely San Juan Bautista, or even better, SJB.  We do not like too many words.  In a America we like to get to the point - which is exactly why not too many people read this blog. TLDR as they say as they tweet, "Too looong, didn't read".

The mass is still performed here, and we paid a small fee to get in to tour the courtyard garden and interior of the mission and sanctuary.

Mom, Inga, Sue and sister Sheri
Walk outsode the Mission walls in San Juan Bautista

Sue and Inga under the spreading cacti
Mission Courtyard Garden

A face that rings a bell - if yuou stand too quickly

Mission chancel and Altar

Sheri encourages our group to follow

 When I was in school in California, the 4th grade curriculum included an emphasis on the history of the California Missions established by Father Junipero Serra.  part of the lesson included building a chosen mission facade out of sugar cubes and Elmer's glue.  Unfortunately, I had chosen a facade with arches and my attempted arched facade collapsed before the glue dried.  My teacher chuckled when I reported this fact to him.  Had I attained the geologic wisdom that was to come to me in later years, I wish I would have quipped something like, "this collapsed pile of sugar cubes represents the work of the friars after an earthquake along the San Andreas Fault."

Interesting to note that Mission San Juan Bautista is located on the Pacific Plate just yards from the fault scarp of the San Andreas.  The Mission has been damages on several occasions from seismic temblors.  

The notorious San Andreas Fault is located on just
the far side of the cemetery wall.
The cultivated field is on the North American Tectonic Plate,
The photo was taken standing on the Pacific Tectonic Plate looking east.

Go West! The Wedding of Brian & Amy

Ah, Yes... the whole purpose of this westward trip was to celebrate the marriage of our nephew Brian to Amy.

Now the way this whole arrangement works is that Brian and Amy met at the University of California at San Diego, though Brian grew up in the San Joaquin Valley of California (Escalon), while Amy came from the San Francisco Bay area. Brian was in Dallas getting a Master in Prosthetics and Orthodics from University of Texas Southwestern Medical School when he proposed to Amy in Seattle, while she was enrolled in her Occupational Therapy studies in Olympia.  Both Brian and Amy are residing in western Washington where both have found careers; though they met in San Diego and she is from the San Francisco area and he from inland California, naturally the wedding was held in Morgan Hill, California, south of San Jose.  We, and the Arotca wedding party/family stayed in Gilroy and enjoyed the rehearsal dinner in San Juan Bautista - all along the Highway 101 corridor.

As we all gathered, at first in Gilroy.  Our daughter Inga flew into San Jose and met up with her cousin Andrew (The groom's brother & bestman), who then transported her and her grandparents to the hotel in Gilroy as well.  We greeted them all as they arrived.  My sister Wendy (mother of the groom) and her husband Barth were running a bit late, but they pulled into the hotel parking lot long enough to unload the table center pieces into our car (plus detailed instructions).  Sue and I were in charge of setting out the center pieces, lighting candles and assigning seats to the guest that evening at the rehearsal dinner in a beautiful garden of a Mexican restaurant in San Juan Bautista, 11 miles south of Gilroy. 

The following evening, we drove north on 101 to Morgan Hill.  The large patio of an Italian restaurant was reserved for the wedding ceremony and the dinner following for all of the guests.  It was grand.  Lots of energy among the wedding party and friends of Brian and Amy as they all grooved, jumped and jived to the tunes the DJ was pumping out.  Inga appeared to fit right in with her cousin, the bestman, and the others on the dance floor.  Even the boomer generation made it out to dance on the patio for a few of the musical selections.

Uncle Tony & Aunt Sheri join Sue and Inga
on the patio for the wedding

Wendy (Mother of the Groom) and Aunt Sheri are
photo-bombed by Bestman Andrew

Just Coincidence :-)
Sheri, Wendy and Inga all choose to wear blue

Barth and Wendy (parents of the groom)
and Aunt Sheri

At 10 PM (no doubt due to local noise regulations) the dance floor activity wound down, small bottles of bubbles were distributed to the remaining guests, and each and everyone blew a cloud of bubbles and well-wishes to couple as they moved between the two lines of guests, hopped into the waiting limousine and head off for a new life together and a honeymoon in the San Juan Islands.

Andrew shows his moves to Cousin Inga

We were so pleased to be a part of the celebration. 

Sue and Wendy prepare to bubble the departing couple

Wendy shows the proper bubbling technique
(note the sophisticated arch of the pinky finger)

Amy and Brian
Start as Husband and Wife

Go West! Lake Tahoe & Cousin Norman

Having maneuvered out low-clearance Hyundai through the scrub sage and emerging back onto a paved thoroughfare, albeit covered in desert dust and mud spatters, we planned to arrive at the fine home of my cousin Norman and his most charming family in South Lake Tahoe.

Climbing up the backside of the Sierra's from Carson City and into California provided a momentous change in scenery from the Basin and Range desert province of Nevada to the crisp white granite and conifers rimming the pristine waters of Lake Tahoe's alpine environment.  We pulled up to Norman's house, finding him home while his wife, Natali, was out scooping up his two daughters from their afternoon activities.  Natali is a life-filled woman with a large warm heart who made me feel so welcome when I passed this way two years ago with my son Grant.  She again threw open her welcoming soul and seemed so pleased to have us stop by as she pulled up a few minutes after our arrival.  Two years back while passing through, Norman had to go out of town unexpectedly, and so I missed him then, and now once we meet, we figure it has been about 18 or 19 years since we last saw one another.

Natali, informs us that it is "National Hamburger Day".  Honestly, I had no idea.  And appropriately she had prepared a stack of fine patties ready for the grill along with fresh corn on the cob and assorted sides.  We all had a quite delicious meal while enjoying the summer evening chatting and dining upon their deck.

After the burgers were eaten as part of our patriotic duty, it was suggested that we take a quick jaunt down to the lakeshore beach to watch the sun set.  So we did, kicking off our shoes and walking in the quartzose sand as Barley (their dog) was pleased to be off and investigating the geese and other friends he could find at this leash-free zone.

Cousin Norman give Lana a ride to the beach

Melanie follows her father out on a small sand spit

Barley gives chase to a flock of geese 

The day's light fades from the shore of
Lake Tahoe
as we turn to head home

Ice Plant
Springs from the forest floor on the shore of
Lake Tahoe

With the day's light fading, we move back to our cars to head home; after all it is still a school night for the girls.  Barley is wet from his lake swims, and Norman tries to persuade his dog to ride in the back of the car, where he is least objectionable.  Barley hops in, but does not buy riding at the back, and we see him immediately climb forward to a more preferable location as his car pulls out of the parking space.  We hope to make a stop for some end-of-the-day ice cream, but since it is a couple of days before the Memorial Day weekend and summer kick-off; the ice cream shop has not yet opened.  We must live with disappointment.

Before bed, Lana brings out Louie, fine and healthy looking Afghanistan gecko.  We meet and speak to him, admiring his reptileness before we all head to bed.

Every day of our westward journey bring its own special pleasures and charms,
and spending a bit of time with Norman (after all these years), Natali and Melanie and Lana is yet another shining example.  This is all good. 

Go West! Ichthyosaurs

A short travel day is scheduled.  But that does not necessarily mean we will follow the 'schedule'.  Actually it was a mere 4 miles out of Austin, Nevada that we saw the sign.

ICHTHYOSAURS   56 

The sign pointed off the highway to the south.  I drove passed the sign maybe a 100 yards and then made a U-turn, no need to halt for traffic, as this is after all, "The Loneliest Highway in America".  A change in schedule is called for as adventure beckons.  We had 7 miles of paved road and 49 miles of gravel road.  You would think that there was nothing to be found down the dusty gravel road, but we passed ranches, a set of cabins for rent on the Pease River, and a settlement on the Paiute Reservation.  We came upon a couple of forks in the road that were unmarked as to which way led to the ichthyosaurs.  In such cases I try and take the road more heavily traveled (apologies to Robert Frost), as this makes all the difference in the Nevada wilderness.

We find that we have wandered into the Berlin ghost town State Park.  But signs again pick up and guide us toward the fabled ichthyosaurs, large land reptiles that evolved into sea-going predators during the Cretaceous (65-100 million years ago).  On a chalk outcrop up behind the mining ghost town is a covered pavilion that protects 9 or 10 of the world's largest ichthyosaurs yet known.  The covered display housing the partially excavated fossil beds is locked.  The local ranger staff only opens the display area at 10 and 12 on weekdays.  We get there at about 10:20.  A couple from Alaska tells us we just missed the tour.  We chat awhile, but know we can't hang around for 2 hours for the next peek-inside chance.  We peer through the windows and can make out large ribs, skulls, some phalanges and tail bones.  Sorry that we are not inside, but still a pretty cool site to see.  Sue poses for a photo with an ichthyosaur painted to scale on a concrete retaining wall.

    

We opt to go back and wander about the remains of Berlin, a former gold and silver mine active in the first years of the 20th Century.  The building are well documented as to what function they had in working of the ore deposits for this mining town.

Berlin mine stamp mill
Ore carts from the mine shaft enter the back of the stamp mill,
dump their load into hoppers that then direct the ore into crushers and
then stamp mills that reduce the size further for processing

An old Ford left in Berlin

A belt driven stamp machine

Sue finds many sparkly specimens in the tailings -
but leaves them in place in the State Park

Interior of the stamp mill

It comes time to try and find our way back to Highway 50 and make our way to the home of my cousin Norman in South Lake Tahoe that afternoon.  We check a recently acquired Nevada highway map, and find our location and see that there is a short cut across 50 miles of desert to get back to a paved road.  We are traveling in a Hyundai, smooth ride, better mileage than the SUV we left in the garage back in Texas.  But for these off-road adventures, I prefer the high clearance 4Runner.  I always keep a mental check of the odometer on these back country trips in case I have to end up hiking back, I'd like to know how far I need to go for help.

I think we were on track for the first 26 miles, but then we came to a 3-way split.  One road heads north (that's the direction we ultimately want to go), one heads NE and another stretches to the west.  We decide to choose the north road.  Five miles out, the road has gotten much rougher, and has begun to wind around a set of hills.  The last thing I want to do is blow a tire or knock out my oil pan way out here.  I have no idea when the next vehicle may travel this way, it could be days.  This really is a lonely road in the middle of the desert.  I swing around on the hillside, and get us back to the triple junction.  I choose the NE route, and in 35 miles we are back on pavement.  I stop at the stop sign, check for traffic (I see nothing) and turn to the west.

I recall the advice given by a survivor of the ill-fated Donner Party that was headed to California as well; "Hurry along a fast as you can, and don't take any short cuts."  For us, that was a good adventure.

Go West! The Loneliest Highway

For my roadtrips, I covet the open road, the broad vistas and a distant horizon with a road and all thoughts to myself.  So I made sure to schedule a route across "The Loneliest Highway in America", Highway 50 from Salina, UT to South Lake Tahoe, CA.  With an overnight stop in the middle of the route.

Leaving Goblin Valley and getting back on I-70, the day started great with wide open spaces and nothing but a quick interstate before us.  A quick start is a good start.  We cut a good pace across the San Rafael Swell, still enjoying the clean white cliffs of Navajo Sandstone as we cross canyon and mountain range sculpted in bold, shear lines with a patina of warm colors.  Cutting off the interstate in Salina (I missed the exit twice, coming and going - a moral failing on my part), stopping at the Maverick gas station for fuel, as such opportunities will be few and far between on the Loneliest Highway over the next two days.  We have evening reservations at a B&B in Austin, Nevada; the Union Street Lodge, where doors are never locked.

In route, I could see the clouds building with an increasingly angry tone.  Gaining a dark underbelly west of Delta, Utah.  I say as much to my wife, "I'll bet we're in for some pretty heavy rain ahead."  Out on the two-lane highway that crosses the alkali flats west of town, the heavy rain comes at us hard, only the rain is frozen.  This is hail! 

We are pelted with kumquat-sized hail stones, the racket inside the cab sounds as if a truckload of gravel were being poured upon us.  The icy hail stones are dashing into our windshield with such velocity and frequency it was hard for me as a driver to discern whether my windshield was just covered in fractured ice or whether the windshield glass itself was fractured. The noise was deafening, the fear and anticipation that the kumquats would soon become the size of baseballs was nerve shattering. I putted along hoping the hail core of this storm would not produce larger hail stones and smash out our windows.  I wanted to go fast to get out from under this pounding, but I could not see the road, so going slow was the only option.  But staying under this torrent seemed also like a doomed strategy as well.  If we were meant to catch hail's fury, nothing I could do about it now.  As these storms do, it passed, but I am sure we got the brunt of it, leaving no smashed glass, but several dimples in the body of the Hyundai.

The edge of the heavy hail storm
in our rear view mirror

Feeling of good fortune for having both us and the car survives the pounding hail, and thus not forcing a return to Delta for windshield replacement; I was now looking forward to dinner.  

Having some familiarity with Ely, NV from my Fresno State geology field trips to eastern Nevada, I thought we might be able to find a good Basque restaurant in town for a hearty meal.  When connectivity was available, Sue would search the internet on her phone for Basque dining in Ely.  Nothing too promising, but the Silver State Diner was listed as an option.  We found the diner, and pulled in at 4:30 (in time for the senior early bird specials).  However, nothing on the menu said anything about Basque food.  I opted for a chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and white gravy.

Two blocks down Main street beyond the Silver State Diner , "Look!" Sue pointed and shouted as I drove past an old hotel on my left.  Lettered on the front of the historic hotel was, 'Fine Basque Dining'.  I have now stored that experience in my memory of places and things, and will no longer rely on the internet to locate a Basque meal in Ely.  Next time no chicken fried steak for me, for sure. 

Now driving into the sunset through intermittent rain showers (no more hail), we cross multiple mountain passes and then glide down into the intermontain basin below before we climb up the next mountain range pass.  It has been a wet year for most of Nevada, providing a verdant view outside our car windows as we travel in the low evening light.

My original thought was to stop stop in Eureka, NV, where the early city fathers built a beautiful opera house during the booming days of mining.  The Jackson House Hotel was a possible overnight destination.  But a check of the internet before leaving showed multiple web pages, some stating that the Jackson House was close,  or under new management, or open or serving good meals or serving greasy atrocities. In which webpage does the truth lie? I called one of the phone numbers given for the Jackson House on a webpage that seemed maybe current; whoops, wrong number.  The guy who answer was polite but seemed to have no association with the Jack House Hotel.  Back to the web, I find a different number on another website, I give it a try; whoops, wrong number again - but the very same guy answered.  I give up.  We will stay in Austin where I can get the right number the first time.

Austin has very few streets, but we decide to use GPS navigation to find Union Street.  GPS navigation lady who lives inside the phone was receiving spotty satellite communication - but how hard can this be? Really?  She comes back in service as we crest the pass and wind around swithcback coasting into town.  
"Turn left on Virginia", 
"Turn left on Union", 
"Your destination is on the right".  
No it is not.  We are not on Union Street, we are in some body's drive way on the side of the hill.  This is not a street.  We drive around up steeply inclined narrow streets (some would say alleys) of this old mining town.  I stop, I am not sure but I knock on the door.  Wrong place, but they are happy to point us back around the block to get to Union Street Lodging B&B. 

We see the sign, indicating we are now in the proper place.  We pull in and are greeted by a 3 legged dog.  I ring the bell, and the proprietress shows us to our room and takes our order for tomorrow's breakfast. 

She and her husband have done a lot of work to refurbish an old boarding house that once had men on the lower lever, and women on the upper lever - but originally no stairs between upper and lower.  She said a lot of Europeans book her place 2 years ahead, and once they get to central Nevada, they are of one of two reactions: 1) Their minds are blown by the amount of space in the American West, or 2) their hearts a stricken with fear for being so far away from cities and civilization and can not wait to get back to crowded spaces.

Go West! Goblin Valley

Feeling good.  Actually, feeling good and exhausted.  Having scaled the sandstone bluffs to get a glimpse of Delicate Arch, finishing in the late afternoon.  We were now off to our end-of-day destination, Goblin Valley State Park.  Goblin Valley is west of Arches National Park, south of I-70 some 30 miles off the beaten path (or so I thought).

I figured everybody would be attracted to the nearby National Parks, and nobody would be at a mere State Park.  I was wrong.  At 8 o'clock in the evening, we pulled to the Goblin Valley entrance only to be told all campsites were taken.  Bummer.  We needed to be there at least 6 hours earlier.

Well, no never mind.  I knew of a few BLM campsites back in the canyons a few miles back down the dirt road.  BLM campsites are primitive and are never full. This time I was right.

We set up our tent in the twilight.  Though we had some dinner items, I only wanted some water and fruit after the hike to Delicate Arch in that afternoon.  No regrets.

Up early in the morning with the sun.  A few goodies from the ice chest for breakfast and then strike the tent and stow the gear back into the car trunk.  We're going to go see some goblins.

Despite being aced out of a campsite inside the park, I think Goblin Valley is a relatively unknown place of interest in Utah.  The midmorning sun was already casting hard shadows as we pulled into the parking lot atop the bluff overlooking the army of "goblins" marching in the valley below us.  We applied sun screen and loaded up the water bottles and head down the trail to walk amongst the ranks of goblins - technically they are hoodoos formed by an overlying layer of hard sandstone that protects the underlying soft shales and mudstones from eroding as quickly, thereby leaving a capping hard sandstone on top of a softer shale pillar.  I like the name of Goblin Valley, as these pillars, hoodoos do look like a grotesque army of red goblins.

Goblin Valley
Hoodoo goblins (3 to 30 feet tall) march in formation
across the desert valley floor

Add caption

We saluted the army of red goblins as they continued their march into geologic time, and then turned our backs and headed west to Nevada.