Oh, Pooh

This post is suppose to be silly and to make light of serious tragedies that happen all the time. I knew it was bad taste at the time I took the pictures and the bad taste still hasn't settled now, but I thought I would post it anyways. I hope know one is too offended.


Faith's Bear was lonely and depressed when I drag him away to San Francisco!

Longing and comtemplation

Making the call for Help

No use

This is the end.

66 Post

This is my 66 post on the Roadside Traveler! So I thought I would post a couple pics of places I have been that are on or near the Mother Road.

Besides just being my 66 post, a friend of mine has rekindled my dream as of late, to take screaming, frustrated girls across the country on the Mother Road. I want to tell them, "don't make me come back there!" or, "Don't make me pull this car over!" Oh, how I want to sleep in flea-infested motels.I crave greasy diner food that has been seasoned with the cook's last few remaining hairs on his head and unwashed hands. I want to travel down decayed, weather-beaten highways that no one travels any longer. To overheat and breakdown on the side of barren roads; scream obscenities at the few passing motorist for not stopping to lend a hand! I want my girls to get Truck drivers to Honk by making pulling motions with their arms. I want to pretend not to see passing motorcycle gangs as they give me the bird for driving to slow. i simply want the American adventure...The road trip on the Mother Road.

Sea World

This year for Faith's "Metcha" day this year, we went to Sea World(The day we went to Russia and actually met her). A lot of adoptive parents do a "Gothcha" Day, but the day she became ours was on her second birthday. Kellee and I haven't been to SW in seven years! The last time was our first anniversary. We went at the end of April, so we were able to get a season's pass for the price of admisson.

Faith had a good time; she loved feeding the Bat Rays. We couldn't feed the dolphins, I guess they close the feeding after 1:00 pm.

Verity did really well, she remained a trooper most of the day, but by the end she was a little cranky.

My favorite part of the day was going to see the Polar Bear. They have a cave exhibit, little kids can walk through that represents where a polar bear would live. Inside they have a tape relay of a Polar Bear roaring. Faith was scared to walk through, but wanted her Papa to do it. So, I walked in and told her everything was fine. Then the tape relay played and I acted like the Polar Bear was getting me and dragging me away. Faith stood there frozen, eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and she let out a horrified blood-curdling scream! I had to run out of the cave and assure her that everything was alright. Then we both laughed- hers a little more nervous than mine. It was a Jack Handy, father-daughter moment.

After Sea World, I wanted to eat at a pizza place I had seen on the Food Network. However, I couldn't quite remember the name, so we called Kellee's mom and had her try to look it up for us. I thought we struck gold and figured it out... a place called A New York Style Pizzeria. But when we got there I realized it was the wrong place. Still the Pizza was sold by the slice and very scrumptious. However, the owner and pizza maker was wearing a Boston Red Sox hat. That soured the experience a little for me. They did have some Bronx Dodgers memorabilia on the wall, but it felt contrived after seeing the Boston lover. The place I wanted to go to is called Bronx Pizza. I guess with a season pass to Sea World, there is always next time.

Faith watching the Show

Verity trying not to get too much sun.

They must be from Pittsburgh.

She's a star...fishStuck on you!
Who do you think is angrier?

Faith and I sat in the soak zone!

A Tourist Wanders San Francisco- Part Two: Kerouac-Cassidy Mornings

On the platform of the train is our reunion, but its quick lived; our train is leaving and we must jump on before we can shake hands, nod heads, and say, “what’s up”. We find seats and spread ourselves about seeing that the train is only lightly filled. I’m tired. We’re tired. After some brief small talk I lean my head back against the train window that gives me a clear view of tunnel darkness. My eyes are growing heavier with each stop, I can’t hear the conductor name station stops and I grow increasingly worried with each stop that we might miss our destination. But if I get lost in this city its alright by me, I’m already lost. My headphones are back on and I’m listening:

It’s always the same, you’re jumping someone else’s train.

Jonathan writes a poem about the cultured people of the city.

Powell Station… our stop. With each station stop (8 all together) it has become progressively more and more packed with people. Jonathan loaded down with bags has to push someone off the train so we can get by. The young hipster looks perturbed, I say thanks, and he smirks with understanding-“tourist.”

We walk out of the underground station up to the sound of trafficking cars, echoing motors, and honking horns bouncing off towering buildings; gray ominous clouds lurking overhead with faint drizzled rain pelting my p-coat. This is the San Francisco I imagined.

A block up is the Travel center, we purchase our day passes for the transit system (a good deal usually, if you want to explore the town, but with Jonathan who wants to roam the earth on foot it becomes a waste of money) and hop aboard the cable cars. They had their place in San Francisco history and were quite useful, but now they are little more than a tourist novelty. However, it goes right next to our hotel.

On the cable car, I miss my daughter. She still talks about our outing to the city and getting to ride the “trolley”. I told myself that when I came back to the city I would like to come without her, since it’s harder to experience all the delights of the place with a kid on your side. Now, that she’s home and I’m here, I miss her. I would gladly forsake city delights to see her thrilled eyes light up as we board, to hear her squeal and talk faster than this rickety old thing can move. It would be all the delight I need.

Our Hotel is on the edge of Chinatown. An old place called the Grant Plaza that looked like it used to be a one-time low-income pad for welfare recipients. A place filled with shore men, train runners, prostitutes and vagrants. It’s been remodeled of course. After we book the reservation we went online and read reviews: Rooms are small….this place smells, we couldn’t get the smell out of our clothes for days…Bedbugs!!!! For $66 a night in the heart of the city, for one night I was willing to stink. Besides I liked the idea of staying in an old run down hotel, I felt more authentic and less of a tourist.

Check-in wasn’t until two, but they had a locker available so we stuffed our belongings in and headed out. We walked back to the Cable Car up a sharp inclined hill, after a block it had me gasping for air like a hooked fish.

We walk through the first Cathedral in California- much smaller than imagined. When all the other buildings lay in shambles and decimated from the 1906 Earthquake the Cathedral remained standing alone. A Rock to lean on… Tales of Belouc (the European writer, philosopher, and walker) ensued.

We rode the car down to the Buena Vista. It was starting to dopwnpour, as we hung to slippery sliding poles off the sides of the cable car. At the Buena Vista we relaxed in warmth as we sipped Irish coffee (Coffee and Irish Cream liqueur). The Buena Vista was the first place to serve the drink in America.

Afterwards we strolled down Fisherman’s Wharf. This is the hub, the granddaddy of tourist traps! Ripley’s Believe it or Not, Barking sea lions, and corporate eateries fill the place. But, we are not strolling during tourist hours when the Wharf becomes alive with the vampire merchants of knick-knacks. Were walking while it’s still early morning when the population is sparse. If you look closely, I mean really squint your eyes almost closed and imagine your damnedest; you can see the San Francisco that became the thriving eastern town on western shores. Chinese store front owners are out getting ready for the morning, fisherman- the last of the real fisherman on the Wharf are preparing their boats, workers heading to small canning factories, and vagabonds walking about “ hey buddy, how about sparing some change for a Vietnam Vet.”

It’s a Cassidy, Kerouac morning.

A Tourist Wanders San Francisco - Part One: On a Plane

My eyes sprang open 20 minutes before the alarm would irritatingly shake me out of restless slumber. I had tossed and turned throughout the night, my head filled with bad dreams and grand adventures, kept me from sound sleep. Night still lingered in the early morning and no one in the house was conscious of my last minute preparations as I was getting ready to head off to unknown escapades. I kissed my ladies goodbye, quietly slipping out the front door into the morning dew and rain stained streets illuminated by orange fluorescent streetlights. From the driveway I said my goodbyes again.

I pulled away from the curb driving my black oxidized Honda into the blackness and listened to Nori on the AM radio discussing the future with a psychic;

"Tell me who is going to win the election? Can you put that out there? Are you willing to make that claim?"

“Of Course,” said the confident psychic, “ I have picked the president correctly for the last 20 years. Though I have always picked the popular vote president and didn’t know that I was doing so, until the debacle of the 2000 election. I have to say though that I am getting a weird feeling about this one as I see two people becoming president and I’m a little confounded I’m not sure why that is… But, Hillary will be the next President. I met Obama this year and thought what a great man. I felt he would be president too…

I wish I were this confident about the future.

It’s good entertainment for 3:30 in the morning. Who knows maybe they will both be president this year.

I drive up and down lonely LA streets that drift under freeway overpasses hoping that I’ll find Hindry St. before I’m late for my plane. I’m here 2 ½ hours early. Finally I spot a darkened street that looks more alley than street and find a little sign that confirms my worst LA fears; Hindry St. I make the right and venture down the bleak alley in a daunting LA neighborhood. Bad B movies come to my mind as headlights hit graffitied walls; think Judgment Night and Escape from LA.

There at the end of the alley is my parking garage. Damn! I was hoping I had the wrong directions.

After I had reserved my spot a couple day’s prior, I started reading customer comments online; 2 out of 5 stars. 45-minute wait…they stole My CD’s…I waited around forever and the manager said he didn’t care. I barely made my flight.

I was cautious to arrive so early, I had places to wander off and explore and did not want to miss my voyage. When I pulled onto the lot though, there was a shuttle waiting for me! I suppose that at four in the morning on a Tuesday there wasn’t much of a crowd.

Ten minutes later, I was standing at the Virgin America loading area. Virgin America allows you to check in online and print your boarding pass 24 hours prior to arrival. On top of that I had no bags to check in, so I by passed the whole ticket counter ordeal. The only wait I encountered was having my backpack, Jacket, and Doc Martins searched and x-rayed.

It was a quiet morning at the LAX; I’m up and ready to fly before the throngs of businessmen and vacationers. The usually cramped halls were filled with some lingering red-eye flyers, janitors, sparse early birds, and shop workers getting ready to open up. I sit down and open my bag, pull out a book on Tales of California, put in the ear buds and listen to my favorite LA song; why you’d want to live here

I'm in Los Angeles today...It smells like an airport runway.Jet fuel stenches in the cabinand lights flickering at random.I'm in Los Angeles today...Garbage cans comprise the medians of freeways always creepingeven when the population's sleeping.

A young lady sits down two seats from where I am. She is dressed in a black pin-stripe suit with brown hair cut shoulder length, a classy thirty-something businesswoman. She looks nervous and somewhat unsure. Why is she sitting so close? There are seats everywhere. I’m a little bothered and annoyed by her presence into my space.

“Excuse me,” the pin-striped business woman intrudes into my world and I brace for unwanted small talk, “you wouldn’t by chance be going to San Francisco would you?”

“Yeah, I’m going there.” I reply abruptly as possible, so she gets the hint that I’m not interested in airport chitchat to make the time go by. I have moments that are wrapped up in a couple of hours to myself and she was an uninvited guest in my grand exploration.

“Is this the right place? I can’t find it on my boarding pass?”

As illogical as that might sound, I had the same problem. So I assure her that this is the place to wait. Apparently, she wasn’t into prolonging the conversation either or she could read the disinterest in my face; she said thanks, picked up her belongings and headed towards the empty check-in counter. I picked my book back up to read about the Emperor of America who roamed the streets of San Francisco.

Boarding time. We gradually make our way onto the plane. I move to 11A the seat I had picked out online; it’s a window seat overlooking the left wing. Some people prefer to not see the wing; not wanting to see impending tragedy before their life is cut short. I want to know, I want to know if a wing cracks, or see the flock of birds that will rip through the engines and bring me to my ill-timed fate.

The pinstriped businesswoman loading her luggage into the overhead compartment blocks me from getting to my seat. She is settling in for the hour flight…again, two seats from me. We share row 11. I put away my jacket and uneasily settle in to my seat. We nervously smile our pleasantries at one another. It going to be a long hour of awkwardness, guilt is settling in from how I snubbed her in the airport and I am now trying to think of how to correct my rudeness by making small talk. Nothing comes to mind so we sit there uncomfortable stewing in our own quietness.

Thank the heavens for technology. My distant two-seat over, traveling partner and me are now lost in fiddling with the monitors in front of us; CNN and Jimmy Eat World videos are my selections- however, I’m the only one on the plane with a broken monitor. So I pull out my Ipod and inject my favorite flying song into my eardrums:

Air traffic control it’s me
Coach Class row 13
I have this sinkin’ feeling
Is everything alright?
Stare at the wing and think
If there’s babies all survive

I am prepared for take off.

Rain was expected. Even in the gray-lit morning dawn I could see the storm clouds bivouacking over the city unwilling to let the darkness of night flee. I braced for turbulence as we ascended to our intended heights, but there was nothing.

From the window I could see the pacific stretching throughout the distant horizon. The rumbling nimbus clouds rolled over the pacific; from my view I could no longer tell how to separate one from another. The January dawn burned up the western horizon with its brilliant reds and oranges hanging over the Channel Islands. In all its majesty and awe- I was quickly tired and bored; ready for our descent back into the world.

As we closed in on our destination,the looming gray clouds filled my window seat view, drowning the vast sea out, there is only the dreary gray suspended below. There are no beautiful landscaped horizons or man made wonders to look for from my seat, there is only the gray. I’m beginning to wonder how much of an adventure this will be, the forecast was partial rain but it was beginning to look like my trip would be rained out and rained on. How much sightseeing, walking, dreaming can I do soaked; cold and shivering.

We begin to make our final descent through rain clouds and still no turbulence to rock us- calm and smooth. The captain Loops around and we make a near perfect landing. I’m here. For the first time in years without my family, away from home in a distant city and all I can think about is having them here with me.