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Tijuana to Vancouver

a travel blog by kleer001

In the space between my last job and the next job I have time for the trip I've wanted to take for a long time. It's my love poem to the west coast. It's visiting family and friends. It's revisiting old haunts and seeking out new nooks and crannies. It's reviving and teasing the wanderlust before I set down some temporary roots again. It's connecting to my home land.
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Day 5

San Jose, United States


While driving from Sata Cruz to San Jose I felt all the previous journeys across the same strech of road like clouds of ghosts. That family trip when my sister was just an annoying preteen, that school trip at the end of the year, that 3am slow drive, and so many more. The road twists and turns, ups and downs in a very pleasing manner. That is driving pleasure.

Before I made it to my grandparents' house I drove through old haunts, down familar streets. Los Gatos, Campell, old town areas, tree lines suburbs, strip malls. I drove up to the old scenic view by a water sanitation plant. That spot where I we were caught by the police and questioned seperately about the goings ons. Luckily my dumb pleasure of having a drivers licence to show them overrode any kind of reasonable fear I should have had. The windows were steamy, so, I can see why they shined in their overcompensatingly large maglights to see what was going on. This night it was only me and my memories and my tears.

Rolled into my grandparent's house around 9:30. They've been there for more than 50 years. This is the house where my mom, aunt, and uncle grew up. There's art on the wall I recall from my presentience youth, abstracts, landscapes, and abstracts.

My grandfather is a master locksmith. It was his hobby and now there's a glorious glass case in the foyer filled with padlocks and combination locks of all shapes and sizes. Some are clean and brassy, some are grey and pitted, some are bizarre mutations of what you thought was a lock. And that's just in the front room. Out in the garage are metal filing cabinates filled with sorted locks and near endless key blanks. He thought me how to copy a key when I was 12. I remember a christmas when he handed out lock picking tools to the young'ns and had us all practice on a plain vanilla 6 pin tumbler Master padlock. It usually took us a couple minutes to pop the thing open with the right jimmying and twisting.


It may sound odd, but I got my first professional haircut in 16 years. It was at this place with a spinning red white and blue barber pole. It was at this place where my grandfather and cousin have been getting their hair cut for decades. There was baseball memorabelia on the walls, baseballs, bats, and dozens of signed pictures. The guys behind the chairs were a gas. They tossed the one liners back and forth, kept the vibe light and friendly. When my guy was cleaning up the edges at my neck and ears he joked
"Oh, so, yeah this is the first time I've used this thing a 6 months."
one of the other guys piped in "Is that the rusty blade?" "Yes," he said "There was all sorts of bleeding last time." and on like that, you get the idea.

Dinner was with a good portion of my family sitting down at Chilis. Not exactly like the dinners out of yor, but damn close. Everyone's doing well. There's new pets, book deals, business meetings, and I was so damn happy to see more of my fam.

After dinner we headed our seperate ways. To Berkeley for me, and beyond.

permalink written by  kleer001 on November 22, 2008 from San Jose, United States
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Day 6

Berkeley, United States

Arrived in Bazerkeley around 11pm, finally got to sleep around 2am. Got up early to give an old friend a ride to the airport. Hugs and kisses all around. It's so good to be back in the home hood.

I made it to Lanesplitters Pizzaria for lunch, was greeted enthusiasicaly by old workmates and saw some new faces too. Predicably not much has changed on the work side. There was a very simlar feeling in seeing and talking with biological family as this motly crew of crafty type computer nerdy art people. I made a horrible mistake at Lanesplitters. I've seen this mistake before. I don't know why I didn't catch it. Direct experience I've heard is the best teacher.

When my lady and I went to Morrocco more than several months ago she had a beer with our last meal. Sadly this I fear made her sick. Sick for 8 hours, laying passed out on the bathroom floor back in our hotel room. We were both very scared in that foreign place and we nearly called for an ambulance. Thankfully she was able to power through it and quickly recovered. Thankfully we were able to make our flight the next morning.

For lunch I had a couple slices of NY style pie, oh so good. For lunch I also had a few beers. I'm not sure how many, but at least 3 and all of different types, something pale, something dark, something rusty. Had it been two years ago I'm sure everything would have been fine. I would have been acclimated to the yeasty beasties and the level of booze, but I'm not and I wasn't. All my microbe belly beasties are without a doubt acclimated to the life of a keyboard jockey and mouse pusher in London. And my liver is used to near teatotaling aesteic existance. I attribute my sickness to the mixture of beers, the alien tiny biologies, and that massive bong rip. I spent the evening curled up next to the toilet. Equal parts puking my guts out and passing out. My body and I had a little tet-a-tet in there. It told me what was going to happen, I understood it and then it happened. Reverse peristalsis is the term. My biggest concern was blood. Was this ripping me a new one? Was it just food rejection? Yay, it was just the second one.


My good friend J let me crash on his couch and slowly I recovered. I have learned now 1) take it easy for a while after a long move with the beers 2) Your bud that brings you back gatorade after your night of excess is a brother indeed.

permalink written by  kleer001 on November 22, 2008 from Berkeley, United States
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Day 7

Berkeley, United States


This was a recovery day. Organic Chamomile with Lavender, a couple rolls of Rolaids, organic Peppermit tea, "Digest More" enzyme formula, sweet rice and tofu roll, a bunch of mutant tiny bananas, two pieces of toast, a good ol' fashioned constitutional, and I'm right as rain, well, maybe a misty mountain top. Definitly not at 100% and it'll be bland food for a couple days, but I'm definitly improving.

I found this lovely stencil on my walk to the nearest Starbucks (where I could have uploaded pictures, but didn't remember). It was a whole bloody mile away, uphill.

If you have never seen a cat nomming on a piece of dry toast before, then you are in the large portion of people. I was just eatin' and the cat came up and plopped down and went to town. So. Cute.

It's nearly midnight and I feel great.

permalink written by  kleer001 on November 22, 2008 from Berkeley, United States
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Day 8

Stinson Beach, United States


This is my very generous host becoming intimate with her coffee. Sadly I can't handle coffee myself, more for everyone else. I'm a builder's tea kinda guy, and maybe a ginger biscuit too. Sweet and creamy.


Now that I'm nearly halfway, let me introduce myself. I'm just a dude in the world. I'm a second generation California native. Mom is tall skinny blonde with blue eyes from the Bay Area, dad is a big ol' black man from Los Angeles. I grew up in the South Bay Area, San Jose, Campbell, Saratoga, Los Gatos. Went to school in the deep south, Savannah, just long enough so that I say y'all quite comfortably and have an occasional desire for grits, okra, corn bread, black eyed peas, fried chicken, deep fried cat fish, and a tall mint julep. I've been in London for the last 15 months and it's becoming more and more apparent how much I missed home. Dude!


Stinson Beach was gorgeous. All the beautiful landscapes and scenery, I keep weeping over the views, they're so grand, all the life and natural high frequency detail. It just seems everything is alright in the world.


Passing through towns with 2 and 3 digit populations. Passing large rolling green hills dotted with cows, sheep, horses, eucalyptus trees. Rolling through tight corners and narrow bridges at exactly the speed limit. Stopped at some general store and was witness to the power of a small troupe of grey haired vets on Harleys. Oh, the sound, the rumbling fierce burbling sound of a Harley.


I did a little dance at sunset, said a little prayer and was off. Oh, the rolling green hills and sparse trees at sunset. It seems it was a good idea to ride highway 1 (2 lane rustic and sweet) during the day and the 101 or 5 (fully modern freeways). No reason to drive slow if I can't see the scenery, and a damn good way to make time.
Maybe I can make Eureka tonight, though it's more likely I'll end up in Mendocino.


permalink written by  kleer001 on November 23, 2008 from Stinson Beach, United States
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Day 9a

Humboldt Hill, United States


Oh god the driving. I only made it to Humbolt. I was subject to full brain failure. Little jerks here and little twitches there, small gaps in attention and overall drowsyness. Not good things that you want while you drive unfamilar roads. The sign said "Rest Stop Ahead" and I thought it best to strech my legs, throw away some trash, make some water. This is the creepyest rest stop I've even seen. Sure, there were signs that said "Patroled by CHP", but I had a hard time believeing it. It was tucked away about a quarter mile from the actual road and so dark and quiet. I didn't even get out of my car.


Slumped into a hotel with no wifi. Damnit. I just wish I had gotten up earlier as there was a strange long line of people all checking out at the same time. Trucker guys wearing jackets of camo and stinking of the cheap beer that saturated their grizzly beards. Good people. There was the cutest little old lady at the counter. She carefully addressed every detail of the person she was serving, offered opinions and suggestions, and was generally the polar opposite of the big city experience. That was good too. After about 30 mintues it was my turn, I paid up got some postcards and was on my way.


Let me rewind just a moment for breakfast: apple, oatmeal, tea, juice, and background noise from the idiot box. The sky really was that even grey color, man. This is rain forest area.


I told my friend that 18 days is way too short for this kind of journey. Tragically too short. This is the gorgeous Avenue of the Giants. Next time I do this kind of thing I'm thinking more 180 days. Drive about an hour a day, setup camp and explore, get to bed early and up with the sun. That sounds good. I would have time enough to visit all the wonderful state parks and take in the local color be it brown, green, tan, or a little red.



permalink written by  kleer001 on November 24, 2008 from Humboldt Hill, United States
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Day 9b

Eureka, United States


That's lunch. There's a lot of information to take in there, let me walk you through it. The juice on the left is a pomegranate raspberry 100% juice drink from Nantucket Nectars (happily no high fructose corn syrup). Yes, those are Trivial Pursuit cards in the sugar dish. They're well loved and placed on every table. Requisite salt and pepper, natch. Did I ever tell you that my great grandfather insisted that there was no difference between katsup and mustard save the color? Yes, well, I can tell, but I don't mind them mixed. Then the good stuff. This place had a heated tureen of bbq sauce. It was de-lish. At the end of my meal I had abandoned any pretense of civility and proceeded to slurp the sauce directly from the small serving cup. NOM! That little betsy in the foil is a "small" chicken sammich. I'm glad I didn't get the large. It was at least a third of a pound of slow white roased chicken meat dumped between a quarter bagette of savory butter infused garlic bread. So damn good. Last but not least are the fried potato wedges. Simple but effective. Was at least two medium potatoes. This monument of nom was brought to you by the good people at Eureka's 'Porter Street BBQ'. If you're in town, go.


I love maps. These folksy ones especially. This is at the 'Porter Street BBQ'. I had just finished a chapter in the pulpy sci-fi book I was reading (Joe Haldelman's "Camoflage") and the couple below the painting had just left.

Eureka I found was truly out of my ability to safely drive. From the hotel I had a two hour ride through misty mountain roads and dog leg turns, steep hills. And that was during the day. I could have made it if I were a coffee fiend with a cast iron stomach. I'll be taking it easy with the stomach abuse for a few more days.


On the way to Eugene I stopped at a state beach. It was a wide beach, a good 100 yards from end of the dunes and scrub to the waterline. Low tide most probably. I saw a raven. It was obviously not a crow, more stately, thicker beak, maybe a little wiser, maybe I'm projecting. They were pecking at large lumps of sea weed. Sacrificing my good taste and respect I startled them a little and captured their flight for your pleasure.


More things I will not be seeing on this trip, damn damn damn. Though that's true, I wonder what my tolerance for this high percentage of oxygen is. Will I merge with the soil and undergrowth on a longer trip? Will my beard grow and branch and be home to birds and squirrels?


This is basically the drive. Toss in some turns and twists and hills and views. I wish I had a fish eye lens for this view business.


Had to stop for water, pulled into this town, Tiberon? Just a little beautiful cove. See, If I had time I could have walked down to the virgin beach, swam out to the rocky island and munched on some wild berries and bark.


Check it, yo. Old dude with a covered wagon. I doubt he has a cell phone or wi-fi in that thing. I could be wrong though, he could be a deep sleeper cell from the civil war. The driver was, yes, a grey old gentleman with a giant beard and leathery face, ancient and patient.



permalink written by  kleer001 on November 25, 2008 from Eureka, United States
from the travel blog: Tijuana to Vancouver
tagged Beach, Lunch, BBQ, California, Raven, Oregon, CoveredWagon and Crows
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Day 10

Eugene, United States


Was welcomed heartily by my hosts R and P. Old friends back from early 00's Burningman style. The two humans of the house serve kindly three cats, two of which I renamed (temporarily) to Stubbins and StepCat, see below. The third cat, who's royal sounding name I cannot recall. She was old (15 I think) and I think it best if I respect that cat.
Again it was quite the relief to get out from behind the wheel. This is the bedroom door in their guest house. As you can see it's lovingly covered with words and designs of thanks and signatures and funky awesomeness. I did my little doodle there too.


R is quite the painter I insist. We spent time trading stories in his studio down stairs, catching up on histories and sharing the joys and life. This is one of his first paintings. I definitely get a Vinny Van Go-go vibe from the foreground character, don't you? The little curvy lady off to the right, as she poses and blends in she elicits closer inspection and offers only mysteries. This delight was in the bedroom and greeted me in the mornings and saw me off to sleepy time. Dude also set me up with a Hip mix cd. Freakin' awesome. I'll definitly be coming back. So lovely gracious the hosts, thank you thank you.


This is StepCat. StepCat is on the step. There is no explanation. That's just where he wants to be. His eyes really aren't glowing, that's the flash. Maybe his cat soul shines out like that, but I couldn't tell you. At parties StepCat is on his step. At night, StepCat is on his step. In the morning? Yup, you know it, StepCat is on his step. I think this orange beauty is getting along in years too.


Everyone, this is Stubbins. He has a stubby tail. Don't no one know how it came to be, just another one of those cat mysteries. It is a fact that the ungrateful little tramp scratched me while I was feeding him toast. Seemed he wanted to eat off the floor. Well la-de-dah yah fuzzy bastard. Otherwise a nice cat, I'll give him 8 out of 10, just a small penalty for the drooling and scratching.


Helped out a friend of R's dump some refuse at the dump. A little hard labor is good. I stated that I wouldn't mind 2 hours a day. This was more like 5 minutes. I think a few hours would keep me in good spirits and fit. I read it in Aldus Huxley's "Island" and it stuck. Well, sounds like a good idea to me. Too much of this monkey puzzle sitting behind a screen and tap tap tapping away, not so good for the soul.


This is the dump. It's this big trough of filth and debris, a tractor rolls endlessly up and down the ramp pushing it into a container and compressing it. I thank the gods for the cold weather as it did not smell bad at all. I can easily imagine that during the summer months the miasma becomes truly fetid. It was entrancing to watch the garbage rolling over than through the tractor treads, something dry and fluid at the same time.


Anatolia, Traditional Green and Indian Food

R's friend D sprung for lunch at Anatoia, Greek and Indian food. I had the spanicopita. Too bad they were all out of the special, some indian dish. Greek and Indian, wtf? The decor was chill northWestern, wood everywhere and huge rugs and tapestries on the walls. We sat near the large bay window in the front, fishbowl out to the street. Big burly man on two crutches worked his way by, a woman with a trench coat made of ornate carpet and jogging sweats under neath, small clots of people walking, sporadic traffic.
D has a lovely house, sprawling space and a labradoodle and a pug.


Jump cut to later that night at a local used book store. Sure, they had your best sellers and new books, but where they really shined was their taste. They had featured things relating to living off the land and sustainable practices, poetry, languages, and a whole section on the beats. Yum.


As you can see I got some serious treasure here. Marshal McLuhan's War and Peace in the Global Village, I'm not 100% sure what the gibberish is about at this point, but it's strongly peppered with quotes from Finnigan's Wake. That book with a white spine is "The Manifesto" by Anonymous. There's no ISBN #, no publisher, no author information. It starts rolling on the first page and on the last page it's done. Sure, it does come with a little red mimeographed page foled into it with more specific informations, but the insert reads like the grandson of the Dr. Bronners bottle. Something about "dedrabbit". My goal was to pick up unique books, books that I would have a hard time picking up at the local library. Then there's "The Medium is the Massage" and "The Gurenberg Galaxy". Take a moment and look up Mr. McLuhan. I'll still be here when you get back.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marshal_mcluhan
The next thin little spines are three chap books for writers, two by Gregory Benford, woot! Some good looking stuff from my favorites over at the magazine "Fantasy and Science Fiction". I was raised on that stuff. After school at my grandparent's place, just around the corner from grade school. I would have a ham and cheese sammich on a plate and milk in a glass. The magazine would be turned to some thrilling tale of hard sci-fi or a stimulating essay by Issac Asimov. Then there's "Mind Parasites" by Colin Wilson. It looks intriguing, something about a horror from beyond or somesuch. Printed in 1972 in Berkeley, no ISBN # and amaturish pen and ink drawing on the cover. I'm not expecting "The Darkening Sky", that's a hope beyond hope. Finally a compilation of "Lively" folk tales, "Lovers, Mates, and Strange Bedfellows" compiled and edited by James R. Foster. Again, yum.

For those following with baited breath there may not be an update until after Thanksgiving. Just sayin' I'll see you on the other side.


permalink written by  kleer001 on November 26, 2008 from Eugene, United States
from the travel blog: Tijuana to Vancouver
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Day 11-12

Portland, United States


I arrived in Portland in the late afternoon.

There was crazy thick traffic.

The skyscrapers and overpasses were a comforting sight. It's been years. Too many years since I've been here.

I love my friends here. Someone asked me while I was in the fierce glow of my first post Burningman experience if I had met any new friends. Yes, yes, I did.

This was my first Thanksgiving with 90% new people, and I liked it a lot. New stories, new faces, friendly faces and stories about how happy people were to get away from their families. Quick aside, I know I'm very lucky to have a family that I dig, that there's no overt and fantastic drama, that we're all mostly chill.

My host A and I enjoying a post dessert Lemoncello, so tart.

At big loud raucous parties I enjoy the small times where I can be at the quiet center and just watch the madness spin and roll around me.


permalink written by  kleer001 on November 28, 2008 from Portland, United States
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Day 13

Portland, United States


Thanksgiving, day 2, part 3. What a lovely spread prepared by the B family. This is a snap at the presentation of dessert.
What I saw was love and the deep tendrils of this arm of my social network, of the social network which radiates around from me, from which I am but a small part, but for my ego I could never say "this is mine". Oh, the flow. I had come to this house, years ago, guest of one of its occupants, S, and now I feel dug in and branched out: friends, friends of friends, children, parents, friends of children, soon to be married partners, strangers and old friends. It's embarrassing to say, but it seems that the only way I could stay grounded was to claim a seat and plant my ass there. Through dinner and dessert I had the following view (faces chaging, of course):

The population of this house has changed. What was once a party nexus populated by singletons and beautiful has grown. Now it's a family home, friends moved out and fiance moved in, sister, husband, daughters. A new chapter? A new book!
As for the new people my social toolbox had little to offer. One on one would have been preferred, to make any connection. It's fine to go slow, like "Hey, didn't I see you last year at Thanksgiving?"

Everyone takes pictures of bathrooms, no? Of all the sweeping change I saw in the house and her participants this bathroom seemed to be nearest the eye of the storm and has changed little.


permalink written by  kleer001 on November 30, 2008 from Portland, United States
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Day 14

Seattle, United States


I want to see this in my dreams, solid and pulsing with spoiled organ music, reaching out oily rainbow tentacles to gather the ripe fruit of my soul.

Not a lot to say here. Gas top-up for a 20$! FTMFW!

Was blessed by a train splattered with graffiti. Hey, kids, don't take pictures while driving.

Tacked up on a telephone pole were two pairs of shoes. I wasn't able to tease a story out of them, maybe you can make heads or tales of this bit. It's comforting to see the palimpsest poles, generations of bill detritus, ripped letters and words and graphics. They just layer them in Berkeley. I guess they're a bit more fastidious here.

L, D, and I went to see the "Clumsy Lovers", a wonderous bluegrass band from Canada. This is the jug band that opened for them. I don't recall their name, but they freakin' rocked the Led Zepplin "Whole Lotta Love" with mighty aplomb.

Yes, my hat gets around.
The band was great. Such high energy hoe down madness. These guys (and a girl on violin) rocked it with such high intensity. I really should get out to live shows more often. I wonder what the scene in Novato is. Hmmm.

I twittered while I was drinking here:
"They drink 16oz PBR without irony. The wear flannel without irony. Seattle."
"Bluegrass cover of "You shook me all night long" with sing along FTW!!!
"Thunderstruck" into "Dirty Deeds" into "You are my sunshine" boot stomp till midnight.




permalink written by  kleer001 on November 30, 2008 from Seattle, United States
from the travel blog: Tijuana to Vancouver
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