Mic's birthday
I should have known that Murphy had it in for me. He always does.
Not that I'm taking it personally, of course - Murphy has it in for everyone. That's his job. But at least causing confusion and misery is a job that most people (or entities, or embodiments, or personifications) could enjoy.
I got the e-mail in late march from Megan, saying that Mic's birthday (his 60th) was coming up, and they were throwing a surprise party for him. Now, not only is Mic an old and dear friend, but he's been having some troubles, and I figured "what they heck? I can afford this now", so I accepted the invitation, and began making plans. Checking transportation times and costs, hotels, scheduling, all that kind of thing.
So the first glitch that arose was that my Monday night band got our first paid gig in ... way too long. And a good paying gig - more than $125 a man, and, of course, scheduled for the same day as the party. Of course, it was no big deal to get a sub for the gig (thanks, Shirley!), but it was definitely a sign of things to come.
So ... $140 for the train trip up and back (the last thing I want to deal with is the assholes at TSA and being groped and prodded for free - I charge extra for that, so no flying for me!), then losing $125 for the gig (which was later upgraded, of course), then hotel and a car... Worth it, but...
But I did the research, and booked a hotel in Antioch and a rental car through Amtrak. The trip was scheduled to leave San Diego the evening of the 6th at 7:15 PM and arrive in Antioch at 8:AM on the 7th, which should leave me enough time to catch a meal and do some sightseeing and still get to the party. I printed out my reservation forms, and the addresses of the place where the party was to be and the hotel and such, and pinned them to the cork board by my desk.
Then a follow-up arrived from Megan, saying "this is the Brentwood up north, not the one in L.A. ... And if you're a musician, bring your horn!", which I thought encouraging. She also said, when I asked what Mic might want, "no gifts" which I thought silly, so I picked up a couple of books I had enjoyed, and promptly forgot to wrap them until too late... And then discovered the wrapping paper I had left was for Christmas. Me, not Murphy, but I'm sure he contributed.
So there.
* * *
Have you taken a train lately? They are relatively comfortable (more so than a plane), spacious (ditto), quieter than a plane, and the fuel costs are much better. To fly from San Diego to the bay Area and back would have taken 4x or more the gas it would take me to drive there and back. To drive would have made me extremely tired and irritable. A train takes about 1/3 of the fuel it does to drive, and is said to be about the same speed. So I decided on the train.
Of course, that is an optimal trip.
Trips on trains are not really optimal.
And, of course, Murphy was still watching out for me.
The Thursday before the trip (the 5th), I slipped on a cracking bit of pavement downtown on my way to work, and twisted my ankle very bad. I'm talking about a nearly 90 degree angle on the axis the ankle is not designed to turn on. It rapidly swelled to about double its normal diameter, and I could barely walk. I got through most of my day at work, but really suffered, but... I can tough this through, right?
I went home, grabbed my horns, and made it through my Thursday night rehearsal OK, and stopped by Ralph's on the way home and bought a new Ace Bandage (my old one having stopped being even slightly elastic in the years it had sat in my first aid kit, but the new one was advertised as "latex free!' And had no pins. All self-adhesive, and more like spider webbing than bandaging), and wrapped my ankle up. It being the same ankle I broke 30 years ago, I was pretty certain it was not broken, just sprained, so I stopped worrying except when moving.
Friday was a challenge, but the ace bandage seemed to support the leg all right, though it itched. And when I took the time at lunch to re-wrap it (you know hot they roll and bunch up under your foot when work for a while? I hate it when that happens!) The swelling appeared to have gone down noticeably.
But I made it through the day, then made it home.
I checked my e-mail and facebook, then tried to print out maps of the route to the party from the hotel, and it didn't work. Thought maybe it was just a glitch in Google Maps. Then tried to print out more business cards, as I was out. No go. The printer was not functioning. Argh. So I packed and re-packed a bag and my horns, and took the bus downtown to the train station.
* * *
You know who really likes trains? Kids.
Slimy, stinky, screaming, running around obnoxious kids.
And the train station downtown was full of them, with far too little adult supervision, and that supervision being the sort that should not be trusted with kids in the first place. How do I know? Every kid was wearing a red shirt with the legend "Whittier Chidren's Crusade" and the image of a cartoon knight and big cross. So that, as long as their language didn't vary from the approved list, they could get away with murder.
But I took my reservation slip up to the counter, got my tickets, and waited, trying to rest a bit and read a bit. I picked up the first 4 books in George Martin's "Song of Ice and Fire" a while back, as the 5th book is finally due out, and I need to catch up (I'd read the copies I borrowed from Karen). It has taken George a long time to get book 5 done, and I knew I'd have time to read.
But not with those kids around!
I gave up on trying to read or think or do much but itch, and waited for the train. Which was scheduled now to leave San Diego at 8:05 for L.A., then a transfer to a bus to Bakersfield, then to another train all the way to Antioch.
Fortunately, they took the kids and their overseers first, to my relief, and had them in a separate car.
But I couldn't make it up the stairs to the regular seating, and so had to sit on the lower level, marked "for seniors and handicapped". I'm really not sure if I should be relieved or insulted that they didn't ask if I were handicapped. But I thought (hoped) I would be able to rest on the way up north.
Why did I ever do anything so foolish?
You know those old women who have voices so piercing they can shatter steel? The ones with really whiny nasal voices? The ones with two great-grandchildren, who just want someone to talk to?
Yeah.
She didn't see me, but she occasionally (every 10 minutes, like clockwork) asked the same questions and made the same inane comments to the people across the aisle from her. Not sure why, but they seemed OK with it. Fortunately, she got off in Oceanside.
When we got to Anaheim, the baseball game at Angels Stadium was just ending, and the engineer kept the train at the station long enough to let everyone on b oard watch the post game fireworks display. Life can be funny that way.
I almost wonder who won, but ... Not much.
The rest of the trip to L.A. was interesting in its own way. I was tired, but not tired enough to sleep yet, so I watched the lights flashing by outside of the windows and found myself considering a 24th century equivalent.
Imagine you're in, say, the Star Trek (TOS) universe. They certainly have a lot of trade, or there really would be little need for the Federation. And there are designs out there for cargo ships. So they undoubtedly have cargo ports and trade nexuses (nexii?) And warehousing and teamsters and the like. Not everything is moved my transporter. (It has long been my contention that what we saw of that universe in the show and films was a very skewed perspective. Life on a very advanced ship in the military is nothing like life for civilians.). So there are probably orbiting communities (in the L4 and L5 positions?) Where such things happen. And probably customs agents, smugglers, warehouse spaces, traffic jams, forgotten cargo containers, space graffiti, and all of that.
Anyway, that train of thought (as it were) allowed me to distract myself until we got to Union Station.
Have you ever been to Union Station? It is an old, rambling art deco installation, far from its prime. It has been around for probably 100 years, and while you can see some of the care that was put into its design, it has gained lots and lots of ... atmosphere in the intervening decades.
And I was to wait there until 1:20 AM for the bus to Bakersfield.
In the waiting area for that bus was a small but rambunctious family - 3 kids, a woman, a man (rarely seen), and an old woman, probably a grandmother. The kids were ... Kids. Running around having an adventure, seeing new things, and generally being kids. I sat as far as I could from them, but that was only about 15 feet, and having about 60 pounds of gear to carry on my bad ankle (increasingly itchy) I was not willing to move. The man said little, but the woman (who could have been attractive in another life) was the kind of harsh disciplinarian you get when you put an almost attractive woman with some potential and throw them into a life with no zest or zing or potential for the kind of thing attractive women like around them. Bitter. Never satisfied. Unswerving. She will probably someday look like the old woman with her, who could easily be cast as ... Just about any kind of ultimate image of evil in the movies. Permanent sneer. Overweight and in a very unhealthy way. Sallow. Glaring and sneering. Never speaking loudly, but always on the case of the younger woman, telling her to keep her brats in line.
Oh, the joys and pleasures of humanity!
And, of course, to top things, there were a couple of people there, off to one side, who made me certain to keep all of my gear literally under my feet. And a loud fan that automatically kicked in every time the door opened, which was every minute or so.
So I got some reading done, but it was a long wait for the bus.
* * *
Now buses have less space than even planes do. They are loud and bumpy and crowded, and without any real control over sales, they fill up quick.
And, unlike what I'd been told to anticipate by the nice lady at the information counter, no agent came and told us our bus was waiting. So when I hobbled out at 1:20 to see what was the hold up, I found the bus line already 2/3 full, and the bus waiting.
I gave up my bag with my stuff in it, but kept my horns with me. I can afford to lose clothes, and even my laptop, but not my horns! And the case fit in the overhead just fine, much to the dismay of the driver.
The trip overland to Bakersfield was bumpy, swervy, and while almost everyone on the bus was trying to sleep (a few were even succeeding) the two guys right behind me talked the entire trip. Quietly, to their credit, but I have always been a light sleeper, and my ankle hurt and itched.
Thanks, Murphy!
By the time we got to Bakersfield, it was 3 AM, and I was in that zone between lack of sleep and nirvana. Things were very clear, but entirely without meaning, and I just watched my fellow passengers stagger from the bus, through the empty station, to the side of the train which was waiting on the siding.
Waiting for about 45 minutes.
Apparently it had arrived not long before we did, and had to go through maintenance checks, and a change in engineers and crew and all of that. But at least it was not cold out. The weather agreed with me, and just sat in a state of nothingness. Not cold, not warm, no breeze or wind, few stars above thanks to the bright lighting all around. It was like being in a zombie movie after all of the humans have been eaten, and nobody has any will or intelligence, and just sits or stands around waiting for brains.
So about a quarter to four, the crew shows up, spends 15 minutes or so looking things over (had I mentioned that my watch battery also died on Thursday?) So I mostly had to wait on others for any kind of time reference. Fortunately, train stations always have prominent clocks, but I really would find that more understandable if the trains actually ran on time.
This trip has made me just slightly more sympathetic to Mussolini.
* * *
Having been awake now for nearly 34 hours, I was not at all surprised when they actually looked at me when the conductors said "this area is reserved for seniors and disabled" and then stood aside to let me pass. I try not to look in mirrors, but am relatively certain I looked more than my age.
Or your age, probably.
I found the spot with the 2 single seats facing each other and managed somehow to set my bags so I could use them to fill the intervening spaces and if not actually lay down, to put my feet on the opposing seat and stretch out and try to rest.
But the northern train leg of the trip has quite a few stops, and was mostly full even when departing Bakersfield, so there was a constant chatter, and for whatever reason, we didn't see the conductors until we hit Stockton after sunrise. A lot of the chatter was about what had happened to them, and why they hadn't come by to take tickets or anything, but the most annoying chatter was from a nasty old man in a "big guys for Jesus" T-shirt who was talking to another guy about the wonder that is the Tea Party.
And the endless profusion of controlled growth that is the Central Valley rolled by in the growing light. It is interesting to me that in that area the only place you will find trees (except for crop trees) are around the rivers, or around humans. And some of the latter is because humans live near water. But any time you see trees out on the middle of the crops, they are surrounding a house. Not generally around factory buildings, but always around the houses, and thickly throughout the towns. A lot more than you will find in San Diego, and much bigger trees. I'm sure that means something.
Somewhere between Bakersfield and Fresno I managed to catch about an hour's restless sleep. I'm still not sure how, but I did manage, and by the time we hit Stockton (where aforesaid tea partier got off), I was, if not exactly clear headed, at least alert enough to keep an eye on my surroundings.
And, now that there was light, it turned out to be some pretty countryside. The skies were blue, the crops verdant, if a bit unusually shaped for industrial purposes, and the people generally on the happy side. The train was filling up rapidly, and the terrain was changing just enough to let us know we were actually going somewhere. The wind farms on the canyons by Mount Tamalpais were a nice thing to see, and the rifts between farms grew more broad and more filled with what we laughingly call 'civilization', though a lot f it looked pretty haphazard.
Humans are strange that way. We mostly like nice things and a bit of organization and order, but, at least near the train tracks a lot of the houses are very run down and often falling down and yards are full of junk, and the fields that could be either fallow or producing money crops are filled with stunted trees or uncut hay or old tires, and the goods and horses look just tired and run down as do the houses.
Maybe it's just a symptom of being too close to the tracks, in areas where the land and houses are cheaper in the towns, but it was kind of depressing..
Humans have that effect on me. We, as a species, and in some individuals, are capable of so much, but when left on our own are mostly just lazy and uncaring and not at all admirable. And yes, I include myself in that, and perhaps that's what makes me the most angry and/or sad about it all. We are definitely not done evolving into a sentient species.
* * *
The towns of the Central Valley are all very much like each other. Maybe it's a product of the mind set necessary to living in such a place, maybe it's hard wired into our genes. Miles of crop land, punctured from time to time by scabs of McMansions or factory buildings, and then a cluster of cracker-box dwellings surrounding grand looking buildings at a city center, and in between the desiderata of modern life - the Jack in the Box or Arby's, and a gas station (wildly varying prices from town to town), and other little shops and garages and such that would fit in anywhere in the country, but all trying desperately to find or invent some sort of individuality or personality. They all look pretty much alike from the train.
And then there will be a surprise.
Rolling through endless fields of almonds and grapes, with nothing to see but carefully cultured crops as far as the eye can see, and suddenly there is a lone tumbleweed snagged on a fence. Where did it come from? There are no empty fields for miles.
Or in the midst of hundreds of acres of alfalfa, an ancient speed boat sits forlorn, the "For sale - $200" sign nearly as weathered as the aged hull itself.
We may not be entirely sentient, but we do have a quirky sense of the absurd, and that is a good start.
But the suburbs of metropolitan Fresno depress me. The 1950's cracker box houses sit on one side of the tracks, and the 'urban dwellings' of the early 21st century on the other, and it seems that those who build the newer didn't look at the earlier for any lessons, and I see in my mind's eye how the newer will probably fail even faster, given current declines in craftsmanship and standards.
We finally arrived in Antioch just before 11:40 in the morning. The train station there is a little tiny building that is apparently unmanned on weekends, and is little more than a kiosk in any case. A half dozen of us got off there, and all of them had cars waiting for them except me. I had booked a rental car through Amtrak, and had clicked on the "have the car waiting at the station" button, which I thought a nice thing. A sign of civilization. It is a nice idea. Maybe some day they will find a way to make it work.
So I looked at the map I hadn't been able to print out (I had looked it over in my head enough to have some idea of the layout of the town), shouldered my bags, and set off for my hotel.
The Day's Inn is about a half mile or a little more from the station, which is on the edge of the water. All up hill, of course. By the time I got there, my ankle was screaming, but the clerk was able to find my reservation (see? Some things can work), and I got my bags to my room (which was nice enough), set them down, used the bathroom (the ones on the train are barely functional, if you can find a way not to touch anything) and splashed some water on my face, then set out to find my car.
Fortunately, the rental car place is about 2 blocks from the hotel, and I had seen it while hiking in, and you know, that's a lot shorter trip when not carrying 60 pounds of stuff!
The car I got was a Toyota Yaris. Blue. It reminded my why I got a Prius. I am so spoiled by not having constant vibration and noise when driving. But the car was clean, even if the engine was loud, the throttle a bit jumpy, and the brakes mushy. And I got a good recommend from the guy at Budget on decent Mexican food not far away (there was apparently a festival of some sort going on at the local fair grounds, and a lot of really bad singing could be heard, but the food was good), so I grabbed some food, went back to my room, and tried to relax.
The first thing I did was to get my shoes and socks off, and unwrap the bandage from my ankle... Which was now a livid purple, with lizard scales. Apparently I do not react well to the new kind of ace bandage, and when I get home I will have to do something about that. But at least my ankle was not killing me as much, at least as far as the swelling (which had gone down considerably), so I took a shower, ate my food, and crashed.
* * *
Once I was again somewhat conscious, I got out my trusty computer and retrieved the maps I had googled of the town and the route to the venue. Yes, the hotel had free wi-fi, and though it was not fast (DSL), it was good enough for what I needed. I checked the route and distance and given Megan's instructions to be there by 5:30 and the distance (about 10 miles), I figured that leaving at 5 should get me there quickly.
Oy.
There was a 4-car wreck on the onramp to the freeway (the 4), and then another crash about halfway there. Traffic was stopped for about 4 miles for that one, and I barely made it by 5:30. But I was not the only one, and Megan didn't get there for another 10 minutes, or Mic and Julia until after 5. But I sweated it a bit.
While waiting/hanging around, I got to meet some of the other people there and chat with them. The band that played at Megan's wedding was setting up on one side of the room, and I talked to some of the horn players (Matt Martinez and Tommy Davidson) and the bass player, and then wandered and ended up talking to the producer of Mic's "Ear Candy" CD, who was a really nice guy, and who turns out to also be a bass player of some talent.. I only managed a "Hello" to most of the others after that, as I really needed a drink. As I try not to eat or drink on long bus or train trips (did I mention how seriously icky the bathrooms are?), I was parched, and they were just getting the food set out. So I bellied up to the bar, got a Pepsi, and looked around until Megan showed up with hands full of food.
Mic and Julia showed up shortly after 5, and I swear, he had been truly and well had. Apparently she had told him they were going out to dinner. Heh. He never got dinner, but he did get cake later.
Among the other guests were Mic's brother pat and his family, who I had a chance to spend some time with, and master horn maker Dick Akright, though I didn't find that out until he'd left. Bummer, as I have wanted to say "hi" for a long time! Since I Bought my Mic Gillette model trumpet from him back in '82, in fact. Though I hear Yamaha is coming out with a Mic model themselves - a modification of the Mitashiro with a different bell (it currently ahs a 5¼" bell, but Mic wants 6"), slightly different valve bore, and a bigger lead pipe. Mic was also playing on the Yamaha Mic Gillette trombone, a mod of the Andy Martin horn with an open wrap F attachment.
Any way, good times were had. Lots of kids were there and they seemed to have a great time, and everyone was there for Mic.
The line that gave it all away for me was when he said "It's been a rough year, and I learned who my real friends were. And you're all here in this room." I haven't learned what happened with the Tower, but the conversations I heard bits of said enough to me about where that band if going, and I'm kind of glad Mic got out it intact.
We had cake, we had munchies (fruit, veggies, shrimp and other light fare), and those who wished to had the bar there... And some really wished to, but nobody got extreme, which was nice. The band played standard R&B stuff, and some Cold Blood and Tower and Strokeland tunes, and Mic sat in for a couple of numbers. And I sat in for a couple of numbers (You've got me hummin' is the only one that currently comes to my frazzled brain, though I'm sure I'll remember some of the others.), then all of the players joined in and I got to realize a long ambition and play a couple of tunes standing next to Mic.
Damn that man can play!
And the others in the band all wantred my card and said nice things, so I'm happy with all of that, except that, as I said, my printer died, and I had no personal cards - just the ones from work. Feh.
Mic opened presents, and once Julia read the title of the first book I'd given Mic, she got the joke and got some nice laughs. Always a good thing. Then we all went home.
The next morning, thanks to Murphy, the alarm did not go off, even though I'd carefully set it when I checked in, but I was not late. Being a restless sleeper and uncomfortable in new places makes it hard to oversleep in hotels. So I woke at 6:40 instead of 6:30, skipped breakfast (I will not eat with people who watch "Fox and Friends"), filled the tank on the car to avoid overbilling, and went to turn it in.
When I rented the car, I made it very clear that I had to catch a train at 8:15, and the guy said "no problem - I get here at 7:40 to open up and I'll drive you to the station." He got there at 7:55. And it was cold and windy and icky out. But he did his best and got me to the train by 8:10 ... And then the train was late and I stood in the wind until 8:45. But I got to look around and take pictures, and I took most of the pictures here on the way back. Pictures of darkness are really unrevealing to most people.
I took no pictures on the bus back to LA because my camera and other gear were stowed in the cargo hold on the bus (horns with me above, of course), or on the train back to San Diego, as the window was old and crazed. (The photos will be on my facebook page).
I cna say this, though - the one part of that leg of the trip that I always find fascinating is the Tejon Pass and the Grapevine. That is one of very few areas in California that gives some impression of what the place was like before people, and how a prisint environment, even one that close to LA, can be a thing of real beauty. Some day I'll go through there with a good photographer and get some really ncie shots. Irt's too bad that the owners of a lot of that land are gradually giving control over it to the Evil Developers®, which means it won't be long before that area is just another anthill like so much of California is, or otherwise devoted to congestion and commercialism.
But it was, over all, a good and worthy trip, and gods willing I'll do it again if asked.
But next time, I'm driving. Until we get a reasonable facsimile of High Speed Rail around here, it's just too much trouble for the time and money expended.
Not that I'm taking it personally, of course - Murphy has it in for everyone. That's his job. But at least causing confusion and misery is a job that most people (or entities, or embodiments, or personifications) could enjoy.
I got the e-mail in late march from Megan, saying that Mic's birthday (his 60th) was coming up, and they were throwing a surprise party for him. Now, not only is Mic an old and dear friend, but he's been having some troubles, and I figured "what they heck? I can afford this now", so I accepted the invitation, and began making plans. Checking transportation times and costs, hotels, scheduling, all that kind of thing.
So the first glitch that arose was that my Monday night band got our first paid gig in ... way too long. And a good paying gig - more than $125 a man, and, of course, scheduled for the same day as the party. Of course, it was no big deal to get a sub for the gig (thanks, Shirley!), but it was definitely a sign of things to come.
So ... $140 for the train trip up and back (the last thing I want to deal with is the assholes at TSA and being groped and prodded for free - I charge extra for that, so no flying for me!), then losing $125 for the gig (which was later upgraded, of course), then hotel and a car... Worth it, but...
But I did the research, and booked a hotel in Antioch and a rental car through Amtrak. The trip was scheduled to leave San Diego the evening of the 6th at 7:15 PM and arrive in Antioch at 8:AM on the 7th, which should leave me enough time to catch a meal and do some sightseeing and still get to the party. I printed out my reservation forms, and the addresses of the place where the party was to be and the hotel and such, and pinned them to the cork board by my desk.
Then a follow-up arrived from Megan, saying "this is the Brentwood up north, not the one in L.A. ... And if you're a musician, bring your horn!", which I thought encouraging. She also said, when I asked what Mic might want, "no gifts" which I thought silly, so I picked up a couple of books I had enjoyed, and promptly forgot to wrap them until too late... And then discovered the wrapping paper I had left was for Christmas. Me, not Murphy, but I'm sure he contributed.
So there.
* * *
Have you taken a train lately? They are relatively comfortable (more so than a plane), spacious (ditto), quieter than a plane, and the fuel costs are much better. To fly from San Diego to the bay Area and back would have taken 4x or more the gas it would take me to drive there and back. To drive would have made me extremely tired and irritable. A train takes about 1/3 of the fuel it does to drive, and is said to be about the same speed. So I decided on the train.
Of course, that is an optimal trip.
Trips on trains are not really optimal.
And, of course, Murphy was still watching out for me.
The Thursday before the trip (the 5th), I slipped on a cracking bit of pavement downtown on my way to work, and twisted my ankle very bad. I'm talking about a nearly 90 degree angle on the axis the ankle is not designed to turn on. It rapidly swelled to about double its normal diameter, and I could barely walk. I got through most of my day at work, but really suffered, but... I can tough this through, right?
I went home, grabbed my horns, and made it through my Thursday night rehearsal OK, and stopped by Ralph's on the way home and bought a new Ace Bandage (my old one having stopped being even slightly elastic in the years it had sat in my first aid kit, but the new one was advertised as "latex free!' And had no pins. All self-adhesive, and more like spider webbing than bandaging), and wrapped my ankle up. It being the same ankle I broke 30 years ago, I was pretty certain it was not broken, just sprained, so I stopped worrying except when moving.
Friday was a challenge, but the ace bandage seemed to support the leg all right, though it itched. And when I took the time at lunch to re-wrap it (you know hot they roll and bunch up under your foot when work for a while? I hate it when that happens!) The swelling appeared to have gone down noticeably.
But I made it through the day, then made it home.
I checked my e-mail and facebook, then tried to print out maps of the route to the party from the hotel, and it didn't work. Thought maybe it was just a glitch in Google Maps. Then tried to print out more business cards, as I was out. No go. The printer was not functioning. Argh. So I packed and re-packed a bag and my horns, and took the bus downtown to the train station.
* * *
You know who really likes trains? Kids.
Slimy, stinky, screaming, running around obnoxious kids.
And the train station downtown was full of them, with far too little adult supervision, and that supervision being the sort that should not be trusted with kids in the first place. How do I know? Every kid was wearing a red shirt with the legend "Whittier Chidren's Crusade" and the image of a cartoon knight and big cross. So that, as long as their language didn't vary from the approved list, they could get away with murder.
But I took my reservation slip up to the counter, got my tickets, and waited, trying to rest a bit and read a bit. I picked up the first 4 books in George Martin's "Song of Ice and Fire" a while back, as the 5th book is finally due out, and I need to catch up (I'd read the copies I borrowed from Karen). It has taken George a long time to get book 5 done, and I knew I'd have time to read.
But not with those kids around!
I gave up on trying to read or think or do much but itch, and waited for the train. Which was scheduled now to leave San Diego at 8:05 for L.A., then a transfer to a bus to Bakersfield, then to another train all the way to Antioch.
Fortunately, they took the kids and their overseers first, to my relief, and had them in a separate car.
But I couldn't make it up the stairs to the regular seating, and so had to sit on the lower level, marked "for seniors and handicapped". I'm really not sure if I should be relieved or insulted that they didn't ask if I were handicapped. But I thought (hoped) I would be able to rest on the way up north.
Why did I ever do anything so foolish?
You know those old women who have voices so piercing they can shatter steel? The ones with really whiny nasal voices? The ones with two great-grandchildren, who just want someone to talk to?
Yeah.
She didn't see me, but she occasionally (every 10 minutes, like clockwork) asked the same questions and made the same inane comments to the people across the aisle from her. Not sure why, but they seemed OK with it. Fortunately, she got off in Oceanside.
When we got to Anaheim, the baseball game at Angels Stadium was just ending, and the engineer kept the train at the station long enough to let everyone on b oard watch the post game fireworks display. Life can be funny that way.
I almost wonder who won, but ... Not much.
The rest of the trip to L.A. was interesting in its own way. I was tired, but not tired enough to sleep yet, so I watched the lights flashing by outside of the windows and found myself considering a 24th century equivalent.
Imagine you're in, say, the Star Trek (TOS) universe. They certainly have a lot of trade, or there really would be little need for the Federation. And there are designs out there for cargo ships. So they undoubtedly have cargo ports and trade nexuses (nexii?) And warehousing and teamsters and the like. Not everything is moved my transporter. (It has long been my contention that what we saw of that universe in the show and films was a very skewed perspective. Life on a very advanced ship in the military is nothing like life for civilians.). So there are probably orbiting communities (in the L4 and L5 positions?) Where such things happen. And probably customs agents, smugglers, warehouse spaces, traffic jams, forgotten cargo containers, space graffiti, and all of that.
Anyway, that train of thought (as it were) allowed me to distract myself until we got to Union Station.
Have you ever been to Union Station? It is an old, rambling art deco installation, far from its prime. It has been around for probably 100 years, and while you can see some of the care that was put into its design, it has gained lots and lots of ... atmosphere in the intervening decades.
And I was to wait there until 1:20 AM for the bus to Bakersfield.
In the waiting area for that bus was a small but rambunctious family - 3 kids, a woman, a man (rarely seen), and an old woman, probably a grandmother. The kids were ... Kids. Running around having an adventure, seeing new things, and generally being kids. I sat as far as I could from them, but that was only about 15 feet, and having about 60 pounds of gear to carry on my bad ankle (increasingly itchy) I was not willing to move. The man said little, but the woman (who could have been attractive in another life) was the kind of harsh disciplinarian you get when you put an almost attractive woman with some potential and throw them into a life with no zest or zing or potential for the kind of thing attractive women like around them. Bitter. Never satisfied. Unswerving. She will probably someday look like the old woman with her, who could easily be cast as ... Just about any kind of ultimate image of evil in the movies. Permanent sneer. Overweight and in a very unhealthy way. Sallow. Glaring and sneering. Never speaking loudly, but always on the case of the younger woman, telling her to keep her brats in line.
Oh, the joys and pleasures of humanity!
And, of course, to top things, there were a couple of people there, off to one side, who made me certain to keep all of my gear literally under my feet. And a loud fan that automatically kicked in every time the door opened, which was every minute or so.
So I got some reading done, but it was a long wait for the bus.
* * *
Now buses have less space than even planes do. They are loud and bumpy and crowded, and without any real control over sales, they fill up quick.
And, unlike what I'd been told to anticipate by the nice lady at the information counter, no agent came and told us our bus was waiting. So when I hobbled out at 1:20 to see what was the hold up, I found the bus line already 2/3 full, and the bus waiting.
I gave up my bag with my stuff in it, but kept my horns with me. I can afford to lose clothes, and even my laptop, but not my horns! And the case fit in the overhead just fine, much to the dismay of the driver.
The trip overland to Bakersfield was bumpy, swervy, and while almost everyone on the bus was trying to sleep (a few were even succeeding) the two guys right behind me talked the entire trip. Quietly, to their credit, but I have always been a light sleeper, and my ankle hurt and itched.
Thanks, Murphy!
By the time we got to Bakersfield, it was 3 AM, and I was in that zone between lack of sleep and nirvana. Things were very clear, but entirely without meaning, and I just watched my fellow passengers stagger from the bus, through the empty station, to the side of the train which was waiting on the siding.
Waiting for about 45 minutes.
Apparently it had arrived not long before we did, and had to go through maintenance checks, and a change in engineers and crew and all of that. But at least it was not cold out. The weather agreed with me, and just sat in a state of nothingness. Not cold, not warm, no breeze or wind, few stars above thanks to the bright lighting all around. It was like being in a zombie movie after all of the humans have been eaten, and nobody has any will or intelligence, and just sits or stands around waiting for brains.
So about a quarter to four, the crew shows up, spends 15 minutes or so looking things over (had I mentioned that my watch battery also died on Thursday?) So I mostly had to wait on others for any kind of time reference. Fortunately, train stations always have prominent clocks, but I really would find that more understandable if the trains actually ran on time.
This trip has made me just slightly more sympathetic to Mussolini.
* * *
Having been awake now for nearly 34 hours, I was not at all surprised when they actually looked at me when the conductors said "this area is reserved for seniors and disabled" and then stood aside to let me pass. I try not to look in mirrors, but am relatively certain I looked more than my age.
Or your age, probably.
I found the spot with the 2 single seats facing each other and managed somehow to set my bags so I could use them to fill the intervening spaces and if not actually lay down, to put my feet on the opposing seat and stretch out and try to rest.
But the northern train leg of the trip has quite a few stops, and was mostly full even when departing Bakersfield, so there was a constant chatter, and for whatever reason, we didn't see the conductors until we hit Stockton after sunrise. A lot of the chatter was about what had happened to them, and why they hadn't come by to take tickets or anything, but the most annoying chatter was from a nasty old man in a "big guys for Jesus" T-shirt who was talking to another guy about the wonder that is the Tea Party.
And the endless profusion of controlled growth that is the Central Valley rolled by in the growing light. It is interesting to me that in that area the only place you will find trees (except for crop trees) are around the rivers, or around humans. And some of the latter is because humans live near water. But any time you see trees out on the middle of the crops, they are surrounding a house. Not generally around factory buildings, but always around the houses, and thickly throughout the towns. A lot more than you will find in San Diego, and much bigger trees. I'm sure that means something.
Somewhere between Bakersfield and Fresno I managed to catch about an hour's restless sleep. I'm still not sure how, but I did manage, and by the time we hit Stockton (where aforesaid tea partier got off), I was, if not exactly clear headed, at least alert enough to keep an eye on my surroundings.
And, now that there was light, it turned out to be some pretty countryside. The skies were blue, the crops verdant, if a bit unusually shaped for industrial purposes, and the people generally on the happy side. The train was filling up rapidly, and the terrain was changing just enough to let us know we were actually going somewhere. The wind farms on the canyons by Mount Tamalpais were a nice thing to see, and the rifts between farms grew more broad and more filled with what we laughingly call 'civilization', though a lot f it looked pretty haphazard.
Humans are strange that way. We mostly like nice things and a bit of organization and order, but, at least near the train tracks a lot of the houses are very run down and often falling down and yards are full of junk, and the fields that could be either fallow or producing money crops are filled with stunted trees or uncut hay or old tires, and the goods and horses look just tired and run down as do the houses.
Maybe it's just a symptom of being too close to the tracks, in areas where the land and houses are cheaper in the towns, but it was kind of depressing..
Humans have that effect on me. We, as a species, and in some individuals, are capable of so much, but when left on our own are mostly just lazy and uncaring and not at all admirable. And yes, I include myself in that, and perhaps that's what makes me the most angry and/or sad about it all. We are definitely not done evolving into a sentient species.
* * *
The towns of the Central Valley are all very much like each other. Maybe it's a product of the mind set necessary to living in such a place, maybe it's hard wired into our genes. Miles of crop land, punctured from time to time by scabs of McMansions or factory buildings, and then a cluster of cracker-box dwellings surrounding grand looking buildings at a city center, and in between the desiderata of modern life - the Jack in the Box or Arby's, and a gas station (wildly varying prices from town to town), and other little shops and garages and such that would fit in anywhere in the country, but all trying desperately to find or invent some sort of individuality or personality. They all look pretty much alike from the train.
And then there will be a surprise.
Rolling through endless fields of almonds and grapes, with nothing to see but carefully cultured crops as far as the eye can see, and suddenly there is a lone tumbleweed snagged on a fence. Where did it come from? There are no empty fields for miles.
Or in the midst of hundreds of acres of alfalfa, an ancient speed boat sits forlorn, the "For sale - $200" sign nearly as weathered as the aged hull itself.
We may not be entirely sentient, but we do have a quirky sense of the absurd, and that is a good start.
But the suburbs of metropolitan Fresno depress me. The 1950's cracker box houses sit on one side of the tracks, and the 'urban dwellings' of the early 21st century on the other, and it seems that those who build the newer didn't look at the earlier for any lessons, and I see in my mind's eye how the newer will probably fail even faster, given current declines in craftsmanship and standards.
We finally arrived in Antioch just before 11:40 in the morning. The train station there is a little tiny building that is apparently unmanned on weekends, and is little more than a kiosk in any case. A half dozen of us got off there, and all of them had cars waiting for them except me. I had booked a rental car through Amtrak, and had clicked on the "have the car waiting at the station" button, which I thought a nice thing. A sign of civilization. It is a nice idea. Maybe some day they will find a way to make it work.
So I looked at the map I hadn't been able to print out (I had looked it over in my head enough to have some idea of the layout of the town), shouldered my bags, and set off for my hotel.
The Day's Inn is about a half mile or a little more from the station, which is on the edge of the water. All up hill, of course. By the time I got there, my ankle was screaming, but the clerk was able to find my reservation (see? Some things can work), and I got my bags to my room (which was nice enough), set them down, used the bathroom (the ones on the train are barely functional, if you can find a way not to touch anything) and splashed some water on my face, then set out to find my car.
Fortunately, the rental car place is about 2 blocks from the hotel, and I had seen it while hiking in, and you know, that's a lot shorter trip when not carrying 60 pounds of stuff!
The car I got was a Toyota Yaris. Blue. It reminded my why I got a Prius. I am so spoiled by not having constant vibration and noise when driving. But the car was clean, even if the engine was loud, the throttle a bit jumpy, and the brakes mushy. And I got a good recommend from the guy at Budget on decent Mexican food not far away (there was apparently a festival of some sort going on at the local fair grounds, and a lot of really bad singing could be heard, but the food was good), so I grabbed some food, went back to my room, and tried to relax.
The first thing I did was to get my shoes and socks off, and unwrap the bandage from my ankle... Which was now a livid purple, with lizard scales. Apparently I do not react well to the new kind of ace bandage, and when I get home I will have to do something about that. But at least my ankle was not killing me as much, at least as far as the swelling (which had gone down considerably), so I took a shower, ate my food, and crashed.
* * *
Once I was again somewhat conscious, I got out my trusty computer and retrieved the maps I had googled of the town and the route to the venue. Yes, the hotel had free wi-fi, and though it was not fast (DSL), it was good enough for what I needed. I checked the route and distance and given Megan's instructions to be there by 5:30 and the distance (about 10 miles), I figured that leaving at 5 should get me there quickly.
Oy.
There was a 4-car wreck on the onramp to the freeway (the 4), and then another crash about halfway there. Traffic was stopped for about 4 miles for that one, and I barely made it by 5:30. But I was not the only one, and Megan didn't get there for another 10 minutes, or Mic and Julia until after 5. But I sweated it a bit.
While waiting/hanging around, I got to meet some of the other people there and chat with them. The band that played at Megan's wedding was setting up on one side of the room, and I talked to some of the horn players (Matt Martinez and Tommy Davidson) and the bass player, and then wandered and ended up talking to the producer of Mic's "Ear Candy" CD, who was a really nice guy, and who turns out to also be a bass player of some talent.. I only managed a "Hello" to most of the others after that, as I really needed a drink. As I try not to eat or drink on long bus or train trips (did I mention how seriously icky the bathrooms are?), I was parched, and they were just getting the food set out. So I bellied up to the bar, got a Pepsi, and looked around until Megan showed up with hands full of food.
Mic and Julia showed up shortly after 5, and I swear, he had been truly and well had. Apparently she had told him they were going out to dinner. Heh. He never got dinner, but he did get cake later.
Among the other guests were Mic's brother pat and his family, who I had a chance to spend some time with, and master horn maker Dick Akright, though I didn't find that out until he'd left. Bummer, as I have wanted to say "hi" for a long time! Since I Bought my Mic Gillette model trumpet from him back in '82, in fact. Though I hear Yamaha is coming out with a Mic model themselves - a modification of the Mitashiro with a different bell (it currently ahs a 5¼" bell, but Mic wants 6"), slightly different valve bore, and a bigger lead pipe. Mic was also playing on the Yamaha Mic Gillette trombone, a mod of the Andy Martin horn with an open wrap F attachment.
Any way, good times were had. Lots of kids were there and they seemed to have a great time, and everyone was there for Mic.
The line that gave it all away for me was when he said "It's been a rough year, and I learned who my real friends were. And you're all here in this room." I haven't learned what happened with the Tower, but the conversations I heard bits of said enough to me about where that band if going, and I'm kind of glad Mic got out it intact.
We had cake, we had munchies (fruit, veggies, shrimp and other light fare), and those who wished to had the bar there... And some really wished to, but nobody got extreme, which was nice. The band played standard R&B stuff, and some Cold Blood and Tower and Strokeland tunes, and Mic sat in for a couple of numbers. And I sat in for a couple of numbers (You've got me hummin' is the only one that currently comes to my frazzled brain, though I'm sure I'll remember some of the others.), then all of the players joined in and I got to realize a long ambition and play a couple of tunes standing next to Mic.
Damn that man can play!
And the others in the band all wantred my card and said nice things, so I'm happy with all of that, except that, as I said, my printer died, and I had no personal cards - just the ones from work. Feh.
Mic opened presents, and once Julia read the title of the first book I'd given Mic, she got the joke and got some nice laughs. Always a good thing. Then we all went home.
The next morning, thanks to Murphy, the alarm did not go off, even though I'd carefully set it when I checked in, but I was not late. Being a restless sleeper and uncomfortable in new places makes it hard to oversleep in hotels. So I woke at 6:40 instead of 6:30, skipped breakfast (I will not eat with people who watch "Fox and Friends"), filled the tank on the car to avoid overbilling, and went to turn it in.
When I rented the car, I made it very clear that I had to catch a train at 8:15, and the guy said "no problem - I get here at 7:40 to open up and I'll drive you to the station." He got there at 7:55. And it was cold and windy and icky out. But he did his best and got me to the train by 8:10 ... And then the train was late and I stood in the wind until 8:45. But I got to look around and take pictures, and I took most of the pictures here on the way back. Pictures of darkness are really unrevealing to most people.
I took no pictures on the bus back to LA because my camera and other gear were stowed in the cargo hold on the bus (horns with me above, of course), or on the train back to San Diego, as the window was old and crazed. (The photos will be on my facebook page).
I cna say this, though - the one part of that leg of the trip that I always find fascinating is the Tejon Pass and the Grapevine. That is one of very few areas in California that gives some impression of what the place was like before people, and how a prisint environment, even one that close to LA, can be a thing of real beauty. Some day I'll go through there with a good photographer and get some really ncie shots. Irt's too bad that the owners of a lot of that land are gradually giving control over it to the Evil Developers®, which means it won't be long before that area is just another anthill like so much of California is, or otherwise devoted to congestion and commercialism.
But it was, over all, a good and worthy trip, and gods willing I'll do it again if asked.
But next time, I'm driving. Until we get a reasonable facsimile of High Speed Rail around here, it's just too much trouble for the time and money expended.