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Resist much. Obey little.
fc*' If
‘Really, officer, it ’s sage brush.”
Walt Whitman
“I ’ll be here if you need me.'
DATE
OAT
Downloading Arizona
Road to Boonville
When traveling the road to Boonville one must
consider much. The road itself is two lane blacktop
that twists and turns and undulates through large
rounded hillocks green with spring grass, spotted with
rocky outcroppings stretching out for miles and miles,
with no signs of human habitation. Oh, perhaps a
light on a distant hill. A misty rain begins, and we
climb hills watching for frost on the 'road'.
"Think we should turn around and forget it?" Mike
asked. When we looked behind us we knew there was
no turning back: we were going to Boonville.
Boonville is a small town, and like most small towns,
everybody knows everybody, and strangers stick out.
When we pulled up to the local tavern, we got checked
out by the local kids, the local drunks, and probably
the local cops. I found a phone and called my hero.
His wife answered. "Bruce isn't here," she said. "Do
you know where he is?" I asked, after I had identified
myself. "He's on his walk,” she said. "Do you know
where he went?" I asked. "Depends on which way he
walked," she said. "Do you have any idea when he will
be back?" I asked. "Depends on who he meets," she
said. "I have some books I want to give him," I said.
"Oh, just leave them at the grocery store," she said. I
left the books at the store, was assured that Bruce
would get them, and went to the tavern.
The tavern was old, old wood, there was a pool table
and there was a sign saying, "Thank You For Not
Smoking". In front of the sign was a stack of ashtrays,
there were ashtrays on the bar, and people were
smoking. Mike asked the bartender, an adult woman,
why we could smoke here. She explained that the
"law" only covered places that had 'employees’ and
that this was a 'family owned' bar. I would have been
more than happy to spend the night in Boonville, but
there are no Motels. I gave the bartender an Edge,
and she allowed as she had seen one before. Folks
were pretty much nice to us, considering that the usual
stranger in town was either FBI, ATF, DEA or Mob.
Boonville reminds me a bit of Cannon Beach in the
late Sixties, a small town, off the beaten track, full of
strange folks, not quite sure what they are doing here,
nor really too sure how they got here in the first place.
We inquired about the road south. It was dark, early
March, and we were in the Coast Range. Mike was in
no mood to deal with a highway like we just drove,
especially if it was slick. We were assured that the road
to Cloverdale was easy; of course, this was from a long
haired guy wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt with the
logo of some heavy metal band on it, all skulls and
bones. We found ourselves with a decision to make:
hang around and meet the future Pulitzer Prize­
winning journalist, or make it safely to a motel. Any
questions? We arrived at the Inn of the Beginning in
Cotati in time to see a band called something like
‘Government Issue;’ it was a three piece with a great
drummer, but it was too late. Motel 8 beckoned.
We set out in the morning through the Napa valley
with a Winton Marselis tape playing, but there was no
avoiding Fresno. We stopped somewhere for food,
and had the best guacamole in the world. Then we
were headed for Bakersfield on old 99.
The Bars of Bakersfield
There are some very good reasons why so many
country songs are written about Bakersfield. Truckers
from all over the country stop there to eat, sleep, gas
up and check out the equipment before starting out
across the desert, or up the valley. If Buck Owens’
“The Streets of Bakersfield” is something of the
official town song. Buck’s Crystal Palace is something
of the official tourist trap. Every available inch of wall
W A S H IN G T O N a O R E G O N C O A S T S _________
1 9 9 9 Corrected for P A C IF IC BEA CHES
HIGH MAY
LOW MAY
space has a photo, a news clipping, or a piece of Buck
Owens memorabilia. Cases with guns, guitars, saddles,
and ’wear them once’ outfits become wallpaper as
you wander toward the bar. The bar is dominated by
a White Lincoln Continental Convertible mounted
behind it. Tipped so you are looking up at the
interior with its Indian motif seat covers, its six shooter
door handles, its silver dollar studded dash, and the
saddle just behind the front seats. Its finest feature is
the cover over the rag top that has been signed by way
too many famous ‘western heroes,’ like John Wayne,
Lee Marvin, Jim Arness, Jerry Ford? Elvis? Oh,
well. . . A plaque tells you that the car was originally
designed by Nudie (Costumer to the Stars) for Elvis,
himself, but that Buck had won it in a poker game in
Vegas. “He cheated!” the plaque says.
Uncle Mike got a raised eyebrow from me when he
ordered a Bud. He raised other eyebrows later but
that’s another story. The real problem with Buck’s
was that like most bars in California, we couldn’t
smoke there. The bartender allowed as how there was
a truckstop up the street, and a few other places in
town where folks with more than one vice were
welcome. I headed for the truck stop, as Uncle Mike
drifted off to make some phone calls; we promised to
meet at Buck’s in an hour or so.
The Boss is a tiny bar behind a truckstop restaurant,
and it was filled with truckers; go figure. The
conversations included stories of air brakes failing,
blown tires, and one old trucker told about his rig
starting to smoke and smolder in the desert, and
fearing that if he stopped it would burst into flames,
put the peddle to the metal and blew it out at 120
mph. The stories, like the road, seemed to go on
forever. I noticed a sign that said Bloody Marys were
$1 each between 6 and 10 AM. I met a couple who
were having a bracer before they joined friends for
Karaoke in a joint down the street. Mike is, strangely
enough, a Karaoke fan, so when we met again, I
suggested we check it out. Thus my first Karaoke
experience. The good, the bad, the ugly and the
downright embarrassing. There were moments
though, which is perhaps its appeal, when you watch a
cowboy singing to his wife, and to her alone, that are
real and moving. I’m not a fan, but I will stop making
fun of it.
After the Karaoke joint it becomes a blur, a taxi to
someplace called The Trout, with a live country band,
and ashtrays. By midnight, your beloved Rev. was
fading, but Uncle Mike had switched to Jack Daniels,
so when I called a cab, Mike waved bye bye. Well, I
thought, he’s a grown man, what trouble could he get
into in Bakersfield? Regretfully I wasn’t thinking too
clearly.
Virtual Route 66
Before we even left Cannon Beach, I tried to find out
about which was the best way to get from here to there,
and one place I found was called Virtual Barstow, a
web site created by two totally strange and wonderful
women. What got my attention was the first thing that
appeared on the site was a quote from Hunter S.
Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in I.as Vegas”, to
wit; “It was when we started into the desert, somewhere
around Barstow, that the drugs took affect.” The site
told me tons of stuff about Barstow which it might be
better not to share, but a “Not to be Missed’ was
Roy’s Cafe on Old Route 66.
Dear reader, you must realize that up to this point,
though not technically freeways, the roads we had
been driving were full of hell bent for death lunatics in
cars, trucks and huge semis, who were all trying to go
eighty in the same lane. Neither Uncle Mike nor I
found this amusing. When we finally turned onto the
gentle neglected blacktop that they call the Mother
HOTS’
GUIDE
A M
TIME
ISat • 1:22
2 SUN • 1:49
3 Mon • 2:16
4 lues • 2:45
5 Wed • 3:18
6 Thur • 3:58
7 Fri • 4:46
8 Sat • 5:49
9 SUN • 7:08
10 Mon • 8:30
11 Tues • 9:43
12 Wed • 10:47
13 Thur • 11:46
14 Fn •
15 Sat • 0:28
16 SUN • 1:10
17 Mon« 1:54
18 Tues « 2:41
19 Wed • 3:30
20 Thur« 4:25
21 Fri « 5:27
22 Sat • 6:40
23 SUN « 7:56
24 Mon« 9:08
25 Tues« 10:11
26 Wed • 1:06
27 Thur • 1:55
28 Fn •
29 Sat • 0:14
30 SUN • 0:44
31 Mon • 1:14
AM TIDES
UTE TYPE
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TIME
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T ill
A
2:20 7.4 8:09
300 7.3 8:43
3:40 7.0 9:16
4:23 6.8 9:49
5:09 6.6 10:25
6:01 6.5 11:07
6:58 6.5 11:58
7:57 6.7 0:19
8:51 7.1 1:34
9:40 7.7 2:47
10:24 8.2 3:51
11:06 8.8 4:48
11:47 9.3 5:41
12:41 7.9 6:31
9.6 1:36 8.0 7:20
9.8 2:30 7.9 8:09
9.7 3:23 7.8 8:58
9.5 4:18 7.7 9:48
9.0 5:14 7.5 10:40
8.4 6:13 7.4 11:35
7.7 7:13 7.4
7.0 8:10 7.6 0:58
6.7 903 7.9 2:11
6.6 9:50 8.1 3:19
6.7 10:31 8.4 4:18
6.8 11:08 8.5 5:08
7.0 11:42 8.6 5:53
12:41 7.1 6:34
8.6 1:24 7.1 7:12
8.6 2:06 7.1 7:48
8.5 2:46 7.1 8:22
8.5
8.5
8.4
8.3
8.1
7.9
7.5
7.1
6.8
6.9
7.1
7.4
7.7
P M
FT
0.3
0.3
0.3
0.1
0.1
0.3
0.5
3.4
3.2
2.6
1.8
0.9
0.0
0.8
■1.4
•1.7
-1.8
•1.6
•1.2
0.6
2.7
2.4
1.9
1.2
0.6
0.1
0.3
0.5
0.6
06
• BIGGER THE DOT - BETTER THE FIS H IN G *
DAYLIGHT TIME
r ill
12:59 0.7
2:03 0.8
3:05 0.8
4:00 0.8
4:51 0.9
5:39 1.0
6:27 1.2
7:14 1.5
803 1.8
8:53 2.1
9:46 2.3
10:43 2.6
11:47 2.7
12:32 0.1
1:32 0.4
2:31 0.8
3:26 1.1
4:15 1.3
4:59 1.6
5:40 1.8
6:18 2.1
6:56 2.4
7:32 2.6
8.08 2.8
PM TIDES
BOLD TYPE
Road in these parts, it was wonderful. Imagine if you
will this road in the fifties, Caddies, Lincolns, driven by
Wiseguys and Starlets, Lana Turner, Sinatra, and the
Rat Pack going from L.A. to Vegas on whim Well,
when the liquor ran low, or food was needed, Roy’s
was the only place for fifty miles in any direction. It’s
a classic diner/gas station, with the bathrooms out
back. I bought tee shirts that said Roy’s Cafe and had
the Route 66 sign on the back; on the front they said
“Hell Road.” Well, we all have opinions. There were
pictures of Roy with ail the famous folks on the walls,
and the food was just about what you would expect
from a diner in the middle of the desert.
(Next month: Temporary Tempe )
All I want is a warm bed and a kind word and
unlimited power. Ashleigh Brilliant
BASEBALL
Well, it’s early yet. The Cubs seem to have little more than an
alphabetical advantage keeping them out of the basement in the
weakest division in the National League. After a disastrous Spring
Training, the Cubs, and yes, eating my words. Glen Allen Hill,
seem to be getting back to work We should expect Sosa to start
hitting, and not just homers. We recently read a story in the
Anderson Valley Advertiser that suggested home runs should be
counted the same as foul balls, because they are out of the field of
play, and that in baseball, unlike other sports, it is the player, not
the ball that scores the points That kind of thinking is what
makes the AVA such a dangerous paper. Go Cubbies!!
WTTLK LtTT Cfttt SM M l
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800 2.0
8:33 2.3
906 2.6
9:41 2.9
10:23 3.1
11:14 3.3
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