A Trip to Holbrook

I was recently invited by my co-worker-friend Dan to join his brother, Dave, on a little adventure. The purpose of the trip was to attend a concert put on by a group called The Lost Dogs. Dan and Dave have been fans of The Lost Dogs since they were in junior high school. The band embarked on an odd concert tour following Route 66 from Chicago to Los Angeles. Stopping along the way, they set up in parks and parking lots and played concerts for whoever wanted to listen.

Dave owns a Piper Malibu, a very nice six-seat turboprop flying machine. The plan was for him to pick us up in Santa Rosa and fly to Holbrook, Arizona, where we would both stay and listen to the band at the famous Wigwam Hotel. The plan did not disappoint. It was both spontaneous and odd, a combination I could not refuse.

We met Dave at the Charles M. Schulz Sonoma County Airport, just two miles down the road from my house. Dave was already there, fueling the plane for the four-hour trip. We stowed our luggage and I grabbed my camera. In case Dave passed out during the trip, and since I was a licensed private pilot, I sat in the co-pilot’s seat. If anything did happen, I could surely land the plane. I thought that was a great plan.

We took off over the skies of Sonoma County and headed east. Our flight plan took us just south of Sacramento and into the Sierra Nevada. The route took us directly over Yosemite National Park, one of my favorite places in all the world. I love seeing it from the air but usually I’m in a United Airlines coach seat. Now I was just a few thousand feet above the valley looking down at Half Dome. It was stunning. Flying near Bishop brought us very near Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the lower 48. Then came the mountains of southern Nevada.

I wasn’t going to say anything but I had to go pee. I figured it wasn’t polite to ask Dave the pilot to pull over. But something incredible was brewing in his pilot brain. “Have you ever been to Las Vegas?” Dave queried. “Why yes Dave,” I replied politely, “But only to the airport switching flights. “How would you guys like to stop in Vegas and have lunch on the strip?” he asked. Of course we obliged. I think he had to pee, too. We landed at a general aviation airport just north of the city. We drained our tanks at the Jet Center. We were then given a shuttle ride to the famous Las Vegas strip. We were dropped of at the Bellagio Hotel where we wandered a bit, amazed at the opulence. Since $50 each for lunch each was a bit much, we settled on Planet Hollywood.

After lunch we wandered the casinos a bit and ended up at Caesar’s Palace. I was stunned and amazed that this city was built: 1) by the mob, 2) with money people willingly lost, 3) in the middle of the desert. We didn’t gamble but we did watch plenty of very depressed looking people trying to get rich quick by giving their money away.

As we got a cab, the bellman joked with us asking if we were going to the airport to fly off in our Lear Jet. We said, well yes, we were going to the airport to board a private plane and we only stopped because we in the neighborhood and wanted some lunch. It made me feel special.

Back to the North Las Vegas Airport we went. Our cabbie was an interesting guy. He was a model plane hobbyist and showed us his scars from little propeller accidents. We drove by the largest car wash signs I have ever seen. The cabby then told us about his idea for starting a topless car wash. I stopped myself from saying, “You gotta dream big.”

Our plane was fueled and ready to go. We took off heading east to our destination of Holbrook. On the way we saw a lot of desert. But there were a few sited worth mentioning. First we passed the Hoover Dam. Simply stunning. Then we flew over the Grand Canyon, which was even more stunning. After the Grand Canyon we flew over a vast expanse of featureless desert broken up only by the city of Flagstaff, which looked amazing.

Then the skies got very bumpy. After an hour of being tossed around I was thankful I had packed a secret gallon-sized Zip Loc bag in my back pocket in case I needed a place to put my Planet Hollywood lunch. I never had to use it, thankfully. I didn’t want to start another puke-a-palooza.

We landed at Holbrook, an uncontrolled field just north of town, in the middle of nowhere right next to historic Route 66. We were met by a very nice gentleman, the airport FBO (fixed base operator). We tied down the plane and the FBO gave us the airport car to use. There were two other European gentlemen who arrived just before us. They had little portable bikes. We got the car.

It was an old Crown Victoria converted police car. It had a few dents and patched-up antennae holes and smelled a bit of burned tinkle (probably from transporting convicts), but it was free. We just had to gas it up before bringing it back.

We threw our stuff in the car and headed down Route 66 into the sleepy town of Holbrook. It’s a town where you can see what the damage the freeway caused. It was run down, dirty and semi-abandoned. You could tell the folks in Holbrook were trying their best to keep the old magic alive but the cars just kept whizzing by on the interstate. It reminded me of Pixar’s Cars movie.

We found the Wigwam hotel. The placed looked a little tired but it turned out to be fantastic. The lady at the front desk was incredibly polite and got us set up quickly. Lost Dog fans were now arriving anticipating a 4PM concert. We checked into wigwam #9. It was clean and actually didn’t smell of smoke. It was a small room but filled with charm. We loved it. I brought my AeroBed, which was a lifesaver, as we only had one bed. The brothers would share that.

The band was late because they stopped at an Indian Reservation to play a concert for some kids. That was more than forgivable. They set up on a back patio of the hotel next to the fire pit. The concert started just as the sun was setting. I was somewhat familiar with The Lost Dogs but all their songs were new to me. They were a great band and shared with us many of the unique adventures they had playing these small concerts on Route 66.

After the concert we needed some dinner. But the town shunned us. Nothing was open save McDonalds, Burger King and Denny’s. Fast food was out. And, since no one goes to Denny’s on purpose, it seemed that was the only viable alternative. We opted for sandwiches and fruit at Safeway.

I took a lot of photos. But when we returned, the nice lady at the front desk had turned off the famous Wigwam Hotel neon signs and was nowhere to be found. I almost cried. I only got one shot of the famous neon from my iPhone. Looks like I’ll have to return.

The next morning we arose, showered and headed to a greasy spoon for breakfast. We found a place called Jerry’s. It turned out to be a chain restaurant. We were the only folks there. The tables were filled with dirty dishes from earlier breakfasts consumed by the locals. We found a clean table and had a seat. Breakfast wasn’t spectacular but it was predictable.

We headed across the street to the airport, gave back the car, loaded and fueled the plane and took off, heading back toward Flagstaff. We were not making any stops this time. We got great photos of the Grand Canyon in morning light. Just west of Las Vegas we saw a couple of F-16 fighters dog fighting. We had to climb really high to clear the mountains west of Vegas so we donned our oxygen masks to keep from passing out in the thin air. We climbed to 16,500 feet, which is really good for a non-pressurized plane. Dave said he could actually climb to 25,000 feet. We were so high I got a photo of a Delta Boeing 777 below us.

Back over the desert, over the Sierra Nevada and Yosemite again, and soon we were home. We made the return trip in just over three hours because of a favorable tailwind. We bid thanks to Dave and went home. I started to download my photos and fell asleep. Five hours later I woke up. As the postcard says, “I wish you were here.”

Thanks Dave & Dan for a very memorable trip!

Please check out the photos and commentary here.

Treasure City, Royalton, Minnesota

How do I begin to describe the joy Treasure City has brought to my life? For those of you who have never heard of the place, Treasure City is a classic American tourist trap located on what used to be the main artery out of Minneapolis into the wild northern reaches of Minnesota. Highway 10 is to Minnesota what Route 66 is to the U.S. Besides Treasure City, Highway 10 brings you partway to Paul Bunyan Land, home of Paul and Babe, the Blue Ox. It was also the home of the amazing, but semi-retired, Flying Wallendas until they moved to Florida. It cuts through Little Falls, boyhood home of Charles Lindberg. Little falls also boasts the now gone but never forgotten, Smuda Zoo. But unquestionably the most amazing place along Highway 10 still is Treasure City.

As a boy I used to ride the bus to camp. We drove by Treasure City but never, ever stopped. I had dreams of the place. I was entranced by the 200 pound man-eating clam at the front door. Real pirate treasure chests could be seen just inside. Sometimes you could make out other trinkets if the bus driver was in the right lane and was following a tractor. On the way home we’d stop at Dairy Queen but never at Treasure City. What did the bus driver know about this place we didn’t? Could you get mummified monkey hands? What about real Indian scalps? Or perhaps a shark’s eyeball? What could be so forbidden about the place?

When we started going to family camp, I begged my parents to stop. But they too knew what the bus driver did and kept driving. I would later find out that if you bring a child into Treasure City you’ll be there at least two hours.

When I got my own car, and was employed by the camp, I became a frequent visitor. I quickly acquainted myself with the store manager, Florence Ziwicki. When we needed cheap prizes at camp, I would get Florence to sign stacks and stacks of 10-cent postcards. It was very irritating to her but I kept doing it. The kids went crazy for them. Imagine having a Treasure City postcard signed by Florence Zwicki!

Years after I left camp, a guy I mentor left California and ended up in Minnesota. I told him of the wonders of the northland and he brought his family to Treasure City. He brought in his video camera just in case something great happened. He quickly found Florence and he asked her to greet me. She was happy to oblige. “Hello Scott,” she said with gusto. Then under her breath she muttered, “Who ever the hell you are!” I about peed my pants laughing. I used to irritate her so much signing those postcards I thought for sure she’d remember me. But I guess she sees a lot of folks more memorable than me.

This past summer we made the trek to LBBC and my wife and I decided to make the stop at Treasure City. I brought my camera hoping to pose with Florence. I asked where she was, hoping no tragedy struck her. I was informed by the owner, Bob Janski, she was away on medical leave but was returning to work after a long absence later that afternoon. Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay to welcome her back. Another opportunity missed.

So we wandered and took pictures. Please look at my album for some lively commentary. And here you’ll find a video the local news did on the place. Check out this video, too. And here you’ll find their website. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, you can’t pass by without stopping. It’s north of St. Cloud in Royalton on the north side of town. When you stop, greet Florence for me. She won’t remember me but you might get her to cuss.

Empty Nest (almost)

That's Britt on the left, Elissa on the right.

Last week we helped Elissa move out of the nest. We had our children early and are now looking at a completely empty nest in our mid-forties. Britt will be moving out in January as she is spending one more semester at our local college to earn enough credits to properly transfer to Sacramento State. It’s been a transforming week for us. We face the realization that she might never move back and that our job, for the most part, is finished. She’s on her own and that’s that.

Last Friday morning we emptied her room, with the help of three college-age guys, and packed her stuff into three vehicles. We took a couple of parting pictures and headed to Emeryville, about and hour’s drive away. It was strange moving her into her own apartment and getting things set up. As I put together her bed and desk my mind was filled with all the things I never taught her to do. They were guy things she was never interested in. Too late now.

Everyone left to find some food and make an IKEA run. That left me alone in the apartment to set things up. And that caused me to think of all the great memories I have of Elissa. I started to cry. I kept reminding myself that this wasn’t a funeral and that she was only an hour away. No big deal, right? Well it was a big deal. And it is a funeral. My role as a father will never be the same. Like it or not the parent company has moved me from my job of 21 years to a different department. Have I been promoted or demoted? Will we be downsizing? How are we going to pay for all this? When will I stop crying? Am I just being man-opausal?

I got the room situated and then all the ladies showed up and put their decorative touches on the room. They squabbled about what should go where and what she should do with this and that just like they do at home. I just stared at my daughter and wondered where the time went.

I hated car seats and diapers. I loved reading to the girls, “Brown bear, brown bear, what do your see? I see a green frog looking at me.” But how many times can you read those lines with interest? I loved soccer games but driving them both in different directions all day, every day, got a little tiring. And once they drove I got tired of worrying about when they would get home. But now I won’t be doing any of that.

Then came the goodbye. I had heard legends of this rite of passage from several experienced friends. I was not looking forward to it. For one, I was dealing with some emotions from the past. Only one other person from my extended family ever graduated from college. So the prospect of me even going to college and graduating was very important to my father. My dad was fighting cancer when I entered college. He was in terrible pain the day I was to move into the dorm at Northwestern. He should have stayed home but insisted on making the trip. He stayed in the car while my mother and I moved everything into my room. This really bothered him but he was in too much pain to help. When I said goodbye, he implored me to stay in school and to graduate no matter what. “Don’t give up.” He told me he was proud of me and that he would be o.k. Just a couple of months later he died while I was in school.

Take those memories into account when you realize that I would now be wishing my daughter all the best in her new life away from home. I had all these things I wanted to say but the words wouldn’t come out. I just hugged her and cried. I think she knew what I wanted to say. And I hoped with all my heart she would remember to brush her teeth on her own.

She wasn’t there more than two days when she called us. She was bored, as her classes had not started. She wanted to go to dinner and a movie. How could we resist? We made haste and rescued her from her boredom. We roamed around IKEA looking for a step stool then found dinner at California Pizza Kitchen. In the same mall we found a theater and watched the latest Cohen brothers movie. We dropped her at her apartment with more goodies and said goodbye. This goodbye was much easier.

A few days later Britt went down and brought her home for the night. I thought those two couldn’t stand each other but, as it turn out, adulthood changes sisters, too. When we dropped her off the next day Britt got out of the car and hugger her sister goodbye. I about fainted. I had heard legends about this sort of thing happening but I never imagined it would happen with my two girls. They hugged. Lord Jesus in Heaven, they hugged!

I’ve posted a couple of photos here for you to see Elissa’s new digs. We’ll keep you updated on her adventures and ours.

Dental Care

I’ve tried them all; Crest, Colgate, Aim, Pearl Drops and even some organic crap from Trader Joes. I’ve tried whitening, cavity care, extra minty, and cool ranch. But they all do the same thing.

When my girls were infants and I was still in school I worked a job that had very late hours on occasion. One evening I came in very late. Not wanting to wake my wife or my babies I quietly went upstairs avoiding the squeaky steps. I carefully closed the bathroom door and without turning on the light I did my pre-sleep tinkle and brushed my teeth. I grabbed the tube of toothpaste and started to brush vigorously. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was brushing with Desitin Diaper Rash Cream. I never liked the smell of that stuff and I discovered I didn’t like the taste either. The problem with Desitin is that it is specifically made to stick to wet skin and never come off. Since the inside of my mouth is made entirely of wet skin, the Desitin found a nice home. And it wasn’t leaving. There was no spitting it out. So I grabbed toilet paper and tried wiping it out. But toilet paper is meant to break apart, which it did inside my mouth. So I went downstairs and used paper towels. I went thru several sheets before I could go back to brushing with the real stuff.

I was reminded of this incident because of something that recently happened. We just put in a whole-house fan. In our climate it is has saved us using our air conditioning about 80% which translates into big savings. We had to cut four new vents into the side of the house for the exhaust for the giant fan. As we trimmed up the vents we sealed them using some silicone caulking. I got some silicone on my new shorts. So I went to Home Depot and purchased some Mötsenböcker’s Lift Off® Silicone and Latex Caulk Remover. Using an old toothbrush, I scrubbed that stuff out of my new shorts and made them good-as-new.

The next morning, forgetting I had just placed a large amount of Mötsenböcker’s on my old toothbrush, and not realizing I had a new toothbrush, I placed a dab of Colgate on my brush and scrubbed away. I was quickly taken aback and surprised by the prodigious foaming action instantly filling my mouth. Then I realized my mouth was hosting a severe chemical reaction akin to mixing bleach with sulfuric acid. I immediately removed the contents of my mouth by heaving into the sink and spent the next five minutes rinsing my mouth out with cool water. Since I could not read the tiny lettering on the bottle to determine what poison almost killed me, I decided not to worry about it.

Always look before you brush. Always.