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"IN MEMORY OF MARY LOGSDON" - IN NOTE SECTION OF CHECK

JULY 19, 2006 - CALIFORNIA HERE I COME, RIGHT BACK WHERE I STARTED FROM……

When I left this morning from Yuma, I was sure I was about 10 miles from California's border with Arizona. I was really wrong. I was less than 2 miles from the border. As I moved west on I 8 out of Arizona, the landscape began to change ever so gradually, then BANG, sand. Sand sand sand sand sahara sand and more sand.  It was the extra large version of Michigan's Sand Dunes on thewest side of the state. Mountains began to be discernable in the far distance and I anticipated the chance to move through them.

The mountains in this area were composed of house size rocks and boulders, all haphazardly tossed aside by some giant hand. Some had cracked from the impact, or so it seemed. They certainly were huge. I passed a guide sign that read "ELEVATION 0 FEET".  I was moving along at sea level. I began to notice that the road seemed to be headed up hill, although at a very small angle. Soon I passed a sign that read "ELEVATION 1,000 FEET". How cool was that. I began to notice the temperature finally get a bit cooler, just as I noticed the sign that said "ELEVATION 3,000 FEET". No wonder it was getting cooler. The highest I got was 4,190 Feet at the sumit of the mountain chain the road had been carved into. We were notified by signs that we were now in a National Forest. Trees verified the presence of the forest. Trees, real trees, honest to God trees like with real leaves and EVERYTHING. Wow.

Even with the desent, the temperatures never got to where they were on the east side of the mountains. The remainder of the trip into San Diego was very comfortable. The bike even liked it. The relative temp thermometer backed off from being pegged at 120 to only reading 100 degrees. Believe me, that makes a difference.

Shortly after entering California, the road narrowed, and two lanes became one lane. This is the second time that I have seen the Border Patrol in action. The Interstate narrows down so that vehicles enter a choke point and, if anyone desires, they can have that vehicle move to an inspection area. The border fellow just waived me through. About 100 yards beyond him was another border guard with a tire strip. These things are thrown out on to the road so that the tires of an offending vehicle are all punctured.  It is a very effective looking piece of equipment. I got away intact.

I guess they figured that I couldn't have possibly packed my trailer and cooler and hard bags with Mexicans. Muhhhhaaaahahahahahahahahahaha, little did THEY know. I took some photos along the route in to San Diego.

I wanted to find the southwest most point in the USA. So I watched my GPS and took streets south, then west, then south, etc. I ended up in an area that was festooned with horse boarding ranches and riding stables. It looked pretty rough and tumble so I kept moving. I found a road that went east and west. I was unable to any further south, so I turned west, hoping to find the edge of the US.

I could smell the ocean as I approached a gate, manned by a single individual in uniform.

"Where am I?" I asked. "You are at the end of the United States." Said Officer Clay Phillips, Superintendent for the south sector of the California State Park system. He apologized, because Border Field State Park, the first - or - the last State Park in California, depending on which direction you are moving, is only open on the weekends. I told him that I respected that and asked if he would take my picture right where I was sitting. After explaining what I had been doing since June 1st, he unlocked the gate and told me to follow him. I was happy to oblige. Twisty and turny and not always paved roadway led to a small parking lot over looking the ocean, and a large stadium and homes and apartments behind a very solid fence that stretched back and over the mountains in a straight line. It also extended out into the ocean for about 300 yards.

I was at the end of the United States. I had found the eastern most part and the southeastern most part. Here I was at the southwestern most part of the US. See the photos in a separate posting. I said my goodbyes to Officer Phillips after taking his card and promising to write that Border Field State Park is also in the immediate vicinity of the Tijuana River National Estuarine Research Reserve. The California National Parks and the Mexican counter parts are working to protect this vital estuary because of its importance to indigenous flora and fauna. Both Countries recognize the importance of this endeavor. 

I headed north on Broadway and found NATIONAL CITY, CALIFORNIA. Their particular claim to fame is that they have a "MILE - O - CARS" in town. Whoo hoo.  Yep, you can drive a mile and look at solid car lots back to back to back. You Michigan folks might remember that Livernios could boast three times that not too long ago.

I stopped at a local Harley dealer just because and looked around for a bit. Back on the bike I went and headed north. I found the Pacific Highway, that seemed to follow the coastline very well. Pretty soon, I began to feel weird, usually indicating a real need to find something to eat. I stopped and punched in a request for restaurants. After picking one that was not too far off, I decided to abort the searched location in favor of a place called ROCK BOTTOM BREW PUB AND RESTAURANT. I pulled in parked.

With only a 10 minute wait , I decided to try and make some contact calls with former fellow worker, Norm Morin, formerly of Romeo, Michigan. Norm lost his wife to cancer as well, and has been doing some wonderful things to help keep her memory alive.

I opted to sit out on the patio of Rock Bottom to have my meal. I explained to the hostess what my trip was about and as I was talking I noticed a couple two tables over that obviously belonged to the motorcycle I had parked near in the lot.  I noticed that his leather vest had a patch on the left front that said ASSHOLE. So, I had to get up and go introduce myself.

"Excuse me, are you THE asshole, the PERFECT asshole, or just MR. asshole?" He laughed at that and shook my hand. I had to tell him that after talking with my mother in law earlier in the day, I think I owned that name. He was adamant, however, that he owned the name and I would just have to go look for a new one myself. Darn, and I was getting to like that one, too. I guess I'll go for poopoo head or something. He was with Lisa and they were out to eat, then out to go riding.  When I was through eating (ALMOND TROUT, RICE AND BEANS) I motioned for my waiter, who was good enough to tell me that my bill had been taken care of by Mr. Asshole and his significant other, Lisa. I thanked them and hoped that they wouldn't mind posing for a photo. Meet Jim (not really asshole) Vigil and Lisa Walker in the next submission. I liked the patch on his vest, though.

After pictures, I began looking for a room for the night. I was having absolutely no luck at all. EVERYTHING was booked solid. I thought that unusual. When I pulled in to a Best Western, that was also completely booked solid, I asked what was going on. Here was the answer. THERE IS A COMIC BOOK CONVENTION HERE IN SAN DIEGO. The clerk at the Best Western (Miramar)  went way out of her way to find me the last room in San Diego, 40 miles away to the north. Mr. GPS didn't let me down, either. I found the place in good time.

There is a surprise in store for those of you who have been reading these submissions for a while. More tomorrow for you.