30th ANNIVERSARY TRIP
MORRO BAY, CALIFORNIA
JUNE 2010
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If possible, whenever my wedding anniversary rolls around, I like to arrange for Sue and I to get away for a few days. With all the distractions of housework, yard work, cooking, and laundry, not to mention helping me with my job, it's tough for Sue to find the time to reflect on how lucky she is to be married to me.
This year marks our 34th as man (that's me) and wife. Our marriage is at that awkward age; We've already had our silver anniversary, but have a way to go for our golden anniversary. I wanted to see what the 34th anniversary is called, but most sources indicate that once you get past the 30th anniversary, they quit naming each individual year and only bother with every 5th year. (I'm guessing that men came up with this system.) It took additional research to determine that most experts have designated the 34th anniversary as plutonium.
Three Mile Island wasn't a practical destination, so
I didn't try to "theme" the trip. Instead, I arranged for three nights
in Morro Bay, California. Why Morro Bay?
1. The last time Sue and I had been there was sometime in the first
decade of our marriage. The section of my brain that houses that
decade's files is in poor repair, so for all intents and purposes, we
had never been there.
2. As readers of previous journals know, we've made past trips to
Monument Valley, the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, and Devil's Tower, so
Morro Bay fell right in line with our definition of picturesque: big
rocks.
3. Mapquest clocked it as a manageable 3 hour drive from Santa Clarita.
Using the Thornton Road Trip Conversion Table, which factors in roadside
distractions and the ratio of average hourly beverage consumption to
available restrooms, we calculated we could get there by dusk if we left
before breakfast.
4. It looked like the kind of place where we could spend some time
relaxing without feeling like we were missing something.
DAY ONE:
We left our home on the east side of the Santa Clarita Valley around 9 am, and in no time at all we were at a McDonald's on the west side of the Santa Clarita Valley. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, Sue likes to start the day with a cup of McDonald's decaf coffee... she's convinced it's made from the finest premium coffee beans grown and only available to the seventy billion McDonald's outlets that populate our globe. Sue's dedication to the Mickey Dee's brew is unassailable, though other brands have tried to woo her away. Who can forget the ill-conceived and quickly scrubbed promotion featuring Starskey McStarbuck, the caffeinated clown?
I stuck with my usual large Diet Coke, which gave me the opportunity to check out the restrooms at the Ventura Carls Jr about 40 miles down the road. While there, I picked up a batch of their fried burritos, which are sort of the jawbreakers of Mexican cuisine. I wisely purchased a large Diet Coke to wash them down, and that prompted an unscheduled tour of the restroom at the Wal-Mart in San Luis Obispo. While there, we took advantage of the great price on a case of Diet Dr. Pepper in the 12 oz. cans, so we could stock the hotel room refrigerator.
Honest, I didn't break into the stock of Diet Dr. Pepper for the remainder of the drive. Nevertheless, when we arrived in Morro Bay, it seemed prudent to locate another restroom, and since it was still a little too early to check into our room, we found the local McDonald's. There we made two wonderful discoveries.
Sue is fond of the McDonald's Snack Wraps, which were basically formulated by McDonald's crack R&D team to masquerade as a healthy alternative to the burgers, fries, and nuggets that everyone in their right minds goes to McDonald's to eat. Perhaps they thought that health-conscious adults wouldn't feel as guilty bringing their kids to a McDonald's if there was the possibility of ordering them something a little less artery-clogging than a Happy Meal. If so, it was a miscalculation; I've never seen a kid eating a Snack Wrap at McDonald's. They're not fooled by those apples sliced like french fries, either.
Instead, Snack Wraps appeal to folks like Sue who wisely watch their fat intake and like smaller portions, since they're basically a small tortilla wrapped around some grilled chicken strips accompanied by lettuce and some sauce. Until now.
On the Morro Bay McDonald's menu was a new offering: the Mac Snack Wrap. That's right: the geniuses at McDonald' s managed to overcome their better instincts and come up with a snack wrap that substitutes the halfway healthy stuffing of the chicken Snack Wrap with hamburger, cheese, and secret sauce. It's basically a Big Mac, hold the "Big". It instantly became Sue's favorite McDonald's menu item, if you don't count their coffee.
But wait! There's more! Sue might be a pushover, but the powers-that-fry at McDonald's knew they weren't going to win me over with the Little Big Mac. So they played their ace-in-the-hole. First, they were selling all drink sizes at $1.00, so I was spared using a small-size cup and making numerous refill trips to the beverage bar in order to take advantage of the price break. And, more importantly, the beverage bar offered Diet Dr. Pepper on tap.
As you've gathered, I believe Diet Dr. Pepper is the ambrosia of diet soft drinks, and I drink enough out of cans and plastic bottles annually to guarantee that the Doctor will be in business for years to come. But as much as I love the off-the-shelf version, Diet Dr. Pepper dispensed from a fountain brings me close to swooning. Surprisingly, it's offered at none of your finer restaurants, and very rarely at the major fast-food chains. Seeing it at a McDonald's and entertaining the possibility that it might soon be available at a chain where every outlet is within eyesight of another one... well, let's just say that I pressed the straw I used that day into my scrap book.
That cinched it. It couldn't get any better than
this. Just the fact that we had two more days access to Mac Snack Wraps
and free-flowing Diet Dr. Pepper before returning to a dry county made
the trip a success.
To kill some more
time before checking into our room, we took a drive out to Morro Rock.
Morro Bay is an
active fishing village and offers plenty for visitors, but even if there
wasn't a local McDonald's with fresh Diet Dr. Pepper, people would still
come to see The Rock:
To the right at the
base, if you squint, there's a building there that adds some scale and
gives you an idea of the size of this lump of stone sitting out in the
bay. At any scenic lookout point in Morro Bay, there's a poster or
plaque providing the origins of this rock, but I never saw anybody
reading it. No one really thinks there's a fascinating story behind a
big hunk of rock like this... they know it wasn't airlifted into the bay
by the Army Corps of Engineers, and what they're going to read will have
words like "volcanic" and "upheaval" and "eons", and only tell them what
they already knew: big rocks like this come out of the ground, and
they're cool to look at.
There's a stretch of
land leading from the shore to the rock that also marks the north end of
the bay, so we were able to drive out to a parking area right at the
base of the rock, where I was able to point my camera straight up and
take more mineral-themed pictures that I won't subject you to.
The public's not
allowed to actually set foot on Morro Rock, ostensibly because it's a
protected sanctuary for the peregrine falcon. But really, it's to
protect visitors from what would be a steady hailstorm of would-be
rock-conquerors, and to spare the city from cranking out coroner's
reports with cause of death listed as "because it's there."
There's also a rocky
spit jutting out to the left of the rock that serves as a breakwater to
the bay:
It's look like an
exciting place to explore, but the spoilsport authorities don't allow
the public out there either. Obviously, that didn't stop the guys in
this picture. They must not have seen this sign:
The sign's not really
clear on what the danger is, but it's obvious by its condition that if
the rocks don't get you, the birds will.
After spending some
time discussing how great God is at making rocks, Sue and I decided to
see if we could check into our hotel room.
I had made
reservations at the Embarcadero Inn, located on Embarcadero, the street
that runs right along the waterfront. I figured if the hotel had a
street named after it, it must be pretty good, and the pictures on the
website seemed to promise what I was looking for in anniversary-getaway
lodgings: a view of the bay from the room balcony, a wireless network,
and enough space to scatter all my junk, just like I do at home. Extra
bonuses were a fireplace and a DVD player. I know, I know... I'm an
incurable romantic, but with all the advances in medicine these days,
who knows? There might be a cure just around the corner.
When we checked in,
we were given actual metal room keys instead of key cards, making me
wonder for a minute there might be other features that were less than
cutting-edge. I didn't want to have to haul water to the room or
crank-start the TV. But the elevator to our 3rd floor room seemed okay
(it didn't have a guy in a fez operating a lever). In fact, we had to
use our room key to gain access to the elevator, which made us feel like
we were going to the penthouse.
And the room was
great. The view straight out from the balcony wasn't bad....
Looking to the right,
the view was partially obstructed, since we were across the street from
the Estero Inn....
... but we could
still see the rock, and the sun went down right behind it every evening.
Or so I'm told. Sunset is usually a little bit past our summer bedtime.
We tried to catch the sunset on the first night, but our retinas were
pretty much scalded before the sun hit the top of the rock.
Looking at the
picture, some of you might wonder why I didn't just book the Estero Inn.
I had considered it when hotel-shopping, but it was a bit more pricey,
and there was no guarantee that I wouldn't get one of the balconies
looking down the street instead of out at the rock. Plus the name had a
hormonal vibe that I just wasn't comfortable with.
Although McDonald's
was now a constant temptation, we stuck with our original plan to try
the local seafood restaurants for dinner each night. So once we settled
in, we made our way back to a place we'd driven past on our way to Morro
Rock: The Great American Fish Company. It was Sue's first choice because
it sounded like it covered all the bases: it was great. It was American.
It had fish.
I was a bit dubious.
The name made it sound more like a manufacturing facility to me. I
imagined conveyor belts of fish leading out to the holds on ships that
would eventually transport the fish out to sea, where they would be
released to be caught by the local fisherman and brought back to the bay
to be sold to restaurants with more fanciful names.
As has been her habit
for 34 years, Sue turned out to be right. It was a nice restaurant with
a view of the harbor. While we sat at our table, we saw seals and sea
otters go by. Curiously, neither was on the menu.
Sue had the sea bass;
I had the swordfish. At least I think I did. There's really no way for
me to know for sure, since one piece of fish usually looks like another,
regardless of species. I ordered it because I thought it would be cool
when the waiter brought out the extra-long plate to accommodate the
sword, but I was disappointed. So were the folks who ordered the
octopus. But the food was delicious, if that's the kind of thing you
look for in a restaurant.
When we got back to
the room, I read through the binder that described the hotel's amenities
and services. It asked that we respect the hours of 10 pm through 8 am
as "quiet time", and that made Sue consider a quick trip to the local
Rite-Aid for some Breathe-Right strips, but I promised to keep my
snoring directed into my pillow.
Not that it would
have mattered. At 10 o'clock sharp, the couple in the room next to us
started having a high-volume, heart-to-heart conversation, using the
same pet names and playful banter bandied between rival gang members.
Some of the same weapons might have been used also... it sounded like
some of the furniture was being moved around, or maybe thrown. On
reflection, I'm thinking that they weren't there to celebrate their
anniversary.
But the racket was
only a slight interruption to our sleep. After all, we've been married
for 34 years, and if we can get used to each other, we can adapt to
anything. So after noting the noise, we settled back in and got a
good night's sleep.
DAY TWO:
The next morning, as
we left the room, I noticed the "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging from the
doorknob of the room next door. Somehow it seemed an unfair
request, but I didn't want to dwell on it... sorting out the
difference between irony, sardonic wit, and your basic double standard
always gives me a headache.
We took advantage of
the hotel's continental breakfast, which was conveniently located (for
us, anyway) a few doors down on the same floor. While there, we struck
up a conversation with a couple from Arizona who had wisely left that
state for the summer to avoid the shrapnel from exploding thermometers
that happens every year about this time. They had children living in
central California, so they were familiar with the area, and they
suggested we take a drive up toward San Simeon, where elephant seals
hang out at the beach.
We decided to check
that out, but first we took a stroll down Embarcadero to get a closer
look at the town.
We saw a lot of
restaurants and souvenir shops and artsy-craftsy type places. Candy
shops seemed popular also, with an emphasis on taffy, so I imagine
there's plenty of dentist's offices in town, probably with the same
proprietors.
There were also
plenty of places offering rentals of small craft like kayaks and tiny
rowboats with sails attached, or those things that look like surfboards,
but you stand on the them and paddle around with an oar. I figured there
was probably an outpatient mental institution nearby that generated a
market for this kind of thing. I sure wasn't interested in getting into
a vessel that would capsize every time I put out my arm to signal a port
turn.
We saw a place
offering whale-watching excursions, and that was something we'd never
done, so we checked it out. There were none leaving this day (Wednesday)
but there was one the next day at 9 am, and 19 out of the 24 available
spots were already taken, so we booked it.
The whale-tour guy
advised that it's considerably cooler on the open sea, so we should
dress as if we were going skiing. I figured he didn't mean water-skiing,
but since I've never done any skiing, I had no idea what was
fashionable, other than to avoid wearing dark knee-high socks with your
sneakers. Dressing me is Sue's department, and she decided that we
needed to pick up a couple of light jackets or sweatshirts to go over
the light jackets we already had. This is called "layering", because
you're piling added unexpected expenses onto your vacation budget.
For those of you
who've stumbled onto my
Alaskan cruise journal, you'll know that we bought huge white
heavy-duty industrial-grade Eskimo-approved winter coats for that trip
to protect us from the Frigidaire winds. Those coats served their
purpose, but we've never worn them since... we haven't been anyplace
where we anticipated that kind of climate, and being as they weigh about
as much as a Kevlar jump-suit, they're not the kind of coats you
routinely pack. At first I slapped my forehead that we didn't bring them
along for this trip, but then realized they were just too bulky to be
practical for whale-watching, and with an active fishing colony close
by, we wouldn't want to take the risk of being mistaken for great
whites on the open sea.
After strolling
through the rest of town, we got back in the car and made our way up the
coast. About 5 miles past San Simeon, we saw the sign indicating
the turnout for the elephant seal beach. There was plenty of space for
parked cars, and plenty of parked cars there, so we were able to follow
our fellow elephant seal enthusiasts to the fenced off lookout point.
At first glance I
thought I was looking at a beach full of rocks...
...but that
impression only lasted a few seconds, until I noticed that some of them
were moving, and making noises that sounded like they were chugging
two-liters of Coke.
I took a few
pictures, but these two are most indicative of the non-basking variety:
They seemed to enjoy
yelling at each other a lot, which made me think that maybe our hotel
neighbors had made the trip a day earlier and felt inspired.
Sue and I watched the
seals for quite some time. There's something inexplicably appealing
about being able to watch animals hanging out in their natural habitat
who are totally aware of your presence and aren't either running away or
trying to eat you. We would have stayed longer, but there were only
chemical toilets at the turnout with a long line of seals waiting their
turn. So we drove back about 5 miles to the visitor center for the
Hearst Castle to use the facilities.
The Castle sits up on
top of a hill set about 5 miles from the main highway; luckily the
visitor center is at the beginning of that 5 mile drive, and serves as
the depot for the buses that ferry the tourists to the mansion. Many
years ago, not too long after we were married, Sue and I had visited and
taken the Hearst Castle tour, and we didn't have a great desire to
relive the experience. I realize it's kind of historical, and probably
contains some significant works or art and antique furnishings, but as a
general rule, conspicuous consumption isn't as much fun to watch as it
is to do. I don't begrudge the Hearsts their mansion. It was probably
tough amusing oneself up there on the hill at San Simeon in the 20's and
30's. Watching elephant seals through a telescope could get old quickly,
and it was probably a lot more diverting ordering contractors around and
giving Orson Welles ideas for a movie.
After taking
advantage of the Hearst hospitality, we started the drive back to Morro
Bay, but we made a slight detour. There was no way we could visit Morro
Bay without checking out the cutting-edge wineries and healing hot
springs of nearby Paso Robles---
Just kidding... we
just wanted to find a department store where we could pick up a couple
of sweatshirts for the whale-watching trip, and we figured the drive
would be fun. It didn't take us long to find a Big 5 that carried
hoodies. They were sorted into sections labeled S, M, L and Whale. I let
Sue pick out mine. Why hurt my own feelings?
A 35 mile drive
southwest got us back in Morro Bay, and before dinner, we decided to go
back out to Morro Rock and check out the beach on its east side. The
view of the rock wasn't much different, what was impressive was what was
on the beach. Take this:
and this:
... and multiply by a
thousand. As I looked at the rocks I was approaching, I realized they
were looking back at me... a multitude of beady little eyes, all waiting
for something edible to hit the ground. It became even more unnerving as
I got closer, and hordes of the little vermin came out to greet me.
Obviously, they had no fear of man... one came up and nibbled at the toe
of my sneaker.
As more emerged from
the rocks, I was beginning to feel a bit like Ernest Borgnine in
Willard, so we decided to head back to town before somebody yelled
"Tear 'em up!" and Sue and I became winter provisions. I always wondered
what picked those skeletons clean at Disneyland's "Pirates of the
Caribbean" ride. Now I knew: sand squirrels.
We got in the
elevator, and just before the doors closed, the lady appeared from
around the corner and ducked into the elevator with us. I shrewdly
deduced that she didn't have her hotel key and had to wait for someone
else to get on the elevator so she could get to her room.
By the time we all
got out on the third floor, and she started heading down the hall in the
opposite direction, I was beginning to see some logical flaws in my
shrewd deduction. If she didn't have a key to get on the elevator, how
was she going to get in her room? Well, maybe there was somebody already
in her room to let her in. Well then, why didn't she call them from
downstairs? Well, maybe she didn't want to bother whoever was up in her
room when she could just as easily hitch an elevator ride with another
guest.
Or maybe she was a
geriatric cat burglar preparing to jimmy the locks of some vacant rooms
and abscond with some valuables unless Sherlock Thornton put a stop to
her shenanigans. So I turned around to see where she was headed.
Now that, for the
first time, I could see her walk more than a couple of feet, it was
clear that she had cleaned the lobby out of all the 2-for-1 cocktail
coupons and had added considerably to her tiny umbrella collection. She
was walking down the hallway like it was the suspension bridge on Tom
Sawyer's Island. I knew that, if she wasn't a guest, she was in no
condition to jimmy any locks; and if she was a guest, with the
progress she was making down the hallway, she'd sober up by the time she
found her room, so we watched her bump into the wall a couple of more
times, then proceeded to our room.
The "Do Not Disturb"
sign was still on the doorknob next door, so I figured either our
neighbors had reached a reconciliation or the local authorities
had run out of yellow crime scene tape.
We went out to dinner
at a place called The Galley. When we had checked into the hotel, I had
asked the clerk for dining recommendations. Of course, he recommended
the local Mac Snack Wraps, accompanied with a carafe of Diet Dr. Pepper,
but I told him that ship had already sailed, and that's when he said a
lot of guests liked The Galley. We didn't immediately spot it on our
first day in town, so we decided to track it down and try it today.
Armed with the actual
address this time, we found it with no problem. Being on the waterfront
and sharing a building with other businesses, and with no golden
arches or painted footprints on the sidewalk saying "this way to The
Galley", it wasn't easily visible from the street. Like The Great
American Fish Company, it had a nice view of the water from almost every
table, and you got used to the seagulls smacking against the window.
I can't remember what
we ordered exactly, but I know it had gills instead of hooves. The menu
advised that The Galley preferred to prepare and serve all its fresh
seafood "naked". That made me a bit apprehensive about meeting our
waiter, and about the local health ordinances that allowed such a thing,
but Sue read the fine print, and assured me the term referred to the
culinary philosophy of serving the fish unseasoned with sauces on the
side. I guess it's paying respect to the fish that fell in battle.
It was good, but we
discovered that we prefer our fish fully-clothed. The philosophy of
unsullied seafood might be admirable, but it doesn't take the place of
some spices and a mesquite grill.
The room next door
still had the "Do Not Disturb" sign posted when we returned. It was
obvious that these folks had checked in to take advantage of the full
line of cable TV programming offered by the hotel. Maybe they were
fighting over the remote the previous night.
If so, the matter
still wasn't settled, because at almost 10 pm sharp, they started
fighting again. It made me sad to think that a couple would really rent
a place to fight, so I tried to come up with alternate scenarios. The
World Cup was in progress, so maybe, I though, they were just backing
different teams and getting a bit over-zealous with the rivalry. I've
heard that such mixed marriages aren't tolerated in some parts of
Europe. But this was idle speculation... I really couldn't make out the
exact words they were saying except for the more loudly punctuated curse
words. I tried putting a can of Diet Dr. Pepper up to the wall and then
putting my ear against it, but the can was still half-full and by the
time I cleaned up the mess, I was ready to go to sleep.
I know some of you
would have complained, either to the couple or to the hotel manager.
But, although it was depressing, it wasn't like I couldn't get to sleep,
and when two people are having this much trouble with their own
relationship, why add the pressure of forging a new one with me or the
hotel manager? Besides, I'm not really the complaining kind, especially
against people I'm terrified of.
DAY THREE:
Whale watching day!
Of, if you're a whale, paparazzi day!
Sue and I are early
risers, so we were up in plenty of time to have a bit of breakfast and
still be down to the dock over a half-hour early. We wanted front-row
seats, both for the view and so we wouldn't be down-wind of any
motion-sickness attacks.
While waiting at the
dock, we could see a more-elevated dock just a couple of doors down,
with what looked like guys checking in ice chests of fish. Underneath
this dock was what I thought was a rock sticking out of the water, until
it started quoting Harpo Marx dialog:
So I took a closer
look.
Obviously, experience
had taught this guy to hang out here for easy meals, sort of like
finding the places in New York where things fall out of trucks. I know
the picture above just looks like a blow-up of the previous one, but
it's not... it was taken a couple of minutes later. This seal never
moved. He looked just like this later that day, and I'm betting I could
run back up to Morro Bay today and take this same picture. I could
almost admire his tenacity if I wasn't imagining the barnacled nightmare
of his below-the-surface regions.
After watching this
marine equivalent of the Queen's Guard for a while, I turned around and
got a picture of the catamaran we'd be taking.
As you can see,
someone's basically bolted some park benches onto a platform, then put
the whole thing on a couple of pontoons and labeled it so everyone will
know that you're not in the bleachers for a deep-sea water polo match.
It's designed to attract whales, who are always desperate for a laugh.
The name of the vessel made me nervous. Everyone knows that "Dos Osos"
is Italian for "those so-and-so's!", but all I could see was a couple of
SOS's.
As we had hoped, once
we were piped on board, Sue and I were able to get one of the front
benches, along with another couple that looked to be about our age. We
were told the tour was booked to capacity, so everyone on board was
scrunching together to make room for later arrivals, but after a few
minutes our captain announced that seven people had cancelled (probably
after seeing they had booked a ride on an air foil). So we spread out a
bit. The couple sharing the bench with us split up; the woman moved to
the back bench while the guy stayed where he was next to Sue. I thought
this seemed sort of funny, but I was also grateful Sue hadn't thought of
it first, so I shrugged it off until we were underway.
That's when we
learned that the gentleman seated next to Sue was named Charles, and it
quickly became obvious why his companion had opted for a different
bench. As soon as we started heading out of the harbor, Charles
exclaimed, "This is going to be a great trip!"
I've warned Sue about
the danger of striking up new acquaintances (she's still paying
for the ill-advised decision to get to know me), but she's never learned
to be anything but pleasant to people around her, so she said, "Yes, it
should be a lot of fun."
From there, Charles
took the wheel, conversation-wise. He was a combination of Cliff Clavin
from Cheers and Rainman (Dustin Hoffman, not Tom Cruise). He let
us know that he was a retired park ranger that served in the greater
central California area and then launched into a running commentary
about... well, about almost everything.
A random snippet ran
something like this:
"I'm really looking
forward to seeing some whales there's lot of animal life to see around
here the birds are very important they interact with the fish and the
seals and the otters the birds have very sharp eyes they can spot the
fish from way up in the air there's different seals to see around here
some of them have ear holes and others have ear flaps they can hear
pretty good the birds rely more on their eyes we have our eyes that we
see with, our nose that we smell with and our mouth that we taste with
birds have eyes that they see with and nose holes that they smell with
but they got no upper lip just a bill seals have lips look for the
whale's spout that's how you spot them they breath air so they have to
come up to exhale they're air-breathing mammals we might see some sharks
they're not mammals they're fish you want to stay away from their teeth
I used to be a ranger all through this area it was great I loved it your
husband doesn't talk very much does he be sure to look for a spout or a
fin..."
And so forth.
I know the rule of
the sea is women and children first, but when it came to Charles, I had
already jumped ship, and Sue was on her own. At one point, Charles'
companion yelled from her back-row bench, "Charles! Give the lady a
break! You're overloading her!" but that didn't seem to discourage him,
and she made no more attempts to rein him in... she probably recognized
the expression of resignation on Sue's face.
Once we actually
started spotting the whales, Charles got distracted, so Sue was able to
enjoy it, too. The waters were a bit rough and there was
definitely a rollercoaster ambiance to the trip that hit a couple of
people pretty hard. Unless there were whales directly underneath the
rail they were leaning over, I don't think they saw anything. Sue and I
have been spared a susceptibility to motion-sickness, so this was a good
opportunity to experience it vicariously.
There were no
bathrooms (or "cabezas") on the good ship Dos Osos, but the guide
advised that there was a port-a-potty (or "cabeza pequeno") if one was
needed. But you've seen the picture of the catamaran: it's not like
there was a stall or shower curtain set-up on board. Sue was aware of
the sanitation limitations and had taken precautions before boarding to
make darn sure she wouldn't be put in the position (so to speak) of
using the port-a-potty during the trip. Personally, I knew it would
never happen; if Sue ever reached that point, she'd tie the anchor
around her feet and jump overboard rather than face the alternative. So
I kept a close eye on her in between whale spottings.
All in all and
Charles notwithstanding, it was a great trip. On the way back we went by
a buoy loaded with seals:
It didn't seem like
the most comfortable place to hang out. I think there's probably some
form of seal public transit that stops by there.
As advertised, the
whale-watching tour took about 3 hours
(Quick aside: in an
age where 2 year olds can sing the theme to Gilligan's Island,
why would any outfit offering to take tourists out on the water
advertise a 3 hour tour? Call it a "180 minute tour" or a "back by
lunch" tour... anything to keep from triggering a potential customer's
subconscious into considering the possibility of being stranded for 3
seasons with a bunch of one-dimensional strangers. Advertising a 3 hour
tour is kind of like having flight attendants hand out DVDs of LOST
before taking off.)
We were back by noon,
and decided to have a seafood lunch. I got to pick that day, so we went
to the Lil Shack, which is basically a shack located in the parking lot
of The Great American Fish Company that serves fish and chips from a
walk-up window. After having "naked" fish and fine seafood the previous
nights, it was great to get back to the classics: an unidentified
species of fish, coated in batter, fried up and served in a bed of
french fries nestled in a paper-lined plastic basket. For me, it was the
best meal of the trip, and the best fish and chips I've ever had. Then
again, every other place at which I've ever ordered fish and chips, the
counter person has asked "Do you want fries with that?"
We spent some more
time looking at the shops. We stopped by the main souvenir shop in town,
but we didn't feel any need to pick up a pen, a pocketknife, a pillow,
or a t-shirt with "Morro Bay" printed on it. The shop had a whole
section devoted to the classic gag items: whoopee cushions, joy buzzers,
squirting lapel flowers, fake vomit, rolling eyeballs, etc. I'm not
quite sure why someone would bring back a whoopee cushion as a memento
of their stay at Morro Bay, but then again, I'm not an unattended
six-year-old with vacation money burning a hole in my pocket. I'm 56 and
the fake vomit was a much better deal.
Then we took a drive
southward toward the estuary part of the bay. Sue had read about a
nature walk through an "Elfin Forest". It all sounded a bit too Worlds
of Warcraft for me, but if she wanted to check it out, I supposed I
could endure running across some role-players in green tights.
The entrance to the
trail was at the end of a residential cul-de-sac. It was one of those
self-guided boardwalk trails, with periodic informational signs along
the loop. For some reason, the signs wanted me to imagine experiencing
this region as a small Chumash Indian girl from hundreds of years ago.
I'm not sure how changing my ethnicity and gender helped me appreciate
it more, and Sue made me stop mincing my walk after the first 50 yards
of the trail, so I experienced most of Elfin Forest as an old fat
contemporary white guy.
Here's a couple of
pictures just to give you an idea:
The first is an
overview of the area... you can see Morro Rock way off in the distance.
The second is showing how the boardwalk takes you into the Elfin Forest.
No pointy-eared guys or pots of gold here; it's called the Elfin Forest
because of the dwarf oaks that populate the area. There's also lots of
poison oak, but as long as you've got your healing potion or have
accumulated enough health points, you don't have to worry.
When we were done, we
were still full from the best fish and chips in the world, so we stopped
at the local Foster's Freeze for dessert, where I had the house special:
the "Oxymoron" which is basically a Diet Dr. Pepper ice cream float.
Then we went back to the room, where we read and relaxed for the
remainder of the day.
The neighbors fought
again that night, but by now, I wouldn't have been able to sleep if
I hadn't heard from them.
DAY FOUR:
It was time to check
out. We got all our things packed up and out to the car, then I stopped
by the lobby to turn in the keys. The hotel clerk asked how our stay
was, and I mentioned the noisy neighbors. The clerk turned pale and I
asked her what was wrong. She said, "That room's vacant. We closed it up
years ago. No guests have stayed in that room since the Fergusons. They
fought; Mr. Ferguson shot Mrs. Ferguson, then killed himself."
No, not really, but I
wanted to give this journal a dramatic ending. Reality's a lot
more boring: we checked out and had a nice drive back to the land where
most Diet Dr. Pepper comes from a bottle or a can.
Since it was a trip
celebrating our 34th anniversary, I should say something profound and/or
mushy about my wife and our life together so far. But it's tough to say
anything that doesn't do a disservice to the way I feel. Because we work
together, Sue and I spend very little time apart, yet we haven't yet
ended up like the Fergusons. I could say that we are eerily and
perfectly suited for each other, and that since I believe in God rather
than coincidence, I've got to thank Him for Susan Joy Thornton, the
second biggest blessing in my life.
But I won't say
anything corny like that. Instead, I'll offer the following picture,
taken while Sue was sitting on the hotel room balcony, reading. The sun
was getting lower in the sky, and she hadn't brought anything to shade
her eyes. So she asked if she could borrow my hat.
This is a picture of
the only woman in the world that would be willing to put on that hat
while sitting in a spot visible from the street. Is there any doubt that
she was made for me?