Velvet

this summer was packed with music for me. Highlights were: -CK5 @ Hollywood Bowl (special guest Phish) -NIN @ Golden Gate Park -Steve Martin & Edie Brickell @ Minneapolis State Theatre -The Stones in the Pit in Toronto (x2) I was really amazed at how good NIN was. One of the best shows I've seen.

Yeah, I have a few entries to catch up on too, but it's hard to write about Banff when I gaze at hippos crossing the crocodile-infested Zambezi River! Thanks for the kind words. I have a few entries left in the trip home across Canada and I intend to finish them when I get some time.

082313 We don't excel at early starts so it's no surprise we couldn't possibly get away until well after noon today, and despite that we still opted to take the scenic route. The 99 ended up being a great idea, even after the splendour of California's highway 1 the winding mountain road through Pemberton and Lilloet was a feast for the senses. The lush greenery beside the highway, the road almost completely devoid of traffic, and oh those wonderfully majestic mountains! While the regular highway through the BC interior is stunning enough this road-less-travelled pushed my eyeballs to the limit. It was a drive so interesting I was kicking myself for agreeing to let m'lady do the steering. It was several hours before we met up with the regular road and at that point we decided to push it to get at least to Kamloops. M'lady is pretty fast at the wheel, certainly faster than I am, and if she wasn't at the helm we wouldn't have even gotten close. As it happens there is a plethora of campgrounds leading up to Kamloops and a dearth of them after Kamloops. As night dragged on we searched every exit for a place to pitch the tent. Finally we saw a sign and we lurched off the highway. We booked in and set up in the dark. Just as we were lamenting the traffic noise from the trucks barreling down the highway only about 200 metres away we heard the first train. It was gonna be a rough sleep.

Me too then, I guess.

Two things: 1) Remember when they tried to sell peanut butter and jam pre-mixed? 2) I think you and DB are trying to turn the internet Dada.

Funny you say that. When you're stuck in traffic people walk up and down between the cars selling a myriad of household items. Lots of them are selling mirrors, big mirrors in frames. I saw two different people selling puppies. Wait at a light and you could buy a blender, sunglasses, eggbeaters, you name it. Oh, our guide said that whenever Zambia wins a really big game the prostitutes across the country offer their services for free for the rest of the night. Apparently it's their way of supporting the team. For reals. Oh, and women think it's crazy to get mad at your husband for cheating, but if a woman cheats she is often killed by her husband, an action that is also socially accepted.

zambia lost 2-1, so we're safe. And drunk. We watched the game in three different bars.

The guy helping us out here said if zambia wins we should go straight to our room. Apparently the streets will be mayhem, lots of drinking and driving. People die whenever they win a big one. our hotel bar is pretty chill so we're going to the raucous place up the road. Wish us luck.

So there's a huuuuuge soccer match (football game) happening today, the Zambian team Chipowopowo is playing the Ghana team Black Stars today in Ghana. If Zambia wins they go to the World Cup for the first time ever. Big deal 'round here - everyone in Lusaka is wearing green jerseys. Here's the thing - Ghana hasn't lost a home game in 25 years! I just read in the paper that Ghanian officials received intelligence that people intended to sneak into the stadium and plant juju (black magic) against the home team, so the gov't has installed 500 armed guards around the stadium 24/7 to suppress the voodoo terrorists. Crazy.

082213 I started the day crafting a letter to the promoter of Harvest Picnic who has incredulously offered a mere $40 rebate to ticketholders despite his advertised headliner, canceling his performance. Frankly I don't care who he gets as a replacement, I paid $311 for two tickets to see Neil Young and now that Neil Young won't be there I want my money back. Rebook the show and if I think it's going to be worth my time and money I'll buy another ticket. To do anything else is to hold Neil Young fans hostage. Astounding. When we got to the table we found two bowls of fruit salad waiting for us. Soon Grant returned home from an errand and made a fresh pot of coffee with one of his brass collector pots. Heading out for another visit with m'lady's grandmother (despite how healthy she is you want to get your visits in when someone is 101 years old) we stopped into a plaza that had both a Japanese restaurant and a barber shop. I got ten years of aging shaved off while m'lady enjoyed maki sushi. I hit a McDrivethru to keep the growlies at bay and we enjoyed another two-hour visit at the seniors residence. Heading into Vancouver we were fortunate to qualify for the carpool lane and beat the traffic into the tunnel. In the city we parked on the corner of Robson & Burrard, and strolled arounnd. In West Hastings we passed a shop called The Amsterdam Cafe, so we stopped in to see what it was about. Half coffee shop and half head shop, the Amsterdam Cafe openly allows pot smoking, supplying bongs and vapourisers for customers use. No illicit drugs are sold there, though I noticed a group of young entrepreneurs lurking on the corner with their hands stuffed into their pockets. All of this openly flaunts the current legislation, however I found pamphlets drumming up support to get a decriminalisation referendum on the ballot, visit sensiblebc.ca to see if you can help. I bought a coffee and watched as people flagrantly broke the law with an attitude of impunity, perhaps pushed on by the successful initiative that passed just a few miles south in Washington. Back on the sidewalk we wandered back towards our car and found a place for dinner. We had a show to get to and were starting to get a bit rushed. I was happy to see our food came quickly, we stuck to one drink and were on target to get to the Rogers Centre in plenty of time for Black Sabbath. I saw our waitress Tina and motioned for the bill. She pretended not to see me and promptly disappeared. For how long I don't know, but after twenty minutes or so I flagged down the head server and paid the tab. We got out of there and hit the ground running, making it to our seats for the third song. Damn you to hell Tina, you made me miss War Pigs. We had the best of the cheap seats, front row dead centre of the 300 level. Beside me a woman proudly boasted that she had brought her fifteen year-old son along for his first concert. Onstage three-quarters of the original lineup powered through their greatest hits and a smattering of new material to an ecstatic crowd. Tony Iommi was both stoic and solid in his role as riffmaster while Geezer Butler held the bottom with his guitar-esque bass work. Ozzy is a living parody of himself filling every moment between vocals with a “show me your fucking hands,†“I can't fucking hear you,†or “let's se your fucking lighters.†he scrolled through this trio of commands constantly, and all the while you could hear a distinct frog in his throat (bat in his throat?) so pronounced that I heard him clear his throat INTO HIS MICROPHONR four times throughout the show. The show was mediocre at best, and where it really missed the mark was the exclusion of their original drummer, who absolutely fused with lyricist/bassist Butler on those plodding dark hits from our childhood. The role was filled for the tour by Ozzy's drummer, a tattooed Jesus-lookalike who's drum solo was one of the most asinine examples of showmanship I've endured. And the crowd loved it. To the lady next to me nothing got old. She played along with Ozzy Says the whole show, swaying with every sway and digging out her lighter with each command while her kid sat slumped in the seat beside her. Indeed, much of the crowd was eating it up large, the applause was consistent and deafening. Overall I'm sort of glad I went and I won't go again. This is the same place we saw the Gold Medal hockey game in 2010 so whenever I got bored I re-imagined watching the winning goal go in the net. Those were moments when I might have looked like the biggest sabbath fan in the room, jumping up and screaming with tears of joy rolling down my face. After the show we walked with the dispersing crowd. We saw three guys wearing matching shirts, each with a different word on the back. As they walked ahead of us the we could see their collective message: “Geezer†on the first shirt, “Fuckingâ€: on the next, and of course “Butler†was on the third shirt. Sabbath has fans alright. With Neil Young and by extension us out of the Harvest Picnic this was the last show in our concert tour. It was a rocker all right but one of the weaker shows of these last five weeks. So weak in fact I only had one beer back at m'lady's uncles place after the show. And I had to force it down.

082113 While we are on vacation the rest of the world still has to get stuff done, and this is no more evident than when waking up in a family household. M'lady and I did our best to stay out of the way as two working parents shuffled the kids between daycare and dental appointments Corey shuffled some things of his own at work and freed himself up so he could have lunch with us. He suggested a friend's bbq joint so we loaded up the car and followed him into town. The restaurant had good food and stunning views, contained by mountains on all four sides. After lunch we shared dessert with the owner/chef and with hugs and handshakes we left for Vancouver with loose plans to meet for lunch again in a few more days. M'lady is a Vancouver girl. Well, a not-far-from-Vancouver girl anyway, and she still has family there. We had arranged to stay a night or two with her uncle so into the city we went, battling bridge traffic all the way through one of North America's least pleasant skylines, our soggy tent destined to remain packed up for another few days. We dropped off our suitcases and visited briefly with Grant before heading out once again. The main goal of our Vancouver visit was to spend time with m'lady's grandmother, who turned 101 year old this summer. We were visiting her a few years ago when she first entered the retirement complex that she now calls home. She wasn't impressed with it at first but we were glad to see she's quite content there now. She's quite an amazing lady; articulate, intelligent, well-spoken and with all of her faculties still in place, she sees like a hawk and can hear everything around her, her only discomfort is some memory loss, but even that doesn't seem to bother the centurion one bit. We visited for a couple of hours and when we said goodnight the woman walked us to the car, keeping up just fine with just a cane to help her along. I honestly hope I'm in such good shape when I'm seventy. Back at Grant's place M'lady's uncle made us a wonderful pasta dinner and we sat up until midnight comparing the content of a couple of bottles of wine. By midnight it was time to turn in so m'lady and I retires to the master bedroom where king-sized comfort was the order of the evening. Even the old cuckoo clock couldn't keep me from the Fairmont-like heavenly slumber.

082013 I slept too soundly to hear Richard get up for work today, instead me and m'lady just slept right on through most of the morning, slowly yawning and stretching to life around 11am. I somehow managed to get some java out of the confusing coffee machine and we packed our bags. My friend was busy in a meeting so we left his keys with the receptionist at work and pointed the car north. In a few hours our American adventure was done, almost five weeks and well over 10,000 kilometres of good times behind us, and the open road through the mountains ahead. We cruised the border and set our sites on Squamish. I let m'lady drive and we sped along the much-faster-since-the-Olympics Sea To Sky highway to one of the rock climbing capitals of the world. We were going from one friend's hospitality to another, pulling into my old Ottawa pal's place around 5pm. Corey showed us around his great house complete with a hot tub and a torture chamber he convinced me is actually a rock-climbing room, his wife and kids got home and we settled in for a family night. Corey bbq'ed up some absolutely delicious steaks and Karina made the best corn I've had while m'lady and I took turns playing with the kids. At some point during dinner the kids started playing with us but we all managed to walk away from the table with all fingers and toes intact and still attached. The rest of the evening was split between catching up and getting trounced by creative, maniacal play. M'lady got her nails furiously done while I eloped to the peace of the back porch, pulling on a cold beer in the shadow of the surrounding mountains with an old friend. The kids stayed up late playing with us and their new Lego sets, Corey and I moved the kid's bed to the spare room for us and we all went to bed ready to sleep.

081913 I woke up when I heard Richard getting ready for work at around 8am. He said we could stay as long as we liked, handed me his keys and his phone number at work and wished us a good day. As is our habit we lazed much of the morning away. There was way too much we wanted to see just a stone's throw away from Richard's place, and we had such a good time visiting with him last night we decided to stay another night. We had breakfast at Five Points to celebrate and found it didn't stand up to their burger, but then not much would. Seattle offers a myriad of great options for tourists and we settled on three that sit together just a few blocks from where we were staying, the Chihuly Garden, the Space Needle, and Experience Music Project (EMP). The Chihuly Gardens and the Space Needle offer a combo ticket, we bought some and started with the Garden. Dale Chihuly is the world's foremost glass artist. He has installations in some of the planet's great cities, including a monstrous piece in the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas though gardens are Chihuly's medium of choice and his work has been displayed in many famous gardens around the world. M'lady and I had visited the Chihuly Gallery in Tampa last year and loved it, so we were excited for the chance to see his vibrant plant-like installations alongside and amongst actual flora as planned out by the artist himself. The first room we entered had a large table containing bowl clusters; smaller bowls artistically matched and carefully placed inside a much larger bowl, and a shelf containing smaller pieces. At the gallery in Florida we had seen some of Chihuly's bowls for sale. Small bowls start at about $7,000 with the large lotus-like pieces going for $30,000+. The arrangements are quite stunning, and as they sit out in the open they can be viewed from so many angles, each offering a fresh perspective on the master's use of colour and light. Behind us a lady entered the room with her little girl, perhaps six. To our horror the girl ran right up to the first piece, reached in, and picked up one of the small bowls set inside. M'lady and I froze, jaws slack as the lady barely reacted at all. “Now honey, be careful,†she said with a voice that sounded like a shrug. The mother casually reached for the five-figure glass orb and the girl squealed a bratty squeal, turning away clinging tightly to her new treasure like it was a new doll in a toy store. She wanted this thing and she was going to have it. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. How could this lady not realise what was happening? She just paid $20 a ticket to get into a glass museum, how was it possible she could be so cavalier about this? Almost dizzy with awe I scanned the room, will someone come stop this before the girl throws this piece of art on the floor? “Come on now, put it back,†says the mom, who continues perusing the room like she's in a clothing store. “No!†screamed the little monster. Silently stammering I was about to approach the mom when out of the corner of my eye came the security guard that was standing in the doorway flanking the two rooms. “There's no touching,†he said, and miraculously the woman convinced the girl to put the glass bowl back herself before the brat ran towards the adjoining shelf and started picking up something else. “Really honey, you shouldn't do that,†said the mom clearly just not getting it. Once they moved on to the next room I went up to the guard. “Does that sort of thing happen often?†“No,†he answered, a bit dazed. “I've never even seen anyone touch anything, let alone pick something up.†I told him I almost had a heart attack just watching it go down. He looked at me for a second. “Yeah, I think I should call this in,†he said, walking towards the piece and pulling out his walkie-talkie. It actually took another room or two of work before I calmed down, my heart was racing. Much of the indoor rooms were filled with pieces very similar to what we saw in Tampa, intricate glass chandeliers that look like frozen balloons, an alien forest of spires and massive petals, massive glass orbs balancing on pedestals, just not the place for kids, though they were everywhere. While the largest piece is an impressive conglomeration that hangs in it's own glass sunhouse the main attraction is the outdoor garden. Nestled among a who's who of flora are Chihuly's colourful plant-like creations, blending together in an almost seamless collaboration between man and nature. The glass augments the trees while the lily pads add context to floating, glinting orbs. The hues were matched like a somnelier matches wine to dinner, combining the two mediums into a singular experience. I wondered at what point in the museum visit the reality of what almost happened sunk in to that mother's skull. After the garden we got in line for the elevator ride up Seattle's Space Needle. We never quite figured out why you have to pick an ascension time when you book you tickets, we missed ours and still got up one of the tywo lifts just fine. About a third the height of the CN Tower, the Space Needle still offers impressive views of the low-laying city. We slowly walked the circumference of the viewing platform and retired inside for a drink. M'lady enjoyed a tall Pike's Place and while I was tempted to order a Starbucks in Starbucksland I hit the bar for a beer instead. Back on terra firma it was just a few steps to EMP, the house that Hendrix built. Al Hendrix that is, the late father of the late guitarist, Al Hendrix spent years in a legal battle over his son's legacy, and the EMP museum was his dream made real by architect Frank Gehry. The building itself is a metalwork monstrosity of impossible bends and curves. The monorail runs right into the place, disappearing into the steel folds and dropping tourists at the front door. While interesting in it's sheer uniqeness the building didn't suggest any sort of obvious meaning, which ultimately seemed appropriate. We walked in, purchased tickets and asked were we should start. “Just go anywhere you want,†he said, unhelpfully. What we found inside was a fragmented collection of collections, a series of mini-museums that had little in common and no obvious flow, the collections themselves often had little or no clear progression within themselves, and overall the place came off like a much lesser version of Cleveland's Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame in dire need of a curator. Don't get me wrong, there was some cool items. In the Science Fiction Gallery there was Data's suit, Yoda's cane and Captain Kirk's chair from the deck of the Enterprise. The Horror Museum had some ghoulish masks and props including the Slaughtered Lamb sign from American Werewolf In London, the only thriller I've watched all the way through. I was fascinated by the handwritten corrections in JRR Tolkien's manuscripts and the original draft of Bram Stoker's Dracula in the Fantasy Gallery. Though the place boasts some interesting artifacts the presentations seemed to be trivially thrown together without any cohesive narrative. Indeed, m'lady and I walked through several areas backwards, such was the lack of clear signage and logistical momentum in the building. There wass a wonderful sculpture of guitars that stretched to the high ceiling and played an eerie arrangement of If 6 Was 9 at the push of a button alongside a room celebrating Jimi's early years in London that featured a couple of guitar fragments and lots of drymounted blowups of newspaper articles. These were the only homages to Seattle's first rock superstar. EMP was hosting a temporary exhibit honouring Seattle's next big rock star with a hallway lined with old Polaroids of Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. I l;earned something at this exhibit: Kurt's name was initially spelled “Kurdtâ€. Upstairs I found the two best features of EMP, first a temporary exhibit on Women In Rock, a series of display cases that was chronological and informative, and the interactive area full of soundrproof rooms and electric instruments. Me and m'lady had a blast rockin' out on the electronic drums and distorted guitars on top of blaring backing tracks. In short, it was like walking through a huge Hard Rock cafe without a beer in your hand. Lots of nifty, unconnected memorabilia arranged randomly with very little interest in educating the clientele. All in all though it was a pretty great day being a tourist in Seattle. We got back to Richard's apartment just as he was getting off work. He treated us to an excellent meal at a Thai restaurant and this time we retired to his place with drinks and WKRP In Cincinnati reruns, the one featuring Bobby Boogie and the classic Thanksgiving episode. The extra day in Seattle was a great idea.

081813 It rained last night and when we woke up we noticed the sky remained unshining so we knew we'd be packing up wet. No hurry, we didn't have much of a drive to do today. We took our time getting started, lots of Coleman coffees, breakfast and showers and we pulled out of the park without revisiting the beach. We initially wanted to circumnavigate Olympic National Park but we figured there would be too much rushing involved. We had decided days ago to travel at whatever pace felt natural and if it meant we had to save some plans for next time, so be it. So, we'll see you next time Olympic National Park. Cutting inland we marked the end of our six-day coastal adventure and aimed for Seattle. A good friend had just moved there from Ottawa in the spring and I was anxious to visit. Richard met us outside his building. He had arranged a parking pass for us and before you knew it we were relaxing on his balcony just three blocks from the Space Needle, cool drinks in hand. We went for dinner at a classic local spot that sported a flashing neon sign in the window that read “Ripping off tourists and drunks since 1929â€. The burger was great and the ambiance is unmissable, it's called the Five Points and it's right next to the statue of Chief Seattle. It's well known that Washington legalised recreational marijuana use last year, though there is still no detailed legislation on the books. Many people are waiting with bated breath to see what rules will be set forth. The deadline for the state to introduce a taxation and distribution system is this December, until then things are sort of up in the air. Interested in the issue, I stopped into a local marijuana dispensary. Until the new rules are set forth they are maintaining the status quo: selling only to card-carrying medical marijuana patients. The staff was happy to talk to me though, and eagerly expressed their excitement over the coming changes to their world. “I got arrested on this very street for possession ten years ago,†the clerk tells me. “And now I'm standing here openly selling medical marijuana. I can't believe what is happening now in the US, it's amazing!†“And Hempfest happening here in Seattle this weekend, it's crazy how many people are down there. Excuse me? Back on the street it was a quick saunter to the waterfront where 100,000 people mingled amongst booth after booth of marijuana-related items, grooving to band son several stages and openly smoking pot merely for recreation. I saw a kid selling buds out of an ice cream tub in his backpack. No scales, no baggies, “Just hold out your hand and I'll eye it out at ten bucks or so per gram or so.†The police were present in significant number but they weren't bothering with any pot smokers. I saw them taking a statement from a guy who said he'd been assaulted, the other guy was in cuffs, and from a distance I saw an officer turn on a dime to confront someone who had clearly said or done something inappropriate when the cop walked by him. In the end the officer scrutinised the man's ID and the two men went their separate ways. Seeing so many people out for Hempfest solidified one thought in my mind: just how much money is going to be made when the leagalisation and taxation begins to come into play around the US and the world. There is just so much money in this, from manufacture to packaging to wholesale to retail, not to mention paraphernalia and a thousand other offshoot products. This is huge and it's happening right now. Imagine being around when alcohol prohibition was repealed. Marijuana legalisation is a cash cow and the milking is set to begin. We were feeling a little sleepy after such a long day so we booked it back to Richard's apartment and enjoyed an early evening of drinks and Laverne & Shirley reruns. Richard offered up his bed for our stay and kept us from protesting his kindness by promptly falling asleep on the couch. Logging onto the internet we found that Neil Young has canceled his appearance at the harvest Picnic in Christie Lake, what was to be the final show in this tour we are on. Neil was the main draw for us so sad as we are to be missing him at least we are now free to spend a little extra time getting home, or consequently we can get home a little early. Too bad, Neil Young & Crazy Horse would have been a great tour closer.

081713 Camping right next to the office and the bathroom was a double whammy come morning. Not only did the bathroom door slam over and over with every shower, toilet and shave, but every trailer and motorhome (and there were many) stopped and idled outside as they checked out and asked directions at the office. Made for an early day, and the first time we woke up to rain on this whole trip. When I checked in the night before the overly chatty lady bragged heavily about their onsite cafe (she prefers Chai tea, but her husband, who plays the piano, prefers the latte. Their son; can you believe he didn't get that scholarship for his saxophone playing? He's also into lattes but she's sure he'll come around to Chai tea...) so we strolled over. Turns out she was right, it was a pretty impressive cafe for a campground. Come to think of it, once you got past the office and bathrooms the whole place seemed pretty top-notch. We sat in the tent with our coffees as the rain slowed to a stop outside. Still, we packed up wet which is never fun. We soon finished with the gorgeous Oregon coast and crossed an impossibly long bridge to enter Washington. We drove along a peninsula past a curiously named town called Tokeland and found a restaurant up the road that had just reopened today under new management. We stopped for a nice, underpriced lunch and further explored the peninsula under mostly gray skies. I don't know if it's because of the recent legalisation of marijuana in Washingston state, but I noticed a series of oddly named businesses along the way, like Pot Lovers, a nursery, and The Stoned Gardener, which I actually turned around for. They sold insects painted onto rocks that one would presumably place in their garden as decorations. Again we were finding the state parks booked “plum full†to quote the ranger as I pointed at this park and that park on his map. “That one is full, so you might try it, but the others are all plum full.†We tried That One, which was actually called Twin Harbours, and upon checking in we found out there was an artfest going on at the docks. We quickly set up camp and drove to check it out. We found a long row of booth offering their wares along the old wooden docks. We window shopped and stopped for ice cream. On our way back to the campground we noticed a band setting up outside a building nearby. We walked over to the beach and sat on logs watching a pair of surfers ply the waves. The sun was getting to me so we went back to camp, had a beer and walked out of the park and a short way up the road to where we saw the band setting up earlier. Turns out it's a winery and a microbrewery with a small bar and a large deck and it hosts live music every Saturday. We sat inside and mulled over a taster tray. Settling on a couple of beers we walked outside only to hear the band announce, “thank-you, good night†at 8pm. There was a local hot dog vendor there and he was just packing up too. That turned to my advantage as I got the last of his food for just two dollars. Two big sausages turned out being dinner. We finished our beer and booked it, with no band playing we might as well be back at the tent drinking our own beers so that's what we did. There seemed to be lots of parties going on around us in the busy park but we kept to ourselves and had a nice evening together watching the moon rise through the trees.

Unfortunately no, you won't.

Elvis was born in the wintertime. Nobody celebrates the birth of people in the wintertime - everyone has Christmas to deal with.

081613 We woke up to another pretty, cool day. We haven't seen the heat get above 22C in weeks, and haven't heard of rain since the light mists in San Francisco, and not since North Dakota before that. I wandered about the campground and ran into the fella with the clams from last night. He said he had found some fossils so I asked him to show me. Turns out he's a geologist and he was very excited. He had two large rocks he had chipped out of the ground just a few hundred metres away and they clearly had ancient shells embedded in them. “The rock is sixty to sixty-five million years old!†he announced proudly. Heck of a way to start the day if fossils are your thing. Back at camp we had our coffees and packed up. The coast turned into a giant sand dune for a while, large Namib-like golden sand mountains where ATV's rule the roost and are for rent at every highway exit. We kept driving and stopped in a picturesque town called Florence for lunch. We found a nice spot on the main street and quenched our hunger, then spent an hour strolling the shops along the riverside. We stopped at a giftshop/lookout later in the afternoon and saw whales surfacing in the distance. I bought a book on knot tying (I've been slow to practice the knots I learned in Chicago) and a postcard of a blimp flying past this very giftshop during WWII. Back on the road I tuned into the Elvis station on satellite radio in honour of Elvis Day and enjoyed our last full day careening along this coast. We neared the top of Oregon and started looking for a nice campground. Fortunately, nice campgrounds were everywhere, each one more picturesque than the last. Unfortunately they were all full, and with our meandering travel style we don't have the luxury of doing much prebooking. We finally found a spot that would rent us a trailer spot at trailer prices for our tent. It was already dark so we took it, pitching our tent on an impossible spot next to both the camp office and the bathrooms. The kids in the park had formed little gangs and the bathrooms were their hangout, so not only did I have to scowl like an angry old man just to use the pisser we had to endure their clubhouse banter for half the night right next door. Whatever, this isn't a camping trip, it's a driving trip, and the week we just spent driving up the Californian and Oregon coast is a trip I will cherish.

081513 Woke up in the forest amongst the redwoods and made a nice, strong cup of coffee on the Coleman stove. We had stopped for groceries the night before so we had cream. I lingered over a second cup and pulled out the guitar. I played for an hour or so in the dense, quiet redwood forest until my guitar ran out of notes. I turned my attention back to the Coleman and made a small breakfast for me and m'lady. This is vacation. That said, we aren't lingering anywhere no matter how nice so we packed 'er all up and got out of there. We ascended through the giant forest and soon crossed the state line into Oregon. The Oregon coast was yet another geographical surprise for me. The rugged coastline is dotted with massive rock islands just offshore, it looks very much like Vietnam. The road had finally opened up to the sort of highway featured in so many car commercials: A fast, windy strip of fresh black asphalt hugs the cliff overlooking a roiling ocean. I Was Made For Loving You by KISS came on at just the right moment: turn it up, open the sunroof, step on the gas and lean back, both hands on the wheel. Zoom. The western coastal drive would make a hell of a bike trip (though I was most envious when we stopped next to a Ferrari with Alberta plates), and I think it's safe to say we saw more bicycles than cars on this leg of our trip. There are occasionally bike paths but otherwise the traffic always seems to give a bike the whole lane, passing them like they are cars. The tunnels have cycle lights; the cyclist pushes a button upon entering a tunnel and lights begin to flash warning motorists that there is a bicycle in the tunnel and cutting the speed limit in half. I have a feeling I'll be daydreaming about this potential trip for some time to come. As we neared the northern end of Oregon we found a lot of fully booked campgrounds, even one designated as tents-only (damn cyclists). We went down a long stretch of road somewhere near Cannon Beach and found a state park with an open spot. It didn't look so hot and was low on facilities so we asked about other options. “Well, there's a few spots down by the beach that are free, if you don't mind your window getting smashed,†the ranger offered. We minded. She further explained that a rash of break-ins had occurred in the area a few years back and they had just started up again this summer. “But there's a private campground near the beach that's pretty good.†We took that. And pretty good it was. Though the signage in the office advertised the owner's strong opinion on the right to bear arms (why oh why do some small business owners insist on this unnecessary, potentially alienating practice?) we found the nicest camp spot of the trip so far, secluded in trees, in the shadow of a pretty rock face and our own short path to a powdery beach. The place even offered free use of crab nets and buckets and the like. We set up and checked out the ocean, made dinner and had some drinks. I talked to a fella who was returning from the beach with a bucket. Two clams and a couple of small crabs. Hope he had something else back at camp to augment his dinner. Later, in the light of the moon, m'lady suggested we take a walk on the beach. I grabbed a beer and put on my shoes and down the short path we went. Despite the loud crashing waves the beach seemed almost silent. We stood in the heavy sea air watching the subtle effects of the moons gravitational dance with Earth's ocean, with only the occasional birdsound to distract us (also silent). I'll admit I'm not much of a beach guy, but they're unquestionable more tolerable at night. As we stood near the water basking in the moonglow I happened to look down, where I noticed the sand was crawling with thousands of the grossest pulpous critters you can imagine. These writhing stumpy creatures were the stuff of nightmares and they were quite big, perhaps a centimetre or more long. Startled, we jumped back and noticed there were pockets of them all over the place. Our beach time ended pretty quick. It was clear the creepy little aliens were more abundant closer to the water but we still saw some pretty far up the beach. Our little pathway seemed extra short as we retreated back to camp, a mere stones-throw from Beach Creepy Crawly. That was enough beer for the night. We switched to strong whiskey and zipped the tent up tightly.

081413 Spoke to a guy while brushing teeth in the bathroom this morning. His dog got into the skunks last night, he was in for a smelly ride home. We bid our campground adieu and set out for another day of incredible driving. Continuing along California's highway 1 at a snail's pace provided another morning of gasps and gapes at the astounding scenery along the Pacific coast. This is just an amazing chunk of the world, and what a feat that they've maintained such a great road through it. When highway 1 ended it dumped us right into the giant redwoods, so with eyes turned upward we continued oohing and aahing as the world unfolded before us. Impossibly tall trees with circumferences reaching over sixty feet, the road felt like a tunnel. We had to turn off the satellite radio because it became so spotty under these massive beasts of wood. We opted for the Avenue Of The Giants for prime redwood viewing. It winds alongside the main highway and offers lots of hiking loops, pullouts, and tourist attractions. I couldn't bring myself to pay $5 to drive through a tree so instead we stopped and did a couple of walking trails. To walk among these enormous living creatures is quite humbling. At an interpretive centre a cross-section of a tree trunk was on display listing world events among the rings. Near the middle of the seven-foot disc was a note marking Genghis Khan's exploits, further out the Vikings landed in North America, here is when Washington was born and this marks the birth of the modern Olympics. Quite a life. As sunset neared we were lucky to grab the last campsite at a state park. We pitched the tent next to a future giant redwood and had a nice picnic meal of salad and sandwiches. We were adjacent to a section of the park that was for cyclist camping only, and I'm pleased to report that it too was full for the night. Each site was provided with a bear-proof box and instructions to put all food in it, even food that was in the car. After dinner and drinks I loaded up our box and turned in for the night, a tiny, happy man sleeping among giants.

081313 We woke up to the sound of the lighthouse horn, but then we did everything at Bodega Bay Park to the sound of the lighthouse horn as it was blowing regularly every eight seconds. We packed up without much ado and got out of there, not so much because of the horn (which wasn't at all annoying in the daytime) but because the daily destination awaited. The daily destination was the road. It's simply amazing that there is a road built to hug such a rugged coastline, and the road is immaculate besides; pure black asphalt curving up and around the mountains, turning with each bend in the fjord-like fringes of land. Quite simply, this is the type of drive I've always dreamed of. As a little kid I would sit in the driveway pretending to drive mom's car, turning the wheel this way and that maneuvering endless impossible curves, splitting my time equally between gas and brake, careening up and down hills in my mind – the road is never straight in Imaginationland. And that's exactly what today was like. Dizzying turns with speed limits that went as low as 10mph, hugging to the side of Road Runner-esque roads carved into cliffs, and all the while splitting the view between endless trees and majestic ocean views. Quite simply the greatest drive of my life. The only thing that comes close is the westernmost section of Taiwan's Tarago Gorge. With apologies to my native land things like the Cabot Trail and the BC interior just can't touch the breathtaking beauty of the California coast drive. I could not stop gasping aloud. Along the way we stopped for lunch in Mendocino, a hippie town up the coast. We had a nice walkabout and while jewelry and art shops abound there is a bit of a shortage when it comes to restaurants. We found a sign that read Mendo Burger and walked down the path. The couple that owned the place were native New Yorkers. Remarking on my Amsterdam baseball hat the couple mentioned they were frequent visitors to The Netherlands and talk turned to coffeeshops and the California medical marijuana laws. I'm sorry to report that the proprietors were clearly under the weather, as they took turns medicating themselves on the restaurant patio. “You got your two-one-five?†the man asks me, referring to the state medical marijuana card. “No,†I replied. “That's too bad,†he says, “because the best bud in the state is grown locally and sold at the dispensary right around the corner.†We ate our burgers in the patio sun and at the urging of the gentleman stopped in for a look-see at the dispensary, which was clean and inviting. The very kind lady at the desk explained that they only sell to card-carrying clientele but she was happy to discuss the shop. They offered almost forty strains of marijuana and almost as many types of hashish, all were locally grown and on display. The shop included a small informative library and just overall exuded nothing but professionalism. I've not seen anything like it in the more notorious coffeeshop areas in Europe, which tend to be more dive-like in their presentation. California looks like it has a wonderful working model happening, it will be interesting to see how it develops. As we approached Westport we pulled into a roadside stop that had hundreds of Inukshuk-like rock piles. I met Caleb there, the young man responsible for the balancing acts. After two days of constant work he had just finished the job. “People are really attracted to the area when I pile the rocks, though I'm not sure it's the rocks that the people are interested in,†Caleb told me. “I think it's the energy. It's my gift to the area.†Caleb used to be homeless, then he got a bicycle. He has been driving up and down the west coast nonstop for the last three years, and he spends a lot of time balancing rocks on top of one another. “How do you know when the pile is finished?†I asked. “God tells me when they're done†he replied. “Everything I do is because God told me to do it.†We got some travel suggestion from Caleb and left him to enjoy his work. Up the road we found the campground he had recommended, a small state park on a plateau overlooking the ocean. It was cheap, $25 on the honour system, but we opted against staying there as it had no beach access. Something tells me God instructs Caleb not to pay when he stays there. The private campground we chose was a bit pricier, but the quick stroll to the sandy beach and the hot showers easily made up for the extra cost. We stood ankle deep in the Pacific Ocean to watch the sun set with beer in hand and retired to our secluded camp spot when the dark got too dark. As I cooked a little dinner on our Coleman stove I heard a sound nearby. I shrugged it off and then a moment later heard it again. There was a critter and he was right next to us. Picking up the camplight I see that there is a skunk in our unused firepit, literally no more than three feet away. I've never been that close to a skunk before; I didn't think you could be that close without getting sprayed, and I couldn't smell a thing. I grabbed the lantern and shoo-ed him off down the road. He soon tired of that and turning around he shoo-ed me right back. As I retreated to our site the smell was unmistakeable. Thankfully that was the end of our critter encounters for the night. Two days of driving and we have barely hit five hundred kilometres, and that's just how we wanted it. This is really a case of the travel being the destination.

081213 We spent easily a half-hour trying to find a parking spot near Jen and Gil's place last night before finally taking a spot that required I move the car before 9am. The already horrendous parking situation that is endemic to this city was exacerbated by the Monday morning street cleaning in this neighborhood, which basically bans half of the street parking one day a week. I think I could live in San Francisco but I would have to sell my car; I don't have much patience when it comes to (not) parking. So I was up early to move the car, still had such a hard time finding a spot that when I did I thought it must have been a typo, grabbed a coffee on the corner and enjoyed it in Gil and Jen's lovely backyard patio. We hit it and quit it by 11am, with many thanks to our fantastic hosts for the weekend. We drove across town the Balboa area, m'lady had made an appointment to visit a glass artisan and we had meant to visit another friend all weekend but hadn't yet found the time. We spent an hour admiring recycled glass plates and bowls and made our purchases. We still have a lot of miles to go and now with some pretty pricey glasswork in tow I did a little repack of the car, strapped the boxes in and set off for our last San Francisco stop. We knocked on our friend's door and his roommate answered. Turns out our friend was still asleep. We said we'd have lunch and come back, Mark (the roommate) said he'd join us so off we went for some ubiquitous Mexican food. I had a burrito the size of my thigh. I set it on it's end and ate it freestanding. M'lady ordered one more taco than she needed and ate them all. Back at buddy's place he mentioned he wasn't used to guests in the morning. I mentioned it was 2pm. It would be good to live here. We had a rush hour to beat so we got on the road before 4pm. Traffic was pretty good as we cruised over the Golden Gate Bridge one last time, and crossing the bridge we turned onto highway 1 north. This was the beginning of the vacation I have been looking forward to the most, the legendary California coastal highway. This is the kind of road you take Gravol for, as m'lady was soon to find out. Before long we pulled in to a pull out and sat for a spell so stomachs could settle. I spent some time trying in vain to help a guy who had locked his keys in his pickup truck. I noticed he had solar panels installed on the roof of his truck, so it seems he's sometimes clever. Back on the road it was twists and turns and bends and curves and trees and cliffs and wow what a drive. It took hours to go 120 kilometres. We stopped at a campground but it was pricey ($44) and not so beautiful so we carried on. A hundred twists and turns later we found a state park right on the ocean. The ranger at the booth suggested we drive through and check the place out; if we want to stay come back and let her know. The place looked pretty good so we picked a spot, paid the lady and set up camp. It's surprising how long it took us to notice that we were well within earshot of a beacon-horn that blasted every eight seconds. Several rum and cokes in and I couldn't help but to count it off: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...HOOOOOOOOOOONK! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...HOOOOOOOOOOONK! One, two, three, four, five... We watched the sunset from a picnic table near our campsite and walked over to the adjacent beach and sat staring at the planet. Sigh.

081113 The third and final day of Outside Lands was packed with stuff I wanted to see so we got up and at 'em as soon as we could this morning and left for the festival a mere half-hour behind schedule. Parking is brutal all over San Francisco and Outside Lands doesn't help. We ended up parking in the same spot as yesterday, not too close and not too far and made it in to the festival in time to hear Fishbone calling people out from the Lands End Stage. “Hey, you guys sitting down in the front...git yo asses up befowe I start talking shit 'bout yo momma in front of all these people!†Beautiful. I was in dire need of sustenance so we met up with a friend and booked it into the woods where I found a couple of cups of coffee (both for me) and a big chocolate chip cookie (also for me). You could hear the band playing from where we sat so we kept sitting, building strength for a long day. After Fishbone our little crew split up, with me and m'lady off to see Kurt Vile and the Violators. This was my first experience with the band and I liked them pretty okay. It sounded somewhat like Lou Reed fronting Crazy Horse without being quite brilliant. I think I would benefit from seeing them in a smaller venue, perhaps with some bourbon in me. As it stood I was barely getting by with just that one cookie in me gulliver. Bigger things needed to happen food-wise. I had spied a booth at the other end of the festival grounds the previous day that piqued my interest, so I sauntered over to the Twin Peaks Stage for some piping hot split pea soup. The very thought of festival soup intrigued me, and much like the massive peanut butter cup from the previous day I just wasn't prepared to let the opportunity pass. Of course they had a vegan option and spicy tomato as well, but I opted for a large bowl of pea soup laden with chunks of pork, not ham (another first). It was a wonderful foil against the chilly, foggy weather that defines summer in this area. Finishing my soup sitting on a log in the woods I noticed I was right next to the Digital Detox zone, something I had been meaning to check out. To enter one must read aloud (or closely overhear) an anti-technology manifesto and sign a waiver swearing you won't text or take digital photos while in the compound. Polaroids were okay though; Luddites tend to hand-pick their enemies. They had some typewriters up there, a no-phone chill-out area, and inexplicably, face painting. It was so incredibly far from being the cool place I was hoping it would be I decided to not even give it a chance and I got out of there ifast. We reunited with our little crew at the main stage for The Foals, a band I liked so little I think it would be kindest if I just pretended I hadn't been there. I was eager to have a good spot for Willie Nelson, who was playing against Vampire Weekend, the band in the main stage slot. In my rush I ended up at the Sutro Stage early enough to catch several songs by Dawes, and it turns out I like them very much. One of the best things about festivals is catching bands you're completely unfamiliar with and would otherwise not spend your time and money going to see and Dawes was it for me today. This stage area has a great natural bowl to it with a nice slope rising to the right. We found a great vantage point square with the soundboard, just as the field begins to rise. As Dawes was ending their set things were starting to get busy, space was getting more precious by the second and the hill to our right was full. And then a freaky thing happened. From the side of the stage security started erecting barriers, creating a twelve-foot pathway cutting through the grassy field and causing people to calmly scramble. I stood and watched with amazement safe from my perch a mere ten feet off the path as the yellow-jacketed staff calmly and simply built a road through the crowd leading back a hundred yards and growing. And still they kept coming with their gray metal barricades. If they went all the way back to the gate me and my crew would end up fenced in. It was too much. I just had to find out what was going on. “I'm gonna go get a beer,†I say to no one in particular, drifting off towards the end of the road which gets farther away every minute. I ask the first yellow jacket I see that doesn't seem busy. “I don't know,†he say, genuinely. “Some important person is gonna come driving through here, but I don't know who.†When I get to the end I see that the work is done and the path will go no farther than the 150 or so yards it has gone. I see a lady with a walkie-talkie. “What's going on?†I ask. She pretends not to hear me. “Hey, who's coming through here?†I continue. She smiles the smile of someone with a secret. “It's only temporary,†she says. “We'll be taking it down shortly.†My charm was no match for her joy of secrets so I went for that beer. Coming back I see a van coming across the field just as I get close to the barricade. “Hey Willie!†I yell as he goes by, his window open just a crack not two feet away from me. Well, who were you expecting? Some secret. I saw Willie Nelson earlier this summer and he was great, but this Outside Lands set turned out to be something else altogether. From the first strum it was clear the Willie's guitar was mixed way to loud in the mix. “Please don't fix it, please don't fix it,†I prayed in the direction of the sound booth. I guess I'm on someone's good side because I got my wish. You could literally hear every single touch Willie made on that old workhorse Martin of his, and it was glorious. Once he was good and warmed up he proved that he is equally impressive as a guitarist as he is a songwriter with every riff, every rhythmic flourish. Incidentally, by the second song the barricade-path was gone. Dozen of workers had imploded it just as casually as you could imagine. I was flabbergasted. If someone had told me you could build a fenced-in road through a festival crowd without an inch of difficulty I would have said they were nuts. The reason for the whole thing, or so I figure, lies in the natural bowl shape of this staging area that I mentioned earlier. From my vantage point I could see the backstage area, which was basically a small cliff with a four-flight stairway leading up up up. I have a feeling Willie's handlers took one look at the stairs and insisted they find another way to get their octogenarian star to the stage. Anyways, back on the stage Willie tore it up, playing about twenty-five songs in his seventy minute set. I was a bit surprised he didn't mention the passing of his longtime guitarist Jody Payne who died yesterday at age seventy-seven, but then maybe he just didn't want to bring us all down. Midway through the set Bob Weir came out for On The Bayou. I think he asked for a guitar and was told “noâ€, so he sang one verse and walked off the stage looking bearded and grumpy. He also came out for the encore and again, no guitar. Willie's set closed out the Sutro Stage for the fest this year, now it was just a short trek over to the Lands End Stage for the Red Hot Chili Peppers for one more set. It's been quite a while since I've seen these guys, like almost twenty years, and they were huge back then. Which is to say RHCP have been around for a long time and frankly they sounded a bit tired. Don't get me wrong, they're all great players (even if Flea gets a bit sloppy when he thrashes about so), some great guitar playing and deadly solid drumming, the vocals are bang-on and, well, Flea is an icon. But there's no fire, and they used to absolutely bleed fire. They're still a great band with great songs and they probably have a lot of touring years to come, but they've lost the eye of the tiger. Still a pretty sweet close-out to a great, great festival though. I highly recommend Outside Lands – they do it right all around and Golden Gate Park is a beautiful setting. There is such a wide variety of music I can't imagine people who tend to go to festivals wouldn't find lots of music to like. There's no in-and-out; once you're in you're in but they make it really easy to be there all day. I would certainly buy a ticket again without even knowing the lineup, just like I did this time. The only suggestion I would make is to have more garbage/recycle areas, though the ones they did have were manned by volunteers all weekend, pointing patrons to the proper receptacle which is a hell of a lot smarter than getting the volunteers to sift through garbage looking for recyclables. Back at Gil and Jen's place we had a few nightcaps and mulled over the weekend of music. This would be our last night in San Francisco and we were reluctant to let it end.

081013 A nice sleep on a pullout in a room all our own, m'lady and I woke up and whiled away the morning sipping coffees with Gil and Jen in their spectacular apartment. We went for brunch at a small hip spot with a limited menu. I had my first grilled cheese sandwich of tour ($11), made with caramelized onions and homemade bread it was pretty swank. Gil and Jen are Outside Lands veterans and they were somewhat aghast at my suggestion that there wasn't much to see until later in the evening. So we repacked the car such that we could fold down the seats for passengers and by 2:30 we were on the road, careening up and down the most unlikely of steep, winding streets. There's our new brakes and tires earning their keep. Driving around the alphabetised streets south of Golden Gate Park our hosts marveled at the luck we had with parking the day before. Indeed we ended up parking a good five blocks farther away than we did yesterday. No matter, it's still a very reasonable walk past endlessly interesting rows of houses. San Francisco is a very, very cool city. Abhorring anything grid-like, the streets meander like so many rivers through the jungle. It looks like neighborhoods were designed based on the path of least resistance, which is fitting with the city's attitude. San Fran seems like a live-and-let-live kind of place full of fun people. Entering the festival grounds alone is an eye-candy treat; people are in costumes or wearing feathers in their hair, there's a guy walking around openly holding a large bong, smiling sunglassed couples lounge on blankets everywhere. Arriving a bit behind schedule, I felt bad that we only caught the last song by Gary Clark Jr., an act Gil was excited to see. With the rest of the afternoon free of musical highlights we let the festival itself entertain us. Walking through the woods to the other stages there is art everywhere, even live painting stations where professional artists create huge murals all weekend that continually get scattered around the grounds. In the forest we encounter Clown Hell, a collection of curious caravans and the clowns that curate them. Not marked on the festival map, this area does have a small stage where the audience sits on large wooden logs. There was a swing jazz band called Beso Negro setting up so we sat down and eventually caught a few tunes. Great music, great players, fantastic setting. The crew wanted to move on so we did. We happened along to the Sutro Stage where Youth Lagoon was doing their thing, which wasn't really my thing. I glanced at my schedule while my crew stood there idly shaking to the empty vapidity. “Um,†I whispered. “Is it at all possible that we are currently standing at the wrong stage?†Everybody sort of looked around and got a hold of themselves and quickly came to their senses. We marched away. As we approached the Lands End Stage on the main polo field a couple of girls stopped Gil. “Were you here last year?†they asked. “Yes,†he replied. “Omg, look at this,†they squeal, holding up their cellphones. Turns out last year he had blatantly photo-bombed their group picture and had grown to monumental status amongst their friends. That's the sort of thing you never think you'll get caught at even though they have your picture, but they caught him! They got him to photo-bomb another pic and off we went. Gil was inspired and proceeded to become a photo-terrorist, unsubtly seeking out photos to bomb for the rest of the day. At the Lands End Stage Jurassic 5 was kicking it down with their oversize dj equipment and wearable drum pads. They soon dispensed with the Hip-Prop and got on with a manic game of deep-bass Simon Says that had the whole crowd playing. Put your hands in the aye-yair! Now wave them side-to-side. That's it! We stopped for a snack of deep friend mac & cheese and found the Panhandle Stage which is completely powered by renewable resources. The Mother Hips were playing but I spent most of the set speaking with a guy manning a booth that raises money for ailing musicians. It's a great cause and they've really got a great fundraising model. But I digress. We watched most of Grizzly Bear's set at the adjoining Twin Peaks Stage but I was curious to visit something on the map called Chocolands. My ill-led posse snaked through the crowd to the woods and we soon found ourselves surrounded by little hamlets selling their delicious chocolately wares. Liquid chocolate bars, triple-layer chocolate cake, s'mores, chocolate-dipped brownies, milk 'n cookies...I opted for a hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows and a peanut butter cup so big you cold hide behind it. I gnawed on this several-pound nugget of wonder while my friends imbibed on their own fattening pleasures. I washed it all down with the hot chocolate and when I walked away I actually felt like I was on hallucinogenic drugs such was the chocolate rush. We killed some time checking out the booths – I tried my legs at a bicycle sprint and bought a few posters at the artist area. There's a Fender booth where you can put on headphones, pick up a guitar and try out their new effects boxes. Eventually we made it back to the mainstage and soon Nine Inch Nails came on. We found a spot by the soundboard where it wasn't too crowded and proceeded to get lambasted with heavy intensity. Trent Reznor came out alone with only a white sheet as a backdrop and a single white lamp beside him and grabbed the audience by the balls with nothing but his electric guitar and iron voice. Talk about selling the steak. His band subtly joined in and in a mastery of white light and shadow the minimalist stage setting became monstrous. The cadence of the show went up with every song. Everything became bigger and blastier, Reznor's uncaged-animal persona grew bigger and bigger until he seemed in danger of exploding, and the audience raged with him every step of the way. It was so heavy that when he played The Warning (Your time is tick tick ticking away...) I couldn't help but to feel my own pulse, counting. The show climaxed and with only five minutes left Trent re-emerged for the encore. Hurt. The ultimate in intensity, I thought he said he'd never play it again after hearing Johnny Cash do it. I'm glad he played it tonight. Out on the street after a fantastic day of music I drove the four of us back to Gil and Jen's 'hood and we hit a cool local bar where the whiskeys are poured strong. I struck up a conversation with a girl dressed as Scrooge McDuck and we got out of there just before closing. San Francisco is cool.

080913 We awoke to the sound of a junior bowling/polo team practicing in the room upstairs. They must have a big tourney this weekend because the were going through their drills with great gusto. Consequently I was up early enough for the continental breakfast but I really didn't have very high expectations so I laid in bed and listened with wonder at the goings-on above me instead. We got on the road early enough – this route back to San Francisco is the first backtrack of our journey so I was happy to give up the driver's seat in favour of buckling down for some typing time. Typing these logs really makes the miles go by, so the five hour drive was gone in no time at all. Driving across the Bay Bridge we pondered our options: the friends we were staying with had already gone to the festival but we were free to park in their area and take transit to Golden Gate Park, another friend told us he lives next to the park so maybe we could park near his place or hell, we could just drive straight to the festival and search for parking. Our main concern was leaving a car clearly full of stuff parked on the street all evening. “What festival?†you might be wondering. Why, Outside Lands of course, a three-day multi-stage event held every summer in the largest urban park in America. Now in it's sixth year, the fest pulls out the heavyweights. Phish, Metallica, Tom Petty, Neil Young, and Radiohead are all past OL alumni; this is no small affair. We called our friend-close-to-the-park and he assured us our stuff would likely be safe. He also told us he'd be at work for several more hours so parking at his place was an option eliminated. We figured the car would be just as (more?) vulnerable in the area we'd be staying as it would be at Golden Gate park so the decision was made. We weaved through the hilly streets and found the park which truly is massive, and found a spot right under a sign that read, “Tow Away Zoneâ€. Now, that would seem like a clear indication that there was no parking, but let me assure you that the instructions were in fact quite vague. While the text of the sign itself indicated that we should move on, the rows of cars all around us suggested that the tow away zone began at the sign and continued forward, whilst we were unquestionably parked behind the sign and potentially in the safety zone. We literally sat there for fifteen minutes figuring it out before grabbing a significantly less vague parking spot that opened up across the street. We battened down the hatches and did a quick repack to make the car look as inconspicuous as possible and strolled an easy block to the entrance. The festival runs for three days beginning on Friday at noon. We walked through the park towards the festival entrance around 5pm and the place was already swarming. Lots of people must have Friday afternoons off here in SF. I know if I lived here I'd lobby for the privilege. Walking along a road in the heavily-treed park the crowd gets funneled into a gated walkway tickets-in-hand, where we pass three or four spots where the tickets are given a rudimentary glance. At the gate itself there is a very quick and reasonable bag search (no pat-down), our ticket is scanned and we gain admittance without any wristbands or other mucky-muck. The same single ticket is good to be scanned for all three days. It was fast, reasonable, efficient, and again, no mucky-muck. It's nice not to get frisked like a criminal just to go to a concert. In other words, my first impressions of Outside Lands were good. As we stroll through the park towards the staging area it's clear that the festival focuses their security on the perimeter. There is an outer fence and an inner fence with a no-man's land between. The inner fences all seem to be very visible – if someone hopped over it would be unmissable to thousands of people in a hundred-foot radius. Through a little tunnel we are thrust onto the main stage area. It's a polo field so it's big and flat. At one end Band Of Horses are clearing their gear after welcoming us with their set-ending hit, The Funeral. Both sides of the field are lined with ample beer tents and just the most interesting conglomeration of festival food stalls you could imagine. Pork bacon chili, griddled French toast, fried plantain and fajita burritos, Asian chicken wings, bbq shrimp, fried chicken & waffles, Hawaiian poke, they really have everything you could hope for. The booths actually form another perimeter for the main field, and the rows of bathrooms above and behind the food stalls act as yet another barrier. In the middle are a myriad of stalls either selling interesting wares or offering up corporate swag. While there is a pair of large enclosures offering up a smorgasbord of quality microbrews I opt for the proletariat Heineken line and get a $9 draft. It was so much fun I did it again and all beered up me and m'lady met up with friends and staked out a spot at the main stage. We passed the time idly watching The National while our group steadfastly tried to cling to our blanketed real estate. There's not a lawnchair to be seen, but the crowded grass is a patchwork of blankets and tarps. People sit or stand on their rug and own it. The National's set was made vastly more interesting by the inclusion of Kronos Quartet. The world's leading small string ensemble, Kronos is currently based out of San Francisco and have forty albums to their credit. These guys have played with everyone and I suspect they don't come cheap. They were onstage for at least half the set and were joined by a couple of brass players for a few tunes. When Bob Weir ambled onstage for the last number my attention was piqued, but his unsmiling handlebar mustache was his most noticeable addition on this day; Bobby just hung on the sidelines and added mostly redundant and barely audible chordwork. It was still nice to see, and it's indicative of how special it is to attend shows here in San Francisco. I was happy to notice that Bobby went straight to the Kronos Quartet after the set and walked offstage deep in conversation with the violinist. It's nice to see that he knows quality when he hears it. And then it occurred to me: I just saw a member of The Grateful Dead open up for a member of The Beatles. Whoa. Soon the screens lit up with Paul McCartney's elongated introductory video montage and the crowded area up front started to get serious. We had a pretty good spot; closer to the stage than the soundboard and a bit to the left. It got increasingly difficult to secure our area, which was okay by me, and I got crowded by a very spun dude named Brian who obliviously and consistently banged into me. Thud, thud, thud, over and over. “Hey man, you wanna keep it down a bit?†“Oh, sorrysorrysorry, please tell me if I do it again...†“Oh, sorrysorrysorry.†“Oh, sorrysorrysorry.†Dude, if you were so sorry you wouldn't take drugs that cause you to lose control of your ability to not constantly bump into other people. Ah, well. In the end I tucked my sturdy poster tube under my arm to create a little barrier and he soon decided to move up to a better spot. Better for both of us. Then out He came. Sir Paul McCartney. Still looking, sounding, and obviously feeling great. He ran his stellar band through 200 minutes of some of the finest music in pop history before a crowd of perhaps 40,000 adoring fans. The older kids were singing every word while the younger kids awed at the inclusion of a Guns 'N Roses song in his set (m'lady actually overheard a girl tell her friend that Live and Let Die was a G'n'R song), while pyros and fireworks burst through the air. Looking up at the display I actually caught what I thought was an ember in my right eye. Blinking, rubbing and tearing up for the next few songs I was worried that I was going to have to sue Sir Paul (“We award you 1% of the royalties that Sir Paul has received in the course of me speaking this sentence. You and your injured eye can now retire for life.â€). By the end of the set I was blissed out with the great music and the happy vibes emitting from the thousands of happy people behind me, and my eye was back to it's regular condition. And then Sir Paul McCartney encored with Yesterday on acoustic guitar tuned down a full step, accompanied by the Kronos Quartet. What. A. Treat. Two beers and a Paul McCartney concert will leave you sober no matter how you slice it, so I was happy to walk out and find the car in the same shape we left it and drive it home. Or at least to Gil and Jen's home, where we will be staying for the weekend. Friends of m'lady's, I met them briefly on the beach in Lake Tahoe and look forward to this opportunity to get to know them better. On the way home we made a small detour past 710 Ashbury only to find it scaffolded up, the former home of the Grateful Dead is obviously undergoing some sort of renovation. It's fun that we saw Bob Weir play just a walk away from his former digs.