These next four posts are all the result of my being there for Aram’s 24th birthday.  As he  “grows up”, and the Navy calls his tune, I cherish any chance I can get to help him celebrate one of the happiest days of my life.

I set out around 9:30 A.M., and made the drive to Blythe in little more than 2 1/2 hours.  It was lunch time, so I went looking for the desert town’s best kept secret, after a photo shoot of the Colorado River, from the AZ side.

Once across, a quick drive down Lovekin Boulevard led me to my goal:

This fine little place does BQ the right way- slowly.  It offers St. Louis-style ribs, and a nice variety of other styles, all in a tiny storefront that seats about 25 people indoors and four outside.  Best of all, this is a sign that Blythe is coming back to stay.

I did my usual blaze across the desert to the Riverside area.  This time, I chose to head down Hwy 79, from Beaumont, through Hemet, and the back country of San Bernardino National Forest, to Oak Grove Campground, just outside Aguanga.

In Hemet, I spent about an hour helping a stranded motorist, near a spot often mentioned by a friend who lives in the town.

Stranded in suburbia shouldn’t happen to anyone.  Once he was safely on his way, so was I.  There were some fine orange groves, and wild back roads, waiting.

I was delighted to find Oak Grove Campground, right off Hwy 79, just east of Aguanga.  Here, I was lulled to sleep by the nearby crickets and not-so-nearby coyotes.

At 6 A.M., Saturday morning, I was up and ready for a day of celebration.

To look more carefully at a life of seemingly endless re-invention and resilience is something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.

I was never a particularly strong fan of Richard Milhous Nixon.  A lot of that antipathy has melted away over the years.  His achievements as President have largely withstood the test of time- the EPA, pulling a kicking and screaming Communist China, and Russia, into the world family, further advances in Civil Rights, much-needed reforms in government policy towards Native Americans, and slow movement out of Viet Nam- all were overshadowed by the dour countenance, the air of callowness , and the climate of secrecy and distrust.

A visit to the Nixon Presidential Library paints a far more complete picture.  Watergate and the resignation are not swept under the carpet.  Indeed, the first thing one sees, upon pulling into the parking lot off Yorba Linda Boulevard, is Marine One.

The Library itself is majestic, but in the spare way a man with Quaker roots would be expected to approve.

I entered the welcoming hall, which immediately takes the visitor through the bookstore/gift shop.  I would later pick up lunch here, but out of prudence, I bought nothing else.

After looking around a bit, and reading the timeline of Nixon’s life, from birth to Congress, I headed outside to absorb the garden, which featured many of Pat Nixon’s ideas about how a Presidential Garden should look.  She was arguably the finest presence in his often tortured life.  This year marks the Centenary of her birth.

This is the bower used by Tricia Nixon and Ed Cox.  I always thought she was cute, though it was Julie’s stunning countenance which made my adolescent jaw drop.

On with the flower show:

Here is Richard Nixon’s birthplace, still sitting on the same ground on which it was built.  The spare Quaker -style home looks comfortable enough on  the inside, though.

Hauntingly, the replica of the East Room of the White House is kept dark and remains spare, except for a set of four portraits of presidents and first ladies.

With this, and a viewing of the video of President and Mrs. Nixon’s  respective funerals, my visit ended.  I came away with a much fuller appreciation of how fully he lived, how much he suffered- especially with the loss of his wife, and how greatly he valued persistence and resilience.  These two, regardless of one’s politics, are traits he recommended to everyone who espouses meaningful goals.

My commemorative southern California journey would end, later that night, with dinner at Panda Garden, in Needles- a surprisingly good Chinese establishment, which was packed.

My weekend took me to one more place- the Native American Baha’i Institute, for a 50th Anniversary celebration.

Down the street from Mission San Juan Capistrano and a block to the west, across the Coastliner  train tracks, lies Old Capistrano- aka Los Rios Historic District.  This reminds me of old sections of other cities founded by the Spaniards in the Southwest- a mini- La Villita or Viejo San Diego.

I spent about an hour walking about the shops and back streets of this comfortable town.  First, it’s necessary to cross at a five corners.

We entered Los Rios, just across the tracks and near the train station.

Then, we were welcomed into the historic district.

My first stop was the coffee house.

The  house was originally that of this lady, who worked hard to preserve Los Rios.

I walked a bit further around the plaza, after savouring a cup of white chocolate mocha.

Walking a bit north from the plaza, I came upon a bric-a-brac shop.  These seem to be all over the old Spanish towns.  I saw several in Laredo, and three in Mesilla.  SJC had just one.

Coming back onto the plaza, I saw the house of Lupe Coombs, who helped Mrs. Olivares in the preservation efforts.

I ended my visit to Los Rios Historic District by checking out Casa Montanez, a California adobe home.

It was time for me to depart the 18th Century, and head into the ebb and flow of the LA Basin.

I got as far as Placentia, and the relative luxury of a Marriott Residence Inn.  Tomorrow would belong to the 20th Century, and the story of Richard M. Nixon.

In all southern California, there are three iconic features which draw visitors: Beaches, mountains and missions.  The oldest standing buildings in the state are found on the grounds of Mission San Juan Capistrano.  People of a certain age know Capistrano from a  song  of the 1930’s, which mentions cliff  swallows.

I made my second visit of this year to an old favorite- Laguna Beach, on Thursday morning (6/7), at the behest of my OC friend, J.  In truth, it doesn’t take much to get me to stop somewhere on the coast between San Diego and Los Angeles; there is so much to be savored.

We enjoyed a fine brunch at The Cottage, near Laguna Five Points- just north of Laguna Art Museum.  This was one of the haunts of the well-known actor Eiler Larsen, who was a fixture in Laguna Beach for several decades.  “The Greeter”, as Eiler was known, graced the beach town with his presence and his various guises.

This statue of Eiler is several blocks south of The Cottage, which goes to show that he just loved Laguna, wherever he was in town.

We walked along Main Beach, southward as far as the private resorts.

There is a Bird Rock here, as there is at Dana Point.

While Heisler Park, which I featured in my last Laguna Beach post this past March, is LB’s premier botanical spot, Main Beach has its mini-Heislers.

This Life Guard Station was salvaged from an inland site that was being demolished.

Back in 1979, a local prankster tried to tell me this was Laguna  Beach’s Spanish mission.  I already knew that to be balderdash- LOL.  Still, it’s a fine resort hotel.

Beyond Hotel Laguna Beach, the rocks and private resorts modify a walker’s regimen.

Halfway up the walk to streetside, there is an urgent message for us all.

On this overlook, we met a delightful newlywed couple.  J took a couple of photos for them here and along the street.

A few minutes later, J and I parted company and I headed for another of my OC favorites- San Juan Capistrano.  That fascinating town will be the subject of the next two posts- one on the Mission and the other on Los Rios.

My first two days, in San Diego and Julian, were commemorative of  our 30th wedding anniversary, which fell on June 6.  I devoted my last post to those years so central to my life and my heart.  When Thursday rolled around, and it was time to move on, I started the day in South Carlsbad Beach, then moved on to Oceanside and Dana Point.

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  Yes, I can’t seem to get enough of ocean beaches lately.  I walked near the Main Pier at Oceanside, near the south side of the Rock Walk.

  

               

  Dana Point, as scenic beaches go, is serious business.  The Promontory has at least two miles of nature trails, of which, given my morning’s agenda, I walked one.

  The town is named for Richard Henry Dana, who wrote an account of his experiences as a young Cape Horn-rounder in “Two Years Before The Mast”.  Richard described this area as “the most beautiful section of the entire coast.”  It certainly is scenic enough.  Richard’s statue welcomes us to the waterfront.

  

  Before going up onto the Promontory, I looked around the harborside park.  Boats sat safely in the estuary, while California Ground Squirrels quibbled over scraps.

                               

  

   

  The Promontory delivers a fine view of town and beach- and a small bird rock.

     

     

  As you can see, there was a minimum of June Gloom last Thursday.

  Next up:  Revisiting Laguna Beach.

I recovered nicely from the long drive yesterday, thanks to the restful night I had at Town & Country Motel, in Fort Stockton.

The Chihuahuan Desert region supplants the Permian Basin around these parts, and is just as arid.  Yucca is a dominant succulent here, and many of the same cacti as are in the Sonoran Desert, further west, have found their way here also.

The sere beauty of the Davis Mountains cannot be overlooked.

I also stopped briefly in two Chihuahuan Desert outposts:  Van Horn and Sierra Blanca.  Both are friendly and architecturally- rich communities.

Here are Van Horn’s El Capitan Hotel and an old school, which houses the town’s historical museum.

The town is named for an Army lieutenant, James Van Horn, who fought the Confederates in 1861.

I continued, after about a half hour, to Sierra Blanca, which is named for a local mountain range.

Here is the mountain range, Sierra Blanca.

Our Lady of Miracles Mission graces Sierra Blanca, the town.

The last metro area on my itinerary was El Paso- Las Cruces.  Despite it being a Sunday (5/27), I found El Paso relatively busy, streetside.  I did not remain in this anchor of West Texas for very long, as Phoenix was in my sights for the evening.

Still, here are a couple of scenes of this interesting city, worth 1-2 days’ visit, by itself.

Here is Mt. Franklin, “The Southernmost of the Rockies”.

As one heads towards downtown, St. Patrick’s Cathedral presents itself.

El Paso has a couple of Spanish missions that invite visits, but for now, I will be content with a view of downtown.

I needed a place to indulge in the last of my summer sausage and fruit, so I stopped about an hour west of El Paso, in the old Spanish market town of Mesilla, just south of La Cruces, NM.

Mesilla remains a popular market for Las Cruces area residents.  Its centerpiece, though, is the Church of San Albino.

Across from the church, there is a gazebo, where an older couple was singing traditional northern Mexican songs.

The original architecture of Mesilla still enchants.

Whatever your needs, though, there is something colourful in a traditional  New Mexican market town, for everyone.

The long, sweet Texas journey was over.  I drove over the mountains of western New Mexico/eastern Arizona to Phoenix, enjoyed a hearty meal and camaraderie at Texas Roadhouse, in the Metrocenter area, and rested comfortably at Premier Inn.  Memorial Day found me at Penny’s grave site and then heading back to Prescott, for a “don’t blink” week or so, before my second Southern California trip of the year.

Those who think Texas is uniformly flat, are in for a reality check at both the north and south ends of the Hill Country.  The southern segment throws the landscape into even higher relief.  It looks like the water has had longer to erode the surrounding terrain more deeply here.

I started the afternoon buzzing through Carrizo Springs, an oil boom town northwest of Laredo.  The area is quite arid, but riparian enough to support a  great deal of greenery.

This was taken just west of the Border Patrol check station, just outside Carrizo.

Crystal Springs is a funky little town about forty minutes west of Carrizo Springs.  It has an artistic flair, as one might gather from the following four photos.

Above is a shrine to unborn children.

Uvalde, about twenty miles further west, has wide streets and very stately architecture downtown.  It was also home to U.S. Vice President John Nance Garner, who served during FDR’s third term.

Near the Garner House is Uvalde Grand Opera House.  Country folk provided their own refinement, by and large.

Once outside Uvalde, the Hill Country’s rugged character takes back over.  One may either head north, towards Junction or west, towards Del Rio.  I chose north, this time.

This is a view from the Frio Canyon overlook off Hwy. 281. I encountered a couple whose car was overheating.  They had a family member coming from Junction, about forty minutes away from the overlook, so I enjoyed the view and moved on.

I pulled into Junction, TX, which brought me to I-10, around 6 P.M.  Junction has several amenities for hunters and fishermen, and is generally a pleasant-looking town.  The South Llano River runs through Junction.

Junction’s Chamber of Commerce has a good sense of humour.

I continued on, into the Chihuahuan Desert, spending the night at the very pleasant Town & Country Motel, in Fort Stockton.

Next:  Day 10- Chihuahuan Desert scenes, El Paso and a New Mexico Driving Break.

She was stunning.  The young girl glanced up at me, doe-eyed and with a deceptive air of innocence.  As I went about my business, the head-over-heels-in-love 14-year-old boy excitedly leapt for joy; then they embraced.  They were still in lip-lock when I came back around, with another load of stuff for my night’s stay.

I have often wondered about the real state of Texas border towns.  Horror stories sometimes make their way onto my news feed.  While I was in Austin recently, a young man told me  he was from Laredo, and that many of the stories were true.

Naturally, within the reasonable bounds of caution, I decided to check out Laredo for myself- during the day.  I did stay the night at a raucous and down-at-the-heels place called Monterey Inn, but the characters were just partying, and posed no threat to me.  The police sirens were constant, but also distant.

Laredo, by day, at least on Saturday morning (5/26), is as vibrant and happy a place as I’ve seen anywhere.  When I first parked at the Public Library, so as to check my e-mails (Wi-fi at places like the Monterey is nonexistent.), two men across the street made note of my presence.  When I left and put the laptop back in the trunk, they stood and watched as I briefly pondered walking downtown from there.  Seeing their interest, I decided to drive off and park closer to the Plaza San Agustin.

St. Augustine is the patron of Laredo, and his cathedral stands vibrantly on the east end of the Plaza.

La Posada Hotel sits on the south end of the Plaza.  It is Laredo’s grand hotel, and is on the site where the Republic of Rio Grande was declared, briefly, in January, 1840, by opponents of Mexican President Antonio de Santa Anna.  They did not meet a good end.

Now, as then, there are many jockeying for position along the border, and in Mexico itself.  I chose not to approach the river area this time, having satisfied my curiosity on Friday (5/25), at Boca Chica.

Here a few other shots around downtown and midtown Laredo.

This is the County Courthouse, in midtown.

Here is some of Laredo’s lovely tile and wrought iron work.  Below are a couple of other samples of  the city’s exquisite Castilian architecture.

I headed northwest, towards the southern edge of Texas Hill Country, and briefly said farewell to Laredo at the Texas Visitors’ Center, a grand place by itself.

There are several gardens- and koi.

So it is that life on the mid-border is not as sketchy as some see it- but as with anywhere there is conflict, prudence works.

Next:  Day 9, Part 2- Carrizo Springs to the Southern Hill Country

I hit a few internal speed bumps on this part of the trip.  Stopping at a motel, thirty miles outside of town, on Wednesday night, I encountered my first, and only, cockroaches- in the refrigerator, of all places.  Fortunately, I had my cooler for the food, and kept my smelly clothes and shoes out of harm’s way.  I let the owner know right away, the next morning, that I had killed 7 little scavengers that night.

The second bump was my own doing- forgetting that surface roads, along the Gulf, in Corpus, are TWO lanes each way, I gingerly started making a left turn from the inside lane, until screech-and-beep let me know I wasn’t alone.  Fortunately, there was no harm, unless the kid had a heart attack afterward.

As to the good parts of the morning, Corpus Christi has two standouts- the Gulf and Blucher Park.  This post focuses on the former, and on some of Corpus Christi’s finer downtown features.

The city honours its indigenous people, the Karankawa, with the name of its main north-south downtown  street:  Carancahua.  On this pleasant street is Czech-Mex Bakery, where I again indulged in kolache.  These were stuffed with apple, and were every bit as good as the ones in West, TX.  Czechs just take their baking seriously, as they should.

Here is the busy intro to Bayside- Corpus Christi is not on the open Gulf, but it’s close.

Crossing carefully, I spent about fifteen minutes taking in the glorious salt air of north Corpus Christi Bay.

A permanent fixture here is the USS Lexington.  Along with Texas State Aquarium, the  UT Marine Science Institute and Texas Museum of Asian Cultures, this will be a major part of a more focused Corpus Christi visit.  Then, I would also spend two or three days on the main part of Padre Island.

After disturbing the sea gulls and napping fishermen, with the click of my camera, I headed up hill to the downtown area.  Here are two notable houses of worship:  Corpus Christi Cathedral and St. Patrick’s Church, near Blucher Park.

The cathedral was built in 1940, to replace an older facility.  Some of the stone from the old building was reused here.  The land was donated by John G. Kenedy, a South Texas rancher who figures quite prominently in the history of Texas’ southeast.

St. Patrick’s is the home church of a Catholic school on Alameda Street.

After visiting the public library, to post my work for that Thursday, I happened by this delightful place for lunch.

It seems all of north Bayside was here, but I had good service, and well-made seafood enchiladas, with okra soup, a generous side salad and fresh sourdough bread.  I hadn’t had sourdough east of the Pecos, until then.  It was just marvelous.

I know, I missed the statue of dear Selena.  I loved that girl, and will be here again.

Next:  Day 7, Part 2- Blucher Park