Stories from the Road -- Lombard Street

What do you think of when someone mentions San Francisco?

Most immediately think of the classic Golden Gate Bridge. Really, who could blame them? Others think of Alcatraz, or dungeness crab, or those smelly seals on Fisherman's Wharf, or sourdough bread, or the absolutely incredible Asian food, or streetcars.

I think of Lombard Street. In my mind, there is nothing more quintessentially San Francisco than this strange concoction of road construction.

San Francisco is hilly. Very hilly. I don't much like running in the city. The steep hills just south of the bay are nightmares for the daily run. The scenery is great, but my heart can't take the punishment after so long. Even walking in various portions of the city is profoundly uncomfortable. I suppose that is a good thing, but sometimes I just want a quiet walk around the neighborhoods.

Lombard Street is San Francisco's quirky comment on the streets and hills it encompasses. It is, without a doubt, the most winding street in such a short distance I have ever encountered. Intentionally so! There is no need for it, other than it exists and it's something to discuss when you visit.

San Francisco is my favorite city in the West, although I've recently discovered the genuine wonder of Seattle. No, San Francisco is my kind of city. Big but small, one that loves food -- shoves it in your face. Its inhabitants speak their minds, sometimes crazily. Sometimes lazily. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes futilely. Doesn't matter. They talk, whether you want to listen or not. Thing is, they also listen and adapt. It is no coincidence that vegan restaurants sit right beside steakhouses. They may not always agree with each other, but they seem to find a way to live with each other. Variety is always underrated, and San Francisco is the haven of diversity.

The city also has a personality. A sense of humor. Perhaps tired of its own topography, Lombard Street was born. The street lasts for a couple of blocks, with cars humorously squeezing corner after corner. An occasional sharp brake or even a curb check. And I'm guessing most of these people are tourists. Surely no local would take such a ridiculously useless road. Then again, there was an instance when someone rolled down their window as I walked up the street yelling: "Go Giants!"

One thing I won't forget about Lombard Street: the views. You can see much of the city from here, and each hill proudly displays the unique housing and buildings that make each neighborhood wonderfully unique. And you don't have to worry about taking extra photos on the road. The next car coming won't hit you for quite a while. This is a street where the speed limit isn't a suggestion -- it's a requirement.

I've been to San Francisco twice now, but I feel a sense of home here. Any city with this quirky of an attitude gets a vote in my book. Mom kept asking me: "Why did they make this?" My reply: "Look around."

Stories from the Road -- Coral Gables, FL

I have missed writing these blogs, so I return once again to tell some of my stories from the road.

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I was in Florida one weekend in the fall of 2009 with a friend of mine, and she had gone to a football game with a friend of hers. This left me with an evening of exploring Coral Gables, a city that television actually gets right.

When I think Coral Gables, I immediately think of Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia. The Golden Girls is set in this city, and the images of Coral Gables always consisted of warm-colored buildings and palm trees. I always thought this was a cliche, but it turns out that these two things are essentially Coral Gables. Not surprisingly, this made me a bit happy. Not often I was able to see the "tropical" architecture, natural and man-made. It turns out that I can no longer think of palm trees without seeing those buildings. They are forever intertwined.

Walking in the streets of Coral Gables, I immediately grasped two concepts central to life there. First, everything is always done outside. Eating indoors is what hosts and hostesses ask at restaurant entrances, not outdoors. Shopping in a store lasts for short periods of time. People tire of the air conditioning, artificial lighting, and echoes from the walls. Most restaurant seating features lawn chairs and umbrellas. To be honest, I could get used to this, but I wonder if this is true in August rather than October.

Second, the more, the merrier. Sure, there were a lot of couples, but there were even more groups. I would see groups of eight or more everywhere -- shopping, eating, walking, talking. The outsiders were the loners, and here I mean the "tourists", myself included. I'm afraid I stuck out like a sore thumb in Coral Gables, so worthy of mocking or those knowing glances from the locals.

My evening was spent walking around and around, watching a group of drunks falling into tables and a family of six order the exact same thing for each person. I loved it. People wear their hearts on their sleeves here, and are unabashed in their public behavior. Loud conversation is encouraged, and not distracting. After all, everything is outdoors -- public and open for discussion. Such a place would sound scary to me, but I found all of it to be strangely comforting. A small town attitude in the midst of an urban sprawl.

I noticed that most people walked as far away from roads as possible. One glimpse of the traffic, and you'd fall in line. Crazy. Speed limit signs aren't suggestions; they're eye sores. Pedestrians here are those empty trash bags in the open plains. Merely something to run over and watch swaying in the breeze behind you. It is best to look both ways before crossing the street, and then closing your eyes anyway when taking the leap.

When I walked into the more residential sections of Coral Gables, I was immediately struck at the familiarity of the scene. Although I didn't see the Golden Girls house, I constantly felt like I was walking down their neighborhood. The houses were beautiful -- typically long and single-storied. Colors were orange, yellow, maybe an occasional sky blue, often colors I couldn't see (probably red or various similar hues). The houses here looked happy, airy, warm, comforting. Just like the downtown area.

Going indoors in various places throughout the city was a letdown. Whereas the buildings on the outside looked colorful and inviting, the insides were dark, empty, and drab. Maybe the lack of people inside most stores and restaurants added to the mood.

I would quickly exit the buildings and go back outside. A slight breeze, the clanging dishes and silverware, and the recognizable laughter of group camaraderie. And those palm trees, happily sitting beside the next store. It was dark now, and I ordered an iced tea. Sat down at a table and listened. I could get used to this.

No Place Like Home -- Talimena Scenic Byway

Recently, I wrote about Black Mesa, Oklahoma's tallest point and closest approach to the Rockies the state can muster. Today, I talk about a region far different than the barren (but gorgeous) wasteland that covers the western Panhandle. The Ouachita Mountains of southeast Oklahoma are a trip to a very different world, a world that seems impossible when the word "Oklahoma" is heard. Forest? Rolling hills? Green? These things do not fit the image most have in mind when thinking 'neath the Western sky.

The Ouachitas are actually my favorite part of the state. I love hiking here, and today, I will share the hiking experience that makes me laugh and cry at the same time. A companion on the trip refers to the hike as the "Death March", which is not an unfair description. I also gained a new appreciation for cell phones that day -- weird, given that the point of the hike (and hikes in general) was to avoid the outside world.

On a balmy January day, the leafless trees of the Ouachitas were graced by four rugged "old souls". One featured the distinctive yellow backpack, which (importantly) contained battery-less flashlights.

The hike was a round trip starting and ending at Cedar Lake and covering the steep side of Winding Stair Mountain. Winding Stair is a beautiful place, with nice vistas of the forested hills a permanent part of the trek.

Because of the distance from Norman, we left around sunrise but didn't arrive at the hike until 11 am. There were a couple of reasons for this -- specifically, a "missing" parking lot about a mile past the Cedar Lake trailhead. That extra mile, as it turns out, was very important. We ended up parking near Cedar Lake and began the walk past the trailhead. As it turned out, however, we lost the main trail and headed down a "tributary" instead. Our suspicions increased when we didn't reach the road with the "missing parking lot". As a result, we backtracked, losing well over 30 minutes on the hike. This was on top of the 30+ minutes to traverse the main trail that we were not expecting to do. So, we essentially began our planned hike well after noon. As this was January, the 10-mile hike was to be complete in about five hours.

Perhaps you know where this is going by now. That makes you smarter than the fo--, nah, it makes you smarter than just me. At 3:30, we reached the ridge top after a challenging trek up the hillside. The views were really great for Oklahoma standards, and having hiked in the area since then, I can assure you that this is must-see territory for hikers in the state. Even more beautiful in the fall. By this point, I was slightly ahead of the other three -- partly to see how far we had to go and partly to allow for more frequent stops to take in the views. At nearly 4 pm, the four of us were on the ridge -- a part of a lengthy trail near Talimena Scenic Byway. We hit this area for a while, seeing a nice fountain and nearly spraining ankles on rocks gracing the trek.

The hike began downward after a mile on the ridge, and the time was now 4:30 pm. The sun was ominously dimming in the quickly disappearing daylight. Apparently, it was at this point when I was certain we were in trouble. I had suspected it before reaching the ridge, but I never passed stage one (denial) in the five steps of stupidity.

The next hour was a race against time, and trust me when I say we were the Michigan Wolverines against the Appalachian State Mountaineers. Soon enough, and well before the end of the trail, we reached darkness. And battery-less flashlights.

The idea was to use the light of our cell phones to see the white blazes on the trees that marked the trail. It worked, but it was infuriatingly slow work. Everyone was tired, and I was impatient. At one point, I almost decided to dart off toward the sound of a highway -- call it a "Darwin is knocking" moment. The plan was working, though slowly. At one point, however, one of my fellow victims wondered if his camera battery would work in one of my flashlights.

Success! The rest of the way was easy breezy to the road with the missing parking lot. Two hours of darkness had passed. After cheers that would make Bring It On viewers chuckle, and a few kisses of the pavement, we walked slowly along the road to the Cedar Lake turnoff. After about another hour, strained ankles and deflated egos in tow, we made it to the car.

We sped off to Krebs, in time for a great meal behind closed doors -- to the gratefulness of the other customers in the restaurant. Not much talking here -- a lot of chewing, though.

Moral of the story? For great food, eat in Krebs. Or something.

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The photos below are from a trip to Talimena Scenic Byway in May 2009.

The fountain

Cedar Lake

Stories from the Road -- Tuolumne Meadows

Tioga Road is an amazing drive in an area of spectacular natural beauty. Everyone talks about Yosemite Valley at the much beloved Yosemite National Park. I wonder why we don't hear about Tioga Road as much. In many ways, I find this part of the park more beautiful, at times even breathtaking.

Tuolumne Meadows is a flatter section of Tioga Road just west of the pass and astounding Ellery Lake. The meadows are a natural "breather", a way of calming down after the jaw-dropping scenery in the Sierras. If I had been there only a couple weeks later, the swampy snowmelt would have been replaced by vibrant wildflowers and an assortment of hungry wildlife.

Instead, remnant brown shrubs and grass underneath puddles of frigid water cover the landscape. In fact, the road had been opened merely days before we drove through it. The snowbanks on the side of the road just before the meadows were a clear signal of that.

The sun was close to setting by this time, giving the land a goldish brown glow. The mountains and granite rocks reflected the sunlight as if they were on fire. In many ways, it was just as beautiful as the mountains we had just driven through.

What I've noticed about the mountains is that you can't appreciate them without the flat land surrounding them or intermixing with them. A land full of mountains is gorgeous, for sure, but my eyes often are caught up on the abrupt shifts in the slope of terrain. Beautiful valleys among two ridges are just as beautiful. A large plateau with the hazy peaks in the background -- stunning. The Tuolumne Meadows are much the same -- a natural flatbed underneath the distant snow-covered peaks. Nature provides its own auditorium -- and the mountains are the stage.

My mother was with me on this trip, and I honestly can't remember a word being spoken during our drive on this road. I think I was in too much shock. When you're in places this beautiful, nature does the talking. And I -- well, I listen.

Places like this also make me think about how short our time is with nature. If we're lucky, we see only a small glimpse of a place. We don't see how a place changes through the day, month, year, years. I know that the meadows will fill with flowers for a couple months, wildlife swarming the area, eating everything that smells good for miles. Then, the flowers will slowly disappear, clouds will reappear, and snow will begin to fall again. The ground becomes brown, and the snow soon piles up. The cycle of life in the meadows has to be astounding to see, and yet I only saw a few moments of one day.

Often, that leaves me a little dissatisfied. I mean, how awesome would it be to watch this annual cycle of life -- even once. What you have to remember as a traveler is that a place that you visit will never look exactly the same ever again. The world is full of "fingerprint moments". Think of how lucky you are to see that fingerprint, to have it. No one else will. That is the ultimate traveling souvenir. These photos are merely a reminder of that fingerprint -- but are worthy enough of sharing.

Ellery Lake

Tuolumne Meadows

Pictures from the Road -- Beacons of Light

My love of lighthouses is without bound.

Tybee Island Light -- GA

Cape Meares Light -- OR

Closeup of Cape Meares Light

Alcatraz Light -- CA

Chatham Light -- MA

Nauset Light -- MA

Three Sisters -- MA

Highland Light -- MA

Wood's End Light -- MA

West Chop Light -- MA

Edgartown Light -- MA

Nobska Light -- MA

Brant Point Light -- MA

Sankaty Head Light -- MA

Upcoming: Stories from Atlanta, GA; Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite; Ottawa, ON; and the other Golden Gate Bridge. No Place Like Home visits Talimena Scenic Byway.