TOP GUN PRETENDER

We passed through Alabama and saw the sign, “Welcome to Florida”. Francesca was happy but I was not. This happy wanderer wanted the show to go on. This best I could do was to stuff as many new experiences as I could into the waning days of summer.

We took a hard right at Pensacola to

explored the National Museum of Navel Aviation.

I had no idea we had this first class facility was hiding in our state’s Northwest corner. Its just like the ones in Washington, DC except with a

Naval twist.

It’s open daily, free, and close to some of

the most beautiful beaches in our state.

Imagine what Miami Beach looked like when it was still an island a hundred years ago, nothing but sand and sea.

That’s what we found ten miles south of Pensacola. Gulf Coast National Seashore is thirteen miles of undeveloped glory.

Its a shame so little of our coast is preserved this way.

Campers aren’t allowed on Florida panhandle beaches.

Reluctantly we headed inland to rest our heads.

THE CRESCENT CITY

We left the Texas heat and headed for New Orleans.

Many hours later we approached the Crescent City in the late night darkness. We saw a fat flying saucer (the Astrodome) and happy people partying in the French Quarter.

The next morning we took a short city tour and sipped coffee with white-powdered beignets. It’s what us tourists do here.

We also drove around the 9th ward to see what was left of Hurricane Katrina. Some houses are still damaged and boarded but most seem fine now.

Next week will be the sixth anniversary of the night that ravaged this city.

The Saint Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square is our nations’s oldest. It lifts one’s soul to step inside.

An attendant told me her job is to keep visitors quiet (“This is a working church!”) and, to keep them from spilling their drinks.

The next morning we would be returning to the Sunshine State.

CADILLAC RANCH

I had a faint memory of something special west of Abilene,Texas.

A few days ago, it appeared to our left, a quarter-mile south of Interstate 10.

Back in ’74, a wealthy rancher asked a group of young artists (“Ant Farm”) to create a public sculpture. It would be placed on his property next to the major thoroughfare.

Texas is a big state so they used big cars to make their highway statement. Ant Farm purchased ten old Cadillacs and poked them into the ground much like a farmer planting seed. They called their creation “Cadillac Ranch”.

I saw the upended cars thirty years ago and this week it was great to be seeing them again. There are no guards or

fences to keep people out. It was meant to be explored, climbed, and touched. Some fans have taken tires, doors, and anything else they could grab.

Every day kids add graffiti, tossing their used spray cans on the ground. Some might call their collective cans art. I suspect most think of it as ugly garbage created by lazy kids.

Despite the changes Cadillac Ranch still rocks.

Hippies, hipsters, and the just-plain-curious flock to

it like bikers to Mount Rushmore.

We watched dozens of them pass through the cattle gate entry.

It was nice to see a new generation

making the pilgrimage to what could be our country’s Stonehenge.

TRADER JOE’S

We tell folks we went west for a wedding but truth is, it was all about Trader Joe’s.

The grocery chain, which has still not made it to Florida, is our favorite place to shop.

We love its funky, Hawaiian charm, great food, and reasonable prices.

At this one in Bakersfield, California, we went in for a bottle of Two Buck Chuck ( the Charles Swan wine lable which has sold for $1.99 for thirty years) and walked out with $50 worth of fun food. Wine was unavailable because of a Sunday liquor law.

We have a good time every time we go there. We love the bright signs, exotic products and the friendly employees. They’re all clad in Hawaiian shirts seem to enjoy their jobs.

It’d be great if we could all trade with Joe.

Let’s hope they put a few in South Florida some day.

HOTTER THAN

There is town named Hell in Texas. The truth is, lately, the whole state is Hell.

My cousin, Dorene warned me las

t week, “We’d love to see you guys but its hotter than Hell here”. Hearing that from her was shocking. I knew Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Floyd did not raise their youngest daughter to use four-letter words...and she was using this one in every sentence.

But Hell it was. When we left Santa Fe, the car thermometer

started climbing, from the mid-eighties upwards. By the time we crossed the Texas line at it was 99. When Francesca started complaining I cut her off quick pointing to the multiple roadside signs, “Don’t Mess With Texas. $250 Fine”.At noon we made a bathroom
stop stepping out into the 102 degree heat. The good news was it was “dry heat” so it only felt like 101. What it was

was too damn hot and it felt good to be visiting an air-conditioned bathroom, even if every urinal user had a photo of John Wayne staring down at him. Wayne’s stern look reminded me to not to mess with Texas, or, to call the movie cowboy by his real name, Marian.

Walking out a strange man flashed a postcard in my face. Yes, I got it, “Don’t mess with Texas, Florida boy”.

I was an easy target. Cowboys don’t wear shorts.

But we had a cousin to visit. By the time we got to Dallas it was 106. It was crazy heat, the kind that makes you think of nothing else.

Approaching Dorene’s neighborhood, we saw no one outside. We assumed that every Texan had their face stuck in an air conditioner vent, or, they were de

ad.

When we rang the doorbell at the home of Doreen and her husband, Gary, they invited us in using the intercom, “Hi, it’s too hot to greet you. Come on in and stick you face in one of our guest air conditioner vents!”

Francesca, Pi, and I scurried inside and...wait. I am making stuff up.

Doreen and Gary were perfect hosts. They actually met us at door, hustled us inside their palatial walk-in cooler, sat on blocks of ice, and we exchanged greetings there.

Everything is big in Texas. You’d think this is the kitchen of the Big Texan Steakhouse but it’s actually where Doreen and Gary prepare food.

We went on a house tour and the the next day, when it was over, ...No, I’m making up this part up too. Their house is large, big enough for croquet but too small for golf.

We enjoyed seeing their collections like

this one featuring

sand from around the world.

Gary’s torch collection? Well, he’s just getting started and he has only one but it is a doozy. Gary got it when

he participated in the torch run preceding 2002 Winter Olympics.

He loved the experience and swears, when run was over, they gave him permission to take it home.

We loved being with our Texas family. We had to go through Hell to see them but the visit made us appreciate 98 degrees we’ll soon be facing

in Miami.

SEARCHING FOR STRAWBERRIES

Our Santa Fe friends got up early Saturday morning.

We had to get to the local farmers market before they ran out of French Strawberries.

They are legend here, small, delicious, and red all-the-way through. The vendor had sold out by 8:15 am last week.

We rushed to the market arriving before 8 but they were sold out. Berry lovers crazier than us had arrived earlier buying them all in the first five minutes.

All the other 100+ vendors had left were fresh-roasted chilies, blackberries, just-picked corn, and everything else you’d expect to see in the

produce section of heaven. Everything but those

elusive French Strawberries.

Later we shopped at the native American Market in the old part of town then biked to see the galleries on Canyon Road.

It’s gonna be hard to leave Santa Fe.

The next stop will be Hell

(a/k/a Texas where temperatures are reported to be breaking thermometers lately).

Trusting in the grace of God, a functioning air-conditioning system, and cold drinks in our laps, we’ll make our way through Satan’s den.

COYOTE COUNTRY

We left the cliff dwellings for Santa Fe, New Mexico today. Our friends there, Chuck and Gayle, probably could have bought a cliff house, or one of these adobes that you see everywhere, but they opted for modern digs.

Backdrop for our evening meals

Our gracious hosts took us on a town tour. At a 300- year- old market, Francesca bought beautiful earrings from one of the natives. Back in house beautiful we enjoyed delicious dinners accompanied by the setting sun.

Chuck’s learned his way around a kitchen since we were college roommates. He co-founded Atlanta’s premiere organic restaurant, “Eat Your Vegetables” and is now an international consultant in the health food biz. Gayle, a veteran of the fashion industry, has made

their houses glow with good design.

I loved the walls,

mottled light-grey plaster as smooth as glass. Local artisans polished them with beeswax.

Their place is perched in the hills NW of town. At night you see can see the lights of Los Alamos, the stars like you’ve never them before, and the occasional coyote looking for a meal.

That’s why there are no house cats.

We kept Pi on a short leash.

At night we heard their calls as packs ran through the arroyos. These are big husky animals, not like the small, skinny coyotes that beg in California. Sometimes we heard them “yipping” like crazy. Our hosts told us they were probably celebrating a kill... a fat rabbit, a neighbor’s cat, or maybe even a visiting brown dog.