Category: Drives and Events (Page 1 of 5)

For the first time in 15 months Pam and I were about to leave our house for an overnight trip. It was a scary time, not because we were leaving the house in the middle of a pandemic, but because we were going on a vacation with the extended family.

For some reason, Shelby had decided that the best way to celebrate Portia’s second birthday was with a four day-stay at a resort-like house in the middle of Palm Springs. I worried about the house being too crowded with all of us. There was going to be a lot of us, including Shelby, Bryan, Portia and Nana (Portia-speak for Bryan’s mom, Karen), Glam (Portia-speak for Pam), Mi-Mi (Portia-speak for Kimberly) and Glump (Portia-speak for me). In addition, Shelby had invited one of Bryan’s stepmoms, Sue, and her husband, Chet, who had flown into LA from Louisville the day before.

So on Saturday morning Kim came over, and she and Pam proceeded to load the car while I procrastinated as long as possible. Eventually, I was out of excuses, and Pam decided it was time for me to take the dog out for a last visit to the tree before he was escorted into the back seat of Pam’s car. Yes, the family vacation included pets. Jake, our Golden Retriever, and Stassi, Shelby’s Golden Doodle, whose combined weight was about 150 pounds, were both attending the big event. Thankfully, Jake was the only pet driving with us, and Shelby assured me that the house she had rented was more than large enough to handle all of us including the pets. I was a tad skeptical.

Generally, I do not really like to procrastinate, but I had a good reason this time, and that reason had nothing to do with my normal curmudgeon-like tendencies. Shelby and her family were driving with Stassi in the van they rented for the occasion, and Chet and Sue were driving separately. We would not be able to get into the property until Shelby met with the property manager. So I was timing our departure to ensure that we arrived in Palm Springs no earlier than one minute after Shelby arrived there. As we entered the house about five minutes after they did, I think I did a perfect amount of procrastination. Of course, they would have arrived about ten minutes earlier, but Portia had a bout of car sickness on the way, the cleanup of which delayed them. I told Pam and Kim that I had factored the probability of that event into my procrastination model. They wisely opted to ignore me as I gloated about the perfection of my procrastination.

It turned out Shelby was right. The house was spectacular and there was room for all of as, as well as the dogs.

But enough about the house and the family. We were all there for Portia, and Portia was there for Mingo. For the past couple of months Portia had been talking about this thing called Mingo, Portia-speak for the blow up flamingo that would be in the pool. Pam had ordered Mingo as well as a bunch of mini-Mingos, so Portia was happy to see all of them in the pool

On Sunday afternoon, Shelby had organized a party for Portia. It was quite an event. We were all there, as was Portia’s friend and neighbor, Alexander, who coincidently was born on same day as Portia, and his family. The party had a Moana theme, as Portia has seen the film countless times. The party was a great success, and we all had a good time.

The rest of the trip was great, too. It was fun to catch up with Sue and Chet, as we do not see them very often. Shockingly, the dogs behaved really well, and, frankly, my grumpy self had nothing to grump about. Oh well, there is always next year.

She’s here. Pam has been waiting for her for quite some time. I do not think Pam truly believed she would ever arrive. Nor do I think Pam thought she would be named Portia, especially as I adore that name. Of course, I may never spell it correctly. I mean, Porsche is close enough, right?

Our grandchild, Portia “Porsche” James Powell was born a couple of days ago. Pam has been in heaven ever since. To be honest, so have I. Maturity, mainly mine, has a way of making the little things in life so much more important and enjoyable.

Henceforth, Pam will be Grammy Pammy. Grammy has special significance in our family. Pam’s mom, Sandy, arguably one of the greatest grandparents of all time, was referred to as Grammy. That was her wish. She lived up to it in every sense of the word. Sadly, Sandy passed away much too early, leaving the Grammy legacy that Pam is ready and able to embrace. Pam will be as good a grammy as Sandy.

When the family asked me what I wanted to be called as I entered grandparentdom, I replied, “Gramps!” Then I thought about it some more, and realized that “Grumps,” was most likely more fitting, as on a really good day my glass reaches half empty. Normally it has a slight crack and the liquid just oozes out, making it tough to stay half empty. So I am Grumps, or probably, Grumpy, depending on the day. I do not care. I think it is great.

I spent most of the day working today. Pam left to go to Shelby’s some time ago. I needed to take a break and get away from work this afternoon. So I decided to drive over to Shelby’s, too. Fittingly, I opened the garage and backed my 89 Guards Red 911 Targa G-Body out and drove to Shelby’s, thinking how funny it was to be driving my Porsche to see Portia. It put a big smile on my otherwise grumpy face.

As parents, we all remember the myriad of transitional objects to which our children bonded. Generally, the objects were used by our children to fill the void left by the natural lessening of the child’s dependence on the mother.

Our kids were no exception. Our older daughter, Shelby, had PJ, a stuffed rabbit given to her by my mother. PJ was named by its manufacturer, and the name stuck. Shelby kept PJ far longer than most transitional objects, as PJ actually attended Berkeley with her. PJ has resided with us, still a fixture in Shelby’s room, since she graduated from college 13 years ago.

Shelby is a thirty something woman now. She is over eight months pregnant with her first child, our first grandchild. We, especially Pam, are really happy to have a grandchild on the way. Pam’s nesting instinct seems to have resurfaced for the first time in thirty odd years, and she has been buying all the items we need for the nursery in our house. Items that seem to inevitably require assembly. Today we built the changing table. Next week it is the crib. Pam built our last crib. She did a great job, even though she was inside its four sides when she got it all together.

Though PJ has resided with us for the past 13 years, his memory still lives inside of Shelby, and his impact on her life continues to be felt. So much so that when she and Bryan were choosing names for their child, Shelby had two criteria. First, she wanted an alliterative first and last name. As her last name is Powell, she needed a first name that began with the letter P. Several family members talked to her about the potential abuse her child might endure going through life with the initials PP, but the warnings fell on deaf ears. Second, she wanted her child’s middle name to start with the letter J, as she wanted to call her child PJ.

Imagine that.

It’s been quite a while since I drove my 89 Carrera in and around Malibu. First, I got busy. Then I drove it to Rennsport in Monterey at the end of September. Then I got busier. Then its battery died. Then Malibu burned. Then I went to Australia. Then I got a new battery. Finally, on the weekend before Christmas, just about three months since my 800 mile jaunt to Rennsport and back, I had time to get the 911 onto the twisties above Malibu.

I began my drive early on Saturday morning with an easy ride up Pacific Coast Highway to Ollo to attend the PCA LA monthly breakfast. It was the last breakfast of the year and the turnout was great. The selection of cars in the parking lot was even greater, as there were GTs galore, including several 3s and 3RSs, a Carrera and a 2RS, which was somewhat unusual, even for Malibu. The lot also had a couple of McLarens hanging out with the Porsches. All in all, quite a display.

After a fun breakfast, it was time to drive. I had no intentions of hitting it hard. I just wanted to zone out on the backroads above Malibu. Somewhat morbidly, I also wanted to see just how beaten up the canyons were after the horrific wildfires in November. I had seen my fill of burnt landscape on the news, as we all did at the time, but I wanted to see it first-hand.

I headed north on PCH. Past Las Virgenes Canyon. Past Pepperdine University. Driving past beautiful coastal scenery spared from the ravages of wildfire. As I got close to Kanan Dume, random areas reflected the destruction caused by the fires. I did not see burned homes or structures, just a few splotches of darkened acreage.

I continued up PCH until I turned inland on Encinal Canyon, one of my favorite roads and one of the most scenic drives in the area. Normally when I drive Encinal, it is an adrenaline pumping, exhilarating experience, as I drive with a grin plastered on my face, with my engine screaming, with my windows down, and with my iPod cranking. This time was more than a tad different.

I did not grin. My adrenaline did not pump. My engine did not scream. Obviously, I was not exhilarated. Instead, I cruised in awe. The news coverage had informed me of the thousands of acres burned. But those were just numbers. Logically, I could interpret the scale of the event, but I really could not imagine it. That all changed during my drive, I just gaped at the scope of the destruction, the charred ground, the barren hillsides, and the remnants of burnt trees. A few times I had to not so subtly remind myself to look at the road, as I just kept staring at the hillsides.

My intent was to take Encinal to Mulholland Highway and traverse it past Kanan, head down the Snake, go past the Rock Store and then take Las Virgenes back to PCH and then head home. I knew that the fire had burned the terrain around the Snake, and though the fire had burned right up to the Rock Store, the iconic moto hangout situated on Mulholland, had survived. As I got to Kanan, though, I knew I had seen enough. I no longer had a desire to see more destruction. I just wanted to get home. So I omitted the Snake and the Rock Store, turned onto Kanan and headed back to the coast.

It was a somewhat somber ride home. I was lost in my thoughts, at times driving well below the speed limit, as I processed what I had seen. I could not imagine what it was like to live in the area or to try to fight the fire.

I did, thankfully, notice that there were pockets, tiny pockets, of green along the way. I tried to keep my focus on those pockets as I drove home.

We are in an Uber heading to Coogee for another one of Kim’s scheduled walkathons.  This one will take us from Coogee to Bondi Beach.  It is Sunday, the day after our trek to Manly.  Kim has said this one is more like the mythical stroll along the bike path I fantasized about the day before.  Or at least that is what I inferred from our discussions at dinner last night.

Last night we Ubered to Bondi Beach for drinks at the Iceberg Pool and then dinner at North Bondi Fish.  It was excellent, and we had a good time.  The Iceberg pool is freezing, as it is filled with sea water.  It is one of the most magnificent settings for a pool that I have ever seen, as it juts out into the Pacific with waves breaking over its walls, threatening to swamp the swimmers.

But that was last night.  As we exit the Uber today, I am a little leery and more than a little sore.  Today’s walk is a paltry 8K on, as Kim assured me, paved surfaces.  The scenery in Coogee, at the start of the walk, is magnificent.

As we walk, we pass many beaches.  Kim, who vacationed here, in January, pointed out all the areas in which she has swum in the ocean and all the pools in which she has swum.  I couldn’t help it, but the image of the 60s movie, The Swimmer, starring Charlton Heston, flashed through my mind as she pointed out each of the locations.

Kim was right.  The walk was paved and, though we went up and down, it was pretty close to a jaunt down the bike path in Santa Monica.  Whereas the scenery on our walk from Spit to Manly had a nature preserve feel, the walk from Coogee was pure beach.  The scenery, in every sense of the word, was spectacular.  While not crowded, the path was full of beach people, from musclebound Muscle Beach types to families, with every other type in between.

Our plan was to walk to Bondi and then meet Kim’s friend, Anna and her brother, Joe, at Shuk Café,a local place for brunch.  Of course, Kim did not tell us just how far into Bondi we had to walk.  I assumed we would be eating in the touristy part of Bondi.  I was sorely mistaken as we continued to walk right past that area into the more residential areas surrounding the world famous beach.

As we walked, the weather changed.  We had bright sunshine while we walked to Bondi.  Once there, the clouds rolled in and we were splattered with rain drops.  We arrived before Kim’s friend and waited.  Judging by the crowd, Shuk, an Israeli restaurant,  was a popular destination.

While we waited we shared a couple of Danish, and I had a coffee, a long black, as the Aussies refer to an Americano.  The Danish were great, as was the coffee.  Soon, Anna and her brother arriced, and we were seated.  We had a great time.  The food and company were great.

Pam ate Teff pancakes, which she loved, Kim had scrambled eggs and toast, which she liked, and I had Sshakshuka, a new dish for me, that I really enjoyed.

We finished eating and Anna drove us to Watsons Bay, where we planned to catch the ferry to Sydney Harbor.  There had been some speculation that we might walk to Watsons Bay, but thankfully we were driven.

Watsons Bay is a cool little area.  We had drinks at the Watsons Bay Hotel prior to boarding a ferry to head back to Sydney Harbor.  While sitting in the hotel patio, we shared a table with a a couple of nice people and enjoyed our time there.  The ferry ride back to Sydney was fun.

As I stare out at the ocean as I sit on the ferry that just departed from Manly and is taking us to Sydney Harbor, I reflect on how Pam, Kimberly and I got here.  It was not easy.  Kimberly has been working in Brisbane since May, and Pam and  I flew to Australia to visit her.  This was our second day in Australia.  It felt more like our tenth.  I couldn’t even remember what I ate for lunch the day we arrived.  I was that tired.

As I have written about before Pam likes to walk while on vacation.  I like to sit on my butt.  Kim likes to walk even more than Pam does.    For months Kim and Pam have been planning our first few days in Australia.  Their planning did not bode well for me.

Yesterday was bad enough.  Pam and I landed in Sydney around 11 AM, and Kim met us at the airport, having flown in from Brisbane.  The rest of the day passed in a blur.  We walked about 18,000 steps all around the Sydney Harbor.  We ate lunch at a restaurant in the Rocks area.  We saw the bridge and the Opera House.  We toured the botanical gardens.  We drank beer at the bar just outside the Opera House.  I was jet lagged and had a sore foot, which I seemed to have injured before we left, and struggled to keep up with the two of them.

Today was tougher.  Last night we discussed today’s activities.  They involved walking, lots of walking.  Kim said it was about a 10K walk from Spit to Manly.  We were going to Uber to the starting point in Spit.  I was debating whether I would just drop them off and Uber to Manly, as I was questioning just how far I wanted to walk.

We spoke about it some more, and Kim intimated that I should start with them and then decide what to do.  I visualized a stroll down the Santa Monica bike path alongside PCH with access to facilities and Uber, should I want to bail out along the way.  I said so.  Kim, having completed the walk before, seemed to agree.  Or at least she did not disabuse me of my misguided notions.

As I sat in the ferry thinking about my conversation with Kim the night beofre, I felt that her lack of concrete information about the difficulthy of the walk bordered on elder abuse.  When I called her on it, she simply stated that she had forgotten the details.  I somehow doubt the veracity of that statement.

The Uber driver dropped us off in Spit.  I made a few jokes about salivating on the way.  We left the Uber, and began our walk by traversing the Spit bridge.  Once over it, we were on the edge of the water.  I quickly realized that any hope for a simple stroll down a bike path was a pipe dream.

Pam and Kim walked along the trail.  I plodded behind them.  I was still jet lagged.  My foot still hurt.  To top it off I was ill prepared for the walk.  I was not hydrated.  I was not carrying any water.  With all due respect to the Grateful Dead, I was not anaesthetized, as I was not living on reds, vitamin C or cocaine.  Instead, I was fueled with a couple of dollops of chocolate and some caffeine.  Not exactly good preparation for what I was experiencing on the walk.

I had planned for an Uber assisted stroll.  Instead I found myself in the middle of a 17,000 step, three hour walkathon with enough elevation changes to climb 35 flights of stairs over rocky, irregular terrain in a nature preserve.  Uber was not an option.  I would have needed to be airlifted to a place with roads and cell phone reception before I would have a chance to even request a ride.   I had been suckered into this, and Kim knew it.

Once reality set in, I settled down and focused on the walk.  Arguably, it was one of the most magnificent walks I have ever taken.  The scenery was amazing and the foliage was beautiful.  We climbed and descended.  At times we were amidst the trees with no view of the ocean.  Other times we walked across sandy beaches.  Unfortunately for me, the path was U shaped, and I could see our ultimate destination way before we arrived there, a destination that appeared tantalizingly close but stubbornly refused to get any closer with each step I took.

We met many nice people on the path  There were options to take side trips along the way.  We did not take them. The direct path was enough for us.  A trio of walkers, opting to take the detours and explore the various nooks and crannies,  passed us multiple times.  It  became quite a joke when they passed us for the fifth time.

Eventually, we made it to Manly, and after a trip to the tourist information kiosk we found ourselves ensconced at Hemmingway’s overlooking the ocean.

Manly is a great beach town.  It has a great vibe and lots of street vendors.  I found one that was selling a tee-shirt with an image of a hand painted 911 on it that made my day.  It also made the artist’s day, as I bought it.

Hemmingway’s was touristy but decent.  The best parts about it were the view and the shirts worn by the staff which had a sage Hemmingway quote on the back, reminding us to listen before we act, earn before we spend, and, most importantly, try before we quit.

While sitting on the ferry watching the sailboats, I mulled that quote over for a bit.  Soon  I realized that I had had a great day.  Great enough to almost forgive Kim for her blatant omissions.