by Ernest Hogan
In the Quality Inn in Tulane, California, I woke up from a dream where a secret society gave me an award for Cortez on Jupiter. Wondering what it meant, I made my way to the breakfast room that was full of Indigenous-looking, Spanish-speaking construction. workers. Is California being reconstructed, too?
After a while a few Euro tourists showed up. Maybe they were Scandinavian. I couldn’t understand a word they said.
Being a born in East L.A., a SoCal guy, NorCal has always been strange. The cooler weather and different cultural mix throw me.
A cluster of Tikis that seem to want to become totem poles in this climate,
a dead pizza joint waiting to be studied by the archeologists of the future,
painted metal monsters—the farm business being hijacked by whimsy.
Then, a true enchanted forest gem, Kaweah Coffee Roasters! The art had a raven theme—kaweah meaning crow or raven cry. They have a great selection of eye-catching T-shirts and the coffee is good.
Sequoia National Park—was also “free” due to the government shutdown.
After the park, high in the mountains. Near an ice-cold river, we were all so dazzled that we hadn't noticed that the Prius had almost run out of gas, and the electricity was almost out. And gas stations and towns were sparse. Luckily, the gal working at Borden Cavern took mercy, and when her shift ended, went off and came back with a can of gas!
There are heroes out there.
Next morning, there was live international polo in the Tulare Quality Inn’s breakfast room.
Back in our room MSNBC explained that bailing out South America is preventing China from taking over South America.
Then we took off northwards across the Central Valley farm/ranch country and were soon in Coalinga.
First there were all these banners with a cartoon horned (yeah, I know that most people say “horny”) toad, high school’s mascot. They also have annual horned toad races.
An antediluvian station was being refurbished.
It takes up several blocks.
One of those places that’s almost as good as having a time machine.
We’ll probably go back some day.
Checked out thrift shops in Carmel and other towns.
The ghost of Philip José Farmer left a copy of his novel Flesh in a place that was a combination thrift store and shrine to Koringa, La Femme Fakir, who not only hypnotized reptiles, but fought in the Resistance against the Nazis in World War Two–I imagine her having Mandrake the Magician-type adventures.
I also found a copy of Elena Zelayeta’s Elena’s Favorite Foods California Style, and some other treasures . . .
Next morning we went north on Highway 1 into the fog, stumbling into what Em calls “fabulosity.”
Fantastic murals and art in Pacifica and Santa Cruz:
a giant octopus,
mutant mermaids,
ceramic fish.
Emly said, “It feels good to be in Liberal Land.”
Skeletons ran wild in Pacific Grove for Halloween and Día de los Muertos, and Phil Farmer’s ghosts left a copy of Finnegan’s Wake. (His “Riders of the Purple Wage” was inspired by Wake.)
Later Emily said, “The tech bros like Trump because they think he’ll let them make their murder robots.”
“They also think he’s promised them Mars,” I replied.
This triggered visions of Mars crowded with murder robots. Maybe that could be worked into the Cornelius/Duke/Theremin story . . .
It was overcast all day. No need for sunglasses. Not at all like Arizona. Like Venus in a 1930s science fiction, as Farmer once described.
There are lots of Priuses in NorCal.
And no cell service zones. All those hilly coastal regions.
The first two rooms they gave us at the Oceanside Motel in Ft. Bragg weren’t cleaned, and there was no working heat or air-conditioning. They said the cleaning woman had walked out.
Then through a wet, misty forest to the 101.
They had great huevos rancheros and a lot of murals of cows.
Ferndale, “A Victorian Town,” had a colonial downtown, and lots of skeletons, and a theater doing The Rocky Horror Show.
Eureka had lots of murals, and more dispensaries than liquor stores, but then they are pretty close to Oregon, and Sasquatchlandia.
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