Travels with The Rayman

Well, we did it. We went fishing for salmon. Never mind that I thought we were going fishing for trout. Lost in translation, I guess.

It all started about a week ago when I rang up Ed Fisk and made arrangements for our fishing excursion for today. I explained that we were older than dirt, completely inexperienced (fish out of water?). He was game anyway. So I booked the trip. He told us to meet him at Stampede Reservoir near Truckee at 6:30. I blanched at that idea but said okay.

This a.m. the alarm clock chirped at 5:00 a.m. Oh, my, that’s so early. And cold. And what to wear? Ed said to layer. So, I wore about 5 layers. And a hat. I was ready. So, off we went to rendezvous with Ed, our guide and owner of Fish Tales.

When we arrived, he was standing in his boat afloat at the launch ramp…waiting. We grabbed all our goodies and headed down to the water. Thing is, the only way to get on the floating ramp was to jump on a rock and catapult oneself to the ramp. That didn’t work out so well. Into the water my left foot went. Soaked before even getting in the boat. My shoe and sock. Soaked. Then Rayman had a go of it. Same thing. One foot soaked. Without making a fuss, we boarded the fishing boat (19 ft. long) and headed out to the middle of the lake. It was beautiful and peaceful.

But here’s the catch, pardon the pun, please. Those fish in that lake don’t stand a chance. The boat was outfitted with sonar for locating the fish. His magic sonar also showed the depth and temperature of the water.  There were 4 poles, 4 riggers (hope I have this right). The riggers were released by motor. Ed had about a zillion different flies. The boat had two motors. One for going slow to troll. The other one for going fast. He was armed and ready and by extension, so were we.

His bait of choice was canned corn that he put in a Tupperware container, adding red dye and garlic. Yum, apparently, for the fish.

Fishing this way is almost a guarantee for a successful outing. We certainly had a successful outing. We caught 10 fishies. We lost about as many that got away before we could get them in the boat. Those were the lucky ones. I apologized to each fish we caught. I suffered from pangs of guilt. Nevertheless, we pressed on.

Rayman reeling one in. Ed, our guide, being patient with him!!

We were on the lake for about 5 hours. Never got cold. My sock and shoe even dried out.

It turns out that fishing is a lot of waiting interrupted by a flurry of activity when the fish strike. Calm, calm, calm. Bite. Pandemonium. Calm, calm, calm. Bite. Pandemonium.

Because, the lines are dropped and then you are left in a world of wait.  And watch… averting your eyes from the pole on the left to the poles in the center, to the pole on the right.  Over and over because the poles were inserted into to “pole holders”.  Since you couldn’t feel the bite, you had to watch for it.   This gave me the bright idea that someone should invent a “tension feeler” that you could clip on the pole and line.  When you got a bite, the gizmo would sing out, “You got Fish!”.  I don’t think Ed thought much of that idea.

Ed told us about the osprey and bald eagles that live at the lake. Never saw them. Ed told us about the bear at lake’s edge. Never saw one. Ed told us about his fishing friends. We saw some of them. In other boats. They traded information about lures, fishing spots, how many were caught. How many got away.

When we decided to call it quits, Ed cleaned the fish (I watched attentively) as we headed back to the boat ramp. Did I mention that he has a Garmin that he uses to steer the boat via wifi?  The only time he was at the helm, was on the way in. The rest of the time, he just pushed a button from the back of the boat to change course. Before disembarking, I donned my dry sock and shoe. And, of course, got them completely soaked jumping from the ramp into the water and then onto dry land.

And so it went with our fishing expedition. A whale of a good time.

As a post script, we cooked two of the salmon on the grill for dinner tonight. Yum, yum, yum. Now I must close to go eat my blackberry pie.

What does one do when the weather turns cold? We traveled here to enjoy the “summer weather” this year without taking into account the extraordinary weather California has experienced this year. Record snowpack. Lots of rain. But weather being weather, it is unpredictable and that makes it an almost constant topic of conversation. I suppose since the beginning of man, neanderthal even, weather has been front and center in the mind. Weather is nothing that can be controlled. We are merely observers of whatever is thrown our way. Active observers, nevertheless. And I suppose that lack of control causes us as a species great stress and anxiety. After all, don’t we attempt to control everything? This is the same reason I think that people turn to “god”. What we don’t understand and can’t control and can’t be definitely known, drives many into the arms of a faith or organized religion.

There I go again.

So, here we were in the Sierras with wonderful weather for a few days and then, POW. Right in the kisser. The worm turned. The sun retreated behind menacing clouds and the cold followed the rain and there we were. Freezing. For days.

This photo exudes cold, doesn’t it?

Given the circumstances then, what to do? I don’t know what other people did but we hunkered down for hours at a time in The Dog House. With doggie. We braved the elements to walk the dog, go the store, visit the bakery (yes, sir), and shop. The golf courses around here have pro shops and since we were saving money not playing golf, the least we could do was shop at the course(s). And so we did. A vest here, a shirt there, a hat for the head, a sweater for the thorax. We did our part. We also drove to Reno and that’s where things got interesting. At the Apple store.

In doing a blog, invariably, the author becomes mystified at the problems that crop up. Posting my video was a case in point (see previous blog). So, I reasoned that if they had an Apple store, I could just pop in and get them to help me. Silly me. That is not how it went. The greeter said I needed the Genius Bar (I didn’t protest lest I be wrong). So, an appointment was made and my phone number collected. We had 45 minutes to wait. Out the door we wandered and I found a Soma and bought two nighties (buy two and get a big discount!!). Looked at shoes at Dilliards. Nixed the one I tried on and then I got the text from Apple. So we ambled over to the Genius Bar only to be told that I did not need a genius. Any old person would do. Except that any old person was a young whippersnapper who was sitting at an elevated table helping a woman older than me. He interrupted her lesson long enough for me to plead my case and said I should sign up for a lesson. Geez. “I don’t live here.” That’s when the woman he was helping barged in and said, “Where do you live?”. “Morro Bay.” She understood my problem. And was willing to give up some time. However, the young whippersnapper was having none of it. “When I’m done here”, he explained, “I will show you how to sign up for a class.” What?  So the older woman, let’s call here Beatrix, asked where we were staying. “We’re camping up in Blairsden”, Rayman volunteered. “Oh! Beatrix replied. When she discovered by our own admission that we were in an RV, she said, “That’s not camping. You are going in luxury. And here I thought you were in a tent, laying on the ground.” We then explained that we had an RV with all the creature comforts. “How much did you spend for that?, she quizzed. “$100 grand?” Rayman admitted to more than a $100 grand. And she said, “That’s not going to worth anything pretty soon.” We had to agree. So, still curious, she exclaimed, “That’s not a good investment. I know a good investment. I just sold my Facebook stock and bought _ fill in the blank_ stock. You know I made all my money after 65 years of age. Went back to work as a nurse. But I have a broker and I’ve made a lot of money in the market. I missed a few. I wanted to buy XYZ stock and my broker talked me out of it. If I had bought it, I’d have made $5 mil.” By now, we were enthralled. So I asked her, “Well, how old are you?” She sat straight up in the chair and announced that she was 88 years old. And then she told us where her children all lived in northern CA and how she took three separate trips down last year and drove by herself. “Yep. I keep moving!!”

You’re probably wondering at this point what the young whippersnapper was doing. Not much. He was just as bowled over as we were. He did, however, show me how to sign up a class I had no intention of taking and we parted company with that tone deaf maneuver. Did tell Beatrix how delightful it was to meet her. When we left she was scheduling her next class with the whippersnapper. He was going to walk around with her and show her how to use her phone to take good videos.

The other thing we did while the weather has been cold was to schedule that fishing expedition, get some starting times for golf next week, read, do crosswords, sudoku, and laundry. Went on a picnic to Davis Lake just before the rain and froze with our friends, Diane and Hal, as we wolfed down my leftover Cold Buttermilk with Shrimp soup while seated at a picnic table in a deserted campground at water’s edge.    They ate sandwiches.  We have also cooked some good meals, tried out the pizza oven (just okay though everyone liked my dough, made from water, flour, yeast kind of dough). As trustee, I had a lot of business to transact and that kept me busy too. Oh, and we spent time trying to get our mail.

We signed up for Premium Forwarding Service. That’s where you pay the post office to gather your mail and send it priority once a week. Somehow out mail went missing. After a series of calls and numerous trips to the Graeagle post office, the mail was located. The Graeagle post office mail sorter (a person), filed it under R for Rayman instead of J for Jackson. Geez.  And double geez.  The  post office sent the junk mail along with the important stuff…you know, fliers from the local market, etc.

As I finish up this rendering, I look to the north out of my RV and see dark clouds, blue sky, and sunlight shining on the conifers. Beautiful sight. We’re dying for sun. It is coming tomorrow according to the forecast/radar. By Saturday, it’s to be near 90. Just like Beatrix!!

We have been ensconced in our RV at Little Bear RV Park for a week now and it has been amazing.  When I convey to my friends and acquaintances and family where I am going or where I am, they always say, “Where?”.  It goes without fail.  This place is a very well-kept secret for most so I must implore you not to share the location with anyone!!  We’re at Blarisden, CA in Mohawk Valley, CA.  The RV park is located down the road from what looks to be a regional fire headquarters.  About a mile away is the bakery (key learning).  I can report that their blackberry pies this season are wonderful and being enjoyed.

The Upper Feather River

The park is a stone’s throw away from the Upper Feather River tributary and I can report that unlike past years, there is a great deal of water in the river this year.  Rushing and gushing, swishing, and splashing.  A sight to behold and appreciate.  The park is also a stone’s throw from Highway 70, a two-lane artery that connects 395 to Quincy, CA, the county seat for Plumas.  If my memory serves me correctly, Plumas translates to “feather”.  Hence the Feather River.  Which came first?  I have not a clue.  Probably the Indians or Mexicans that proceeded the Europeans, gave the river it’s name.  Although, the Europeans may have named if after all when you consider other California river names in the vicinity are name Rogue, Russian (is there a back channel involved?), Sacramento.

But I digress.

Also a stone’s throw away from Little Bear are the railroad tracks.  Active railroad tracks.  I don’t know if one can set their watches by the trains (I highly suspect that to not be the case), but you can always count on a train or two coming through in the dead of night.  The other night, I awoke and could not go back to sleep.  After an hour or more I heard the plaintive cry of the train whistle.   So, I decided to try to compose a poem about that sound.  Well, that proved to be harder than it sounds, and sleep came.  From a distance, the sound is haunting for lack of a better term.  As the train moves toward us, the intensity increases and it does not sound as haunting anymore.  It’s more of a huge, long blast of a sound.  Hard to sleep through.  Hard to ignore.  Not hard to hear.  But I suppose that’s the point…warn anyone silly enough to be approaching the tracks in the dead of night that it (the train) is a coming.   And then the mind moves to the conductor.  Is he standing in the window of that train, pulling on a rope to engage the noise?  Is that what they do?  If so, I’m glad not to be a conductor.  They must all be deaf.  At least my lack of hearing can be attributed to listening to Janis Joplin and County Joe and the Fish.

http://www.FishTalesGuideService.net

So…speaking of fish.  Rayman and I want to go fishing.  However, we are older than dirt and require and adult supervision for fishing.  I just explained that in an email that I sent to a guide called Mac.  Got his card from the Ace Hardware in Truckee (what in the world were we doing in Truckee?).  I also explained to him that we lacked fishing poles, licenses, bait, or switches (ha, just kidding about the switches).  All the rest is true.  Along with this important information for Mac, I imparted the fact that we were total novices and we ran across a guy at Little Bear (he was from Truckee/Montana) and he told us about Weber Lake or maybe it’s Webber Lake.  It’s has been privately held for 50 and is opening up this season to the public.  The fish in it must weight about 100 pounds, I’m guessing.  In the best way I could, I asked Mac if he could help us on a sunny, warm day.  Then I hit send.  P.S.  Mac’s email got returned as undeliverable but we found Ed.  I warned him.

We had gone to Truckee to look at the Truckee River.  Here it is.  Boy, oh, boy.  It speaks for itself.

Yikes.  It wouldn’t load onto the website.  Bummer.  So I put it on YouTube (think hours) and it took forever and the video is choppy because I didn’t know what I was doing.  I will try to improve tomorrow when it is to be a high of 49 here and too cold to do much other than walk the dog and work on my blogs.

We also had to get some Starbucks coffee pods.  And also we had to spend $80 stocking up on provisions at Safeway.  Signed up for a Safeway card and saved $20.  Not bad.  Could pay for the gas.  Oh, the gas.  There’s another story to tell about gas.  As we were leaving Truckee, it was discovered that we were on empty.  I passed a station and they wanted $3.59.  “Ghastly”, I muttered and kept on going.  Only, here’s the thing.  Truckee may have a river, but it does not have a plethora of gas stations.  And surprise, surprise.  The price is the same at each station.  Harruph.   Drats.  Plus I was breaking my rule to never buy gas on weekends.  I think the prices get jacked up, don’t you?  Oh, well.  Nothing to do but pull in and gas up.  They got us.

While we’ve been here, we have played golf twice.  When we play, we usually compete by playing match play against each other.  Quite fun because it gives one the perfect excuse to try to rattle the other.  Jelly beans are everywhere in match play between the two of us.  Just saying.  So, we approach the 17th hole at Graeagle and we are tied.  Rayman hits the shot of the day.  I drive it into the sand on the right.  His second shot lands left of the green pin high.  My second shot out of the sand was amazingly good.  But I was still out about 40 yards.  My chip onto the green was not a good one.  The green broke right and my ball chased the contours of the green.  I found myself about 30 feet away in three.  Rayman was in high rough.  His ball flew out of the rough, and hit the flagstick.  It dropped to about 2 feet from the hole.  He parred the hole.  It was my turn.  I putted the ball with all the concentration I could muster, and made that putt!!!  That’s was the highlight of our golf so far.  Very fun.

Today, we drove up to Sardine Lake.  On the north side of the mountain going up, snow was still on the ground and the lakes at the higher elevations were still frozen.  We dropped down to Sardine and it was fabulous.  Take a look.

Rayman not on level.

Upper Sardine Lake

And we hiked with Beau to the Upper Sardine Lake.  Here’s a couple of pictures from there.  For all the years we have been coming here, we have never seen snow on the peaks.  Here’s a picture from last year so you can see what I mean.

Sardine Lake with the Coverts and Donnollys 2016

At the top of the trail, we sat on the stone wall that provides a dam for the water.  And we ate dates and jerky.  And we drank water.  And we stared at the scenery marveling at how insignificant we are.  And how blessed we are to be able to see the sight.  Then we picked up and hiked back down the hill to the car.   The hike improved our moods and our outlooks.  It was special.

Finally, our pizza paraphanella arrived today.    We are now armed and dangerous.  With pizza peel in hand thanks to UPS, or FedEx…our pizza making caper is scheduled for tomorrow.  What could go wrong?  I have no earthly idea.  However, I will take pictures and report back.  Something weird/funny is bound to happen.  It always does.

For those of you that know, I apologize to the redundancy.  This year has been full of work, stress, shock, dismay…as well as fun and frivolity.  And so, our summer sojourn, has been much anticipated.

Leaving as we did yesterday (last Friday now) , required a huge push to get all things done.  Uncle Ralph’s house has been all consuming and Thursday, we met with the appraiser, the home inspector, the realtor, and the contractor.  The house is ready to list for sale.  Yippee.  Next week after the appraisal comes in.  In order to get to this…oh, the heck with it.  It was very stressful and very labor intensive.   Bottomline.    It’s  almost over.

Then there was the renting of our house.  We decided to try to rent our house through a property management outfit.  And it is rented each month, June, July, August.  To three different couples.  Yippee.  However, in order to be the good “landlord”, every cupboard needed review and a scrubbing.  Every drawer.  The garage.

Our golf cart.

Perfect segue.  The garage.  We decided to sell our golf cart which lives in our garage.  We don’t use it enough.  So I listed it on Craigslist at three different price points, starting at $1500.  Ending at $800.  A fellow named Ryan, came by, looked at it, liked it and peeled off $800 in cash on the spot.  He called once and said he would pick it up after Mother’s Day.  And we haven’t heard from him since.  Who does that?  So, it’s still in the garage.  Will he ever return?  I don’t know.  But I have emailed Craigslist 3 times to ask them to help me locate him because we have no number for him and don’t know his last name.  Really.  Craigslist has not responded.  So, we had no other choice but to leave town with the cart still hogging room in our garage.

We also decided to order two new interior doors for our house.  Both doors lead to bedrooms.  When we left, they were hanging where they should be hanging but they were not yet painted (only primed).  Our contractor that worked on UR’s house is doing this work.  Hopefully they will be finished by the time the first couple arrives.  We’re at Lake Topaz in NV.  I don’t know.  I can only hope.  The reason we did this when we did was that both doors open to our long, dark, hall.  And these doors have three panes of glass (you can’t see thru the glass).  Our thinking is that they would allow light in the hall when closed.  Especially the one in the middle room which is a den, which we are locking for the duration of our trip because we stored stuff in that room that we thought should not be left out.  So, that door will be closed but it will let light into the hall.

Then we had Bob, our neighbor up to teach us how to cook a pizza without burning it to as crisp in our wood chip heated portable pizza oven.  He had worked for Uno Pizza and knew what to do.  So, he came up.  Rayman lit the oven, Bob made the pizza and it came out okay.  Just a bit burnt on one side.  Then he made the second pizza.  That one acted up.  It seemed glued to the surface of the pan it made it on.  And when he tried to “jerk” it free so that it would transfer to the pizza stone, well, it did not cooperate.  The pizza came out of the oven looking like a tomato football, and undercooked throughout.  That one went into the garbage.  So, we ate the one pizza and Bob walked home after our respite.  When he left, I looked at the Rayman and said, “Let’s leave this pizza oven at home with Bob over the summer…and maybe he can figure out how it is suppose to work perfectly.”  Rayman expalined, “Great idea.”  So, Bob now has our pizza oven as I sit here blogging at Lake Topaz, Nevada.

Of course, I couldn’t give up the notion of not having a portable pizza oven.  So, I went on Amazon and bought a new portable pizza oven that is heated with propane canisters.  Our friend, Al DeVico…Italian as they come…has one and loves it.  It is now being sent to Little Bear RV Park in Blairsden, CA.  That where we will be tomorrow.  And for a month.  I’m bound and determined.  Don’t ask me why.  I do not have a sufficient answer to the question.   Just because.

Assemblying the PizzaPronto portable pizza oven with doggie advice.

We arrived here about 4:30 after a fabulous drive up to this location on highway 395.  My, oh, my.  The Eastern Sierras are awesome.  The weather was wonderful.  The views were never ending.  We ate on paper plates (a first as I always insist on china).  We bought these paper plates for “one night stands” so to speak.  We are camping here tonight and leave in the morning.

Eastern Sierras in all their glory.

Mono Lake looking south.

So fun to see raging water of Walker River.

Lake Topaz from our RV park.

Yesterday when we extricated ourselves from our abode in Morro Bay, we drove to Ridgecrest to stay and visit with our dear friend,, Nancy.   She had us for dinner along with her good friends the Shibleys, who are going to rent our house for one of those months while we’re gone.  But let me back up.  In order to leave at a reasonable time, we pre-loaded the Dog House, except for the refrigerated and frozen items.  So, we got up in the morning and there was nothing to eat.  On the way to Ridgecrest, we had some pita crackers, a

few raisins, a banana and some peanut M&Ms.  No coffee.  Just water.  OMG.  We were famished when we arrived in Ridgecrest.  We had a great dinner.  And she had leftover potato salad, cole slaw, and barbecued pork ribs.  And let’s not forget the pineapple bundt upside down cake…a rendition on that theme.  Yummy.

This a.m. she offered us leftovers.  Of course, we accepted.  And that’s what we just finished eating for dinner tonight.  Thank you, dear Nancy!!!!!

May 27 in the swimming pool with my muse, Margaret, she told me that she observed jack rabbits playing the day before as she was headed home.  So, when I left the pool, I too noticed the jack rabbits in the same spot doing the same thing.  Very special.  Read more about jack rabbits by clicking the link below.

http://www.desertusa.com/animals/jack-rabbit.html

Also in the pool yesterday, I relayed the following story to my golfing friend, Cathy.  Rayman and I decided to sell our golf cart for many reasons.  I ran an ad in Craigslist and a man called, came over, gave us $800 cash and said he would be back to pick it up.  That was a week and a half ago.  We still have the golf cart, the $800 and a giant case of curiosity.  Who does that?  He lives in Los Osos is all we know.  Oh, and he plays at Sea Pines.  Well, Cathy happens to work at Sea Pines.  His name is Ryan.  Cathy said she would comb through their database and see what she could see.  In the meantime, Rayman didn’t think the lights on the cart were very bright so in his effort to remedy the situation, he broke one of the light’s headlamp glass cover.  That’s when he discovered that the lights worked.  Oh, well.

Also, yesterday, we drove down to Santa Barbara to lunch with Uncle Ralph’s old, dear friend, David.  His lady friend, Gillian, drove him to the Santa Barbara Club.  The Santa Barbara Club is a social club which owns a stately building near Nordstroms.  It is old and stately and reeks of old money.  We were waiting for them in the lobby when a woman with a cane and an obvious physical problem came in and headed down the hall toward the men’s room.  We called out to her.  She did not hear us.  So Rayman followed her down the hall only to return and announce, “It is too late.”  And you know what happened next.  A man headed down the same hallway.  Rayman jumped up and alerted him that a woman was in the men’s restroom.  We all got a laugh out of it.  He said, “Oh, yes.  The lady with the cane.  She just crossed the street against the light and stopped traffic.”   A few minutes later, the lady with the cane emerged intact.

While still waiting in the lobby, an old San Luis Obispo friend walked through the front door.  What a hoot.  Small world, definitely.  A world renowned specialist on Impressionists painters was in the house to give a lecture on the painters.  That’s why Patricia was there.  Check out a self portrait by clicking the link below.

https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0068V1962v

We were there to meet our friends as previously stated.  Sat out back on the patio.  The weather was lovely.  We had a lovely lunch while I filled them in on Uncle Ralph’s trust issues.  We dined on beet gazpacho that was out of the this world.  Then fresh fish.  Then cookies.  All washed down with a wonderful sauvingnon blanc.  Yum.  And the conversation was wide ranging from Uncle Ralph, to Korea, to Canada, to art, to books.  A thoroughly entertaining afternoon.

Oh, and then there was this.  As we left the house on the way to Santa Barbara, the property manager called.  You see, we are trying to rent our house for the summer as we will be gone in the Dog House for the entire summer.  She had a couple that wanted to see the house, like right then.  Okay, that is when I explained to her that two interior doors in the house were “missing” because we were getting two new doors, one for the den, one for the guest room.  I asked her to explain that to the couple.  New doors were coming and if they got to the house they might run into our contractor.  When it rains it pours.  The good news is that the house got rented for months of June and July.  Pretty cool.  Oh, and the doors are installed.

A quick blog to illustrate that dull moments don’t exist.

p.s.  The doors are done!!

Rayman at Industrial Eats.

15 minutes ago, I was busy composing blogs in my head and thought to myself, “Gee.  I should write a blog.”  So I unplugged my machine and brought it to bed with me so I could pontificate from the pillow.  But the computer wouldn’t start up as it usually does.  After 15 minutes of effort, I was getting ready to give up, and voila.  The computer started up.  What is that all about?  It is maddening.

But I digress.

The machine works and so i will try to engage my brain and pontificate as promised.  We are presently in Buellton at the RV park.  Been here since Thursday.  Having a wonderful time.  Two big things have happened.

First, we played golf at a course named Glen Annie.  A good test of golf.  Everything started out great and then the phone rang on the second hole.  My realtor.  He needed documentation that repairs on the Ocean house were completed (despite the re-inspection of last Sunday).  Okay.  So between my driver and my nine iron, I managed to arrange for my contractor to provide said documentation.  Actually, it took a long time in the end.  A call here, a call there.  Pretty soon it really started interrupting my golf game.  By the eighth hole, mission accomplished.   Rayman was not happy but what could I do?  My job beckoned.  He was a good sport about it most of the time.   Being a trustee is hard.  Your time is not your own.  So many problems.  Oops.  So many challenges.  That sounds more positive.

Second thing we did was drive down to Sherman Oaks (L.A.) so that Rayman could shop at Jimmy Au’s clothing store for men 5’8 or shorter.  A fabulous store.  Mr. Au is 80 years old and quite the sales guy.  He was down on the floor with his pin cushion shortening a pair of pants when I muttered, “Ray, do you intent to buy these?”  He didn’t.  But we had a swell time anyway.  Beau was invited in and the floor completely freaked him out.  He put on his breaks (he looked splayed)  and was not going to  move.  Shiny wood floors.  He did not like them.  While we were there a man came in and Rayman started talking with him.  They were comparing how many years of retirement they had under their belt(s).  The man had been retired 20 years.  Rayman said, “You don’t look a day over 59.”  The man said that was funny.  He wished he was.  Then he said, “Actually, I am glad I am as old as I am with the way things are going.  Who wants to be around?  I put in my wish to live to 92 but I’m backing off that.  Not such a good idea under the circumstances.”  Trump really is affecting people’s mental health.  Just saying.

On the way back, we stopped at Crush Cake’s in Santa Barbara to get some cupcakes and then we hightailed it back to Buellton to meet up with our bicycle friends.  A gaggle of them arrived today.

We dined at Industrial Eats.  Had a Caesar chocked full of garlic and anchovies, and a basil, tomato, cheese pizza (split one order of each).  We sat across from a couple from L.A. on their way home from Carmel with their “guide dog” which weighed about 1 pound.  And it sat in the lady’s purse.  They were vegans and had ordered 5 salads.  No wine.  Just water.  I admired their lifestyle.  That’s when he admitted he missed meat.  She didn’t.  And since she didn’t, I can only assume the only meat he will eat will be when she isn’t around.  Say lunch.  He had a hurt look on his face when admitting to his longings.  Think I’ll leave it there.

I did not post this blog so I am now p.s.ing.   Post script number one.  We played Sandpiper golf course which is located right on the Pacific ocean.  The weather was perfect.  A slight breeze made it perfect walking weather.  I do not exaggerate when i say that the course is bloody long.  Geeze.  400 yard par fours.  200 yard par threes.  However, the view is priceless.  When we arrived, we were paired up with two men.  They drove a cart.  It was a good thing too because they lost almost every ball they hit.  One shot would veer left.  The other shot would head right.  And as soon as they hit, they would jump in the cart and look and look and look for their balls.  In the meantime, Rayman and I would walk to ours and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  This went on the entire round except on the 11th hole.  I missed my drive and buried my ball in the heather.  Perched on the side of the hill with the ball way below my feet, I was really just concentrating on my golf game.  When we all arrived at the green, Doug, as usual, could not find his ball.  He finally announced that he must have rolled off the green down to the beach.  Literally, the beach.  So he dropped a ball and skulled it across the green.  I putted and went to the hole to take out the flagstick.  There was a ball in the hole.  OMG.  Doug’s ball.  A hole in one.  No one saw it.  No one suspected it.  Especially Doug.  Unbelievable, really.

My on the tee of the hole where Doug made a whole in one.

We also ran into the old pro from San Luis Obispo CC.  He is now the golf coach at Cal Poly and it just so happened that yesterday was the third day of West Coast college golf tournament.  Did I mention really tough pin placements?   And the greens were cut very short and they were quick.  It was great seeing Scott.

Rayman teeing it up on 18.

Oh, and I beat the Rayman.  Straight up and in match play.  Never got a par but I did celebrate a birdie on the 18th hole.  Just a foot away from the pin.  Sunk the putt.  Yippie.

See my marker? That’s where my ball came to rest.

My second post script is that we hosted 7 (9 all together) for a barbecue of chicken (a beer marinate) and tri-tip (olive oil, vinegar, oregano, salt and pepper marinate).  Our friends brought roasted veggies, French potato salad, and a yummy appetizer.  The weather was great and the company better.  Then K.C. made a deconstructed strawberry shortcake for dessert after a walk around the park.  Love our bicycle friends.  A great time was had by all because we are all like-minded…politically.  Blessed.

And the pic of Rayman at Industrial Eats is on this blog because we ate there twice and wanted to plug it.  Great food in Buellton.