I have friends, relatives and favorite places in California, so every few years I manage to fly out and visit them from Michigan. I always have adventures and encounters that stand out on these trips. Typically, I get around by bike, subway and bus. I make discoveries worth sharing. I visited Cali for a week. Let’s see what I found. Who knows, maybe you can visit some of the same places if you ever get out that way. Also, sometimes you hear things about the people of Cali and what they’re like. We’ll see what you think about that, too, afterward…
Flying Nowadays…
Thoughts from an amateur traveler… In researching tickets for this trip I found Google Flights to be the best way to find the cheapest tickets. I flew 3 airlines to make the triangle of this trip. It’s amazing there are $80 fix across the US, but climate change…
I wonder about weather and air travel: how often do people cancel flights when the forecast is bad? It seems like flights are so pricey and trips get so locked in that safety gets downplayed. Maybe the quality of the airline relates to this: the nicer airlines let you change flights most easily. Sometimes these are even among the cheaper tickets. I think it’s sensible to keep easy changes in mind when buying.
Often when I’m on public transit I find myself feeling almost compelled to speak up about various rudenesses. Yet others don’t seem to have a problem. Or maybe they also are feeling the urge? Sometimes loud phone talkers or music players really are a nuisance. (They’re like those who run generators in crowded campgrounds.)
In terms of public spaces, I notice that airports have pretty nice people. Trains, subways and busses all seem to be notches lower in courteousness as well as attire.
The airlines with the cheapest reputations seem to have customers who are the most like the rest of mass transit. The ratio of ball-hats, t-shirts and tennis shoes ramps up steeply the cheaper the seats. Though the people still seem nice. But here’s the twist: you can get tix just as cheap on the “nicer” flights.
Also, it seems inevitable that every couple dozen airline passengers someone will have screaming children. I consider babies to be like livestock: they’re gonna do what they do. It gets a bit sad when chances for easy parenting are omitted.
So, to use public transit you need ear protection, ideally noise-cancelling, ear-buds w your own podcasts, etc. Don’t forget! And make sure they work!
Day 1. Snazzy guy wearing a nice hat in the DTW airport as I depart.
Also: melatonin seems to work as a sleep aide, but don’t take more than one. Try beforehand. And skip it if you’ve had a drink. (Ugh, nausea.)
Starting the adventure.
Fly out, Drive to Susanville, Visit the Pioneer (…Sat.)
I flew out of DTW on Saturday. Changed in Denver with a storm hitting. Our plane was buffeted on the runway even while waiting. The pilot said 40 knot winds. Thankfully the flight was fine. Some passengers commented on the it but a few belly-drops seemed OK to me.
Reno.
I rented a car ahead of time, picked it up, and drove 85 miles to Susanville, where my uncle’s house is that I’m taking care of. I’ve been renting it to the same guy for a few years without ever having met him. I took this trip in part because it was high time I took a look at him and the place.
I got to Susanville an hour before the Pioneer tavern closed. It was my uncle Tim’s favorite bar. Few people were there. The bartender said the kitchen just closed. Rats. He said the town is early to rise, early to bed. Well, a drink would have to do, a Manhattan. I like this bar. No TV screens. The brands and names of all the local ranches are painted on the wall — been that way for maybe 100 years. Some bullet holes, too. The brand of our friend’s ranch is up there — the Lavers.
A young lady was hanging out at the bar next to me. She and the bartender both asked me what brought me to town. I said to follow up on my uncle’s house that I’m renting. The last time I was here was 5 years ago to handle his estate. She said “Oh I remember you, you had the big garage sales.” Ha. That was something. Then she said “Hey, are you hungry? Want half of my burger?” She had one in the box next to her. Aww, that would be nice. She said Here let me go heat it up. …She was a waitress there. She came out of the kitchen “The cook said he’d make you one. How do you like it?” So I ended up having a nice burger after all. We all had a nice chat.
The Pioneer, my uncle’s favorite old bar, remodeled, but with old wall artwork of ranch brands, with real bullet holes.
Then I asked about my motel. Hmmm, that’s not familiar, they said.
More travel advice: Triplecheck the location of your motel. Online searches give strange results. When I searched for Susanville motels, the second one that came up had the name of a local street. I doublechecked it because it had two locations, branches in two towns. Then I booked a room … in the wrong town, despite my effort. …Mistake #2 (more later).
I realize this after I leave the Pioneer. I book another room.
The next morning I have breakfast in town. I see a boy and his dad eating. They’re wearing camo and I see that the boy is beaming with joy. They’ve either just been hunting or are going and this is a special time for them. It is very sweet to see. When they leave, the boy waves to me. He can’t help it. He’s on cloud nine.
An eccentric Native American is eating nearby. He prays audibly before he eats, asking to behave better and thanking the Great Spirit.
As I eat I look out the window at Diamond Peak. It’s a mountain I can see at the end of the street where my uncle’s house is.
Groups of young Latinos walk past the restaurant. Clusters of 6-8 guys together, then girls together. They seem cheery, peaceful, calm. Wearing street clothes. It’s Sunday. I can’t figure it out. But someone tells me it relates to picking at the ranches. I don’t see any big church in the direction they’re headed. I thought about stopping and asking but figured someone else would know. Nobody did. They were beautiful young people involved with something good.
The three cafe ladies are young, middle-aged and elderly. They all say Hi and thanks to me, repeatedly, and comment on what a nice day it is.
Tim’s Old House…and the New Guy (…Sun.)
I meet Doug the tenant. My uncle’s house looked fine. I’d been renting it to Doug since my uncle died, but I hadn’t yet met him! This was a big reason for my visit. Well, the place looked like my uncle still lived there, only he wasn’t alcoholic. The property looked the same, used the same, big workshop pole barn full of tools and motors and old vehicles. But no trash. Doug is friendly. Everything looks good. We tour the house. It needs work in the same places it always has but he has everything patched and holding steady. He’s used some of the old binders of Gourmet magazines to cook from. He cleaned and polished Tim’s beautiful old Wedgewood dual-fuel stove — it has a wood-burner on the side.
Doug … a new Tim?
He tells me about caring for family members who recently died. We tour the backyard orchard, tasting the wonderful apples. He gives me a jar of apricot jam he made.
We discuss plans for the future. Everything is fine. I tell him I’m going next to visit the old Seneca gold mining ghost town that Tim used to own and tend the bar at. I ask if he wants to come along. He says sure, how about if we take his four-wheel since the road could be soft from recent rain. He buys me a burger and malt on the way out of town.
Here’s another piece of travel advice: think about all the possible timing interests you might have in your trip then check them out ahead of time. I haven’t traveled in so long that I basically panicked and just made sure I got tickets that would get me somewhere. Martha hadn’t traveled in years either and it turned out that she was going the same week I was considering. For some reason that made me stubborn. What a bad coincidence. Because who would watch our dog? Just the thought of waiting 3 years to travel and having the planned week get thrown off by a dog made me dig in my heels for some reason. And then I didn’t bother with all the other planning a sane person might do: such as contacting everyone you might want to visit. …That was my Mistake #1.
We Visit Seneca
Seneca has an old tavern called the Gin Mill. (It was the subject of a global viral internet media frenzy that I started when I helped my uncle sell the place. Google ‘Seneca gold mining ghost town.’) It had been falling into the ground until a local guy named Mark started repairing it and organizing local work bees to weatherize it. A local lumberyard donated materials. Mark saved the place. When I told him I was visiting he said “Oh that’s too bad. I’ll be out of state until the next weekend.” Doh! So I didn’t get to meet Mark. …Because I didn’t plan. Side Effect #1 of Mistake #1.
The Feather River flows next to Seneca. It’s the most electrified river in the USA, I’ve heard.
But Mark did give me the building lock combination and so Doug and I explored the place. Then we wandered around the nearby hills, which are jam-packed with Gold Rush history still visible. Old mine entrances. Chinese pre-steam excavations. He told me about looking at land near there and finding another abandoned ghost-town. I never heard of such a thing so we drove around a bit more. Everything was now gated and posted. So we went to drive back to town. As we passed the Gin Mill again we saw a car in the lot. I said Heck let’s see who might be around.
Seneca and the old Gin Mill bar.
We walked around more but didn’t see anyone then a guy came up. His name was Robert and it turns out he saw my post on Facebook saying I’d be visiting Seneca that afternoon and he drove a couple hours up from Sac’to on the off chance. Well, well… He was wearing one of the 1970’s Seneca t-shirts. I pointed at it like at a talisman of secret power: you have one of the shirts! He said he was a good friend of my uncle’s in the last 10 years of his life and really wanted to meet me. He’d come up to visit with his dad and then he started visiting just to hang out a bit with my uncle. And fishing nearby. Robert and I shared stories. We knew some of the same people in common. But Robert had never gone down to Susanville. We included Doug in our chat. We all stood talking for over an hour. We had a very nice time. He said that he was happy to have found me and that I reminded him of my uncle, the mannerisms, everything, and that he was pleased because he missed my uncle very much. Interestingly, he was my age and an urban construction project manager — something similar to what two of my close friends do. We left full of strong emotions, Doug as well, and were glad we’d stopped to see who had parked.
Porch of the Gin Mill is now shored up to support up to maybe 10 feet of winter snow.
Inside the tidied up Gin Mill.
I said goodbye to Doug and that it was good to meet him then drove back to Reno in time to have a Basque dinner at Louie’s.
Berries near a gold mining claim.
Driving through the sunset back to Reno after a quick day in the Sierras.
Basque Dinner
Basque dinners are served family style so I was seated with some folks who were a family. Parents my age with 2 guys in their early 20’s. They were Native Americans and were very much into the Basque dinner experience. It was nice to see young guys with so much interest in good cooking.
Basques are an important part of the Sierra heritage, probably one which is fading from general awareness. They’re the sheepherders … even today. They herd into the mountains in the summers and come back down in the autumns. They are also the fiestier sort of Spaniards, having fought violently for independence for decades. They have their own language as well — it has a lot of X’es. In the Sierras they opened boarding houses near railways. They became famous for their family style meals. A lot of lamb served. With a famous carafe of red table wine set out for everyone. This is also how I like to eat when I visit that region.
Louie’s Basque Corner.
I checked into my cheap casino hotel room and looked into my flight out in the morning. …Strange, I couldn’t find anything. Hmm… getting errors. I phone tech support. …My flight left THAT morning not the NEXT morning. Argh! So, more travel advice: TRIPLECHECK ALL YOUR DATES AND LOCATIONS! I’d been booking combinations of late night and early morning flights and just screwed up. …Mistake #3.
In a panic I looked for another cheap flight: Priceline offered one with an unknown “mid day” departure. I jumped. It popped up as 5pm. Rats. Late morning would’ve been better. Well, I asked about stand-by’s and if an earlier flight sold out I could hop onto it if someone didn’t show. Otherwise a time change would cost $. So I got up early anyway for my same flight. I checked the tickets available — the 2 available the night before were now gone. I drove to the airport and got in line. Thank heavens there was one unclaimed seat on my flight and I was good to go.
Let’s Have Brunch in LA (…Mon.)
Why did I want to get to LA early? …Because of another boner move in my planning: I was visiting LA to see my elderly aunt. And also some family friends. Did I call them ahead of time to see if they’d be in town? No! I’d heard they were back from a big trip, so… Well, when I called them earlier to let them know I’d be visiting soon they said “Oh jeez we’ll be out of town that whole week!” Oh lord! Again: I suggest planning instead of reflex purchases. …Side Effect #2 of Mistake #1.
I even considered paying to change all my tickets to another week so that I could FRICKIN SEE EVERYBODY WHO I WANTED TO! But we got a reprieve: I called my friends again and they told me they weren’t leaving until the next day so I could join them for brunch. So I got to LAX and hired my first-ever Uber to my friend’s house, $20.
…Riding in traffic alongside all the southwest LA architecture. All the new kinds of flowering trees. …I entered a lush new world.
It was so nice to see my old friends! It had been years. They’d been lifelong friends of my aunt and uncle and I’d known them since I was a teen. These older friends were still doing great despite infirmities and they are still hugely active in LA progressive politics, hosting fundraisers at their sprawling urban estate. Their house and property is full of sculpture and social spaces. A pool, gazebos. A stage. It’s vintage, quirky, imaginative, and so convivial.
Our friends’ house of hospitality.
They included me in their brunch and introduced me to their friends, including a guy who is a voice actor for Disney. We had fun talking about voice work, since I’ve been getting a micro taste of the challenges from recording my own audio version of my ski book. The guy also leads a quirky vintage-style cowboy band. We had fun. Afterward, our friends offered me all sorts of hospitality but I pressed onward to visit my aunt. I had a marvelous stroll down the ocean-breeze swept cliff along Santa Monica on my way to the Metro train stop.
Along the way I had my first of many experiences with LA drivers: as a pedestrian when I approached a crosswalk even before I entered it cars would stop. This happened all the time. It was wonderful.
I walked along the beach cliff in Santa Monica to get to the Metro.
At intersections I often don’t hear engines as cars drive away — lots of E-cars here! Lots of Teslas also. It was so strange to experience an intersection with a dozen cars having very little motor sound.
Arriving in town.
A transit cop helped me figure out how to get a Tap card to pay my fare and I was on my way. After a transfer I walked the mile up the hill from Hollywood and into the cul-de-sac that I first visited when I was 19 and out west for my first good job.
At the Cul de Sac
Aunt Jo opened the door and welcomed me. We then settled in like I’d never left. We watched TV. I sat in my uncle’s chair. I made a sandwich of rotisserie chicken. I unpacked into the little room below the house like always. Everything looked the same. My aunt keeps a white, spotless house with nothing extraneous.
My aunt’s patio next to the room where I stay.
Aunt Jo is in her 80’s and has a hard time getting around but she keeps going to the gym. She uses a walker but still drives her mint white 1985 Rabbit Cabriolet. Maybe 10 miles a week.
She has discovered Google on her smartphone. She has arthritis so she uses a stylus. She loves asking questions and learning things. She was an elementary teacher. …She researched some fun new places I might like to visit nearby, such as Mama Shelter, a rooftop bar. She knew I like roofs. Cool! That’s where I’d go tonite. She loves hearing about my nightly explorations the next morning.
She has a housekeeper come in weekly to tidy up and to do chores. …Rosa. She’s been coming there for a decade, but it seems longer. Rosa and I have a bond. It’s nice to see her every time. She says she likes seeing me sit in the places of the house where my uncle used to sit, like in the sunken living room next to the stereo where my aunt can no longer go. I play the stereo. Rosa likes that. She hasn’t heard it since I was there last, but really not since Uncle Kent died. She tells me “Mr. Kent used to tell me to be sure to give the bougainvillea extra water. Every time. ‘Rosa, please give it extra water.’ I miss him telling me that. I still really miss him.” I say that I do too.
A friend loans me her nice hybrid bike every time I visit. It was waiting for me and my adventures.
Aunt Jo also told me some bad news. My all time most favorite restaurant and bar in the world is Musso Frank’s Grill. And it was closed all week for their 100th anniversary! Proper planning wouldn’t’ve fixed this, but picking any other week would have! Argh! I think it was closed for construction as well, but I guess it was special events. Rats, in hindsight I should have gone down there at night to see if anything was happening and if I could squeeze in under some kind of grandfather clause: I’ve been going there for 37 years and my aunt and uncle were fixtures for 50 years. I bet I coulda got in! It would’ve been worth the try. But since they’re also doing construction I kinda thought they were just closed. But I bet I just messed up by not even checking. I did go down on one of my last nights and the place was black, no cars, nothing, so who knows. I just walled off the whole thing from my mind and found other things. Still, possibly Side Effects #2 and #3 of Mistake #1. (That one blind-sided me pritty-pritty good, as Larry David would say.)
A supremely sad and cruel sign.
Mama Shelter is a new rooftop bar. I checked it out. It has a bunch of sprawling sofas and a great view. It kind of has a non-song beat-oriented music soundtrack. Not quite a club beat but close. Clientele in their 20’s. Not for me.
So I went to the Blue Palms, a nice well-curated beer place I’d been to before. The same bartender was there and was just as friendly. He said I looked familiar. It has a rotating menu of dozens of beers. Had a nice visit with the bartender and a worker, chatting about nightlife options for the elderly. …A guy there had an Optimo style Panama hat, which I complimented. He was British. I had a beer then headed uphill and called it a night.
My first stop at a rooftop: Mama Shelter.
The Wandering Begins (…Tues.)
My aunt and I went out for lunch to Spoonfed, a place that serves the media epicenter amid the studios, and closes early since those blocks empty out after work. Nice tropical courtyard. Good food and drink plus a coffee shop with desserts.
Then we watched TV. My aunt isn’t very mobile but she runs her house like an observation outpost for the neighborhood. Nothing happens anywhere that she doesn’t see. She keeps an eye out all the windows. She’s still sharp, with a good memory.
My uncle Kent always liked getting his shoes shined when he arrived in a new town. He passed that little habit along to me. My shoes really needed it. Aram, on Highland, near our house, took care of me while I waited in my socks. He also re-attached a loose heel. There aren’t any more shoe-shine stands like we used to go to, but Aram is even better. I googled and see that there is still a shine-stand in downtown LA.
No more shoe shines, but Aram is even better.
I had high hopes for a new place to replace Musso’s for me, the Formosa. It’s a very old bar that had just been restored. Twice. The community thought the first job wasn’t right and raised a hue and cry so the owners pumped in more millions. It was an old actor’s haunt like Musso’s but with a black lacquer Asiatic style. Seemed like a decent bet for a visit. Maybe even a new regular haunt?
After the sun set I biked on down and took a look. It’s beautiful. The staff is friendly. But the music isn’t very song-based. Like “Shelter,” it had a near-club like beat. The clientele was all in their 20’s. Oh-oh…
The young bartender didn’t seem confident so I order a G&T and ask her if she knows of a bar anywhere that catered to old people, that was classy, with a soundtrack with standards, that you could just chill to. The staff chatted up and down the bar. They were sweet. A few options came up, including a place across the street. Jones. I also got a tip on the old Library bar at the Roosevelt Hotel. I recalled that the Chateau Marmont bar was classy but it was farther away, as was another place a bartender suggested, the Village Idiot, a British pub. I googled it and it looked too metallic with hard edges.
Restored Formosa. Beautiful place. Blaring music. Who is the actress with the big brown hair above? If it’s Leslie Ann Warren, I enjoyed seeing her a few years ago in town.
I check out Jones. …Classy, dark wood, leather banquettes, huge classic nude oil paintings. …Fairly loud rock music. Classic rock. So less club-type but stil it had a nearly-all 20’s crowd. I did see an older couple, grey hair, guy balding, both fully tattooed….
It seems like loud music ruins conviviality: you have to hunker and shout in someone’s ear. Maybe making it good for a date or a small squad. Not so much for hanging out and socializing since you need to be in each other’s space to hear what anyone is saying. Club design is a thing. And they had designed me out.
Outside a couple young guys and a gal were having a smoke. I asked if they knew of any old people’s bars. They thought that was funny. The girl was wearing a white and black jumpsuit and had metallic red hair and bangs. Anime’ style. They were friendly and tried to be helpful.
I decided to try the Roosevelt. It’s a beautiful venue with multiple spaces right on Hollywood Blvd. …Frescoes painted on tall ceilings and the columns of an interior courtyard with 2 pubs bracketing it. I checked them both out. Both pulsed with the same quasi-club beats.
I kept moving…
I remembered my old street of pleasantry: Vermont in Los Feliz. So I biked my ass on over there a few miles. This was getting ridiculous. Were there any grown-up bars left?
First stop, the Dresden Room. I know about Marty & Elaine, the cheesy lounge act. They were playing and it was real instruments. But the caterwaulling, while ironic, wasn’t tolerable. I left. I remember first coming here in 1991… They were “playing” then, too! I was with a group of Dutch girls back then…
Figaro is a classy French place that played standards the last time I was here. Now, again with the 20-something club beat! Sigh. I kept moving.
Fred 62 is a 24-7 soda fountain bar. They were playing classic rock. Separate songs with instruments that could be distinguished. The staff was very friendly. I saw several clusters of cultural creatives pow-wowing. Writing teams brainstorming and having fun after hours. How do I know? They just have that look! A diverse group of nerds appearing to be in full yet relaxed brainstorm mode. Like it’s afterhours but they can’t shut it off. Also they’re having the kind of fun that creative people who are having an awesome time being creative can have: cheery, satisfied-looking nerds. Whenever you see a behind-the-scenes of the writers meeting for a comedy show — that’s what these groups look like. I order a chocolate malt and kick back. This is a great place.
Fred 62 soda fountain. …Bliss. (Not my photo.)
I stroll back along the street. Figaro now had indie French music playing. Better. But the staff says they’re closing — early at 10:30. It’s a great place for me usually, but I move on.
Figaro. Nice. French. (Not my pic.)
I step back into the Dresden. …The place has changed. There’s a new singer. He’s really good, singing a standard. The lounge act is backing him. Hmmm… I settle in at the bar. This place also is dark wood and leather. It’s a swanky lounge that hasn’t been touched. There’s another half of the place, for dining, that has high ceilings, mid-century vertical risers and white leather banquettes. Mmmm…. I’d eat prime rib here.
I learn something important: Marty & Elaine have been performing here for 35 years but now they only “sing” for the first hour then it’s open mic. …And neighborhood people, who can actually sing, come out and do their thing and have some fun. M&E are pretty tolerable as a backing band. A young guy is on bass. A half dozen young people rotate through, wearing nice lounge attire, singing standards. Heaven be praised, a proper bar experience!
Finally, music and a place where people could talk and hear themselves. …The Dresden *after* Marty & Elaine finish.
The staff introduces themselves. My fellow bar people chat and also introduce themselves. The customers are in their 20’s … 30’s … 40’s. Hey, whattayaknow, real music creates diversity!
I have a splendid evening. We chat about music, movies and dancing. The locals care deeply about these subjects. They are buffs who don’t care about the era of the work, only the quality. I get tips on movies to see. And I give a couple tips. Several well-dressed young people write things down. …I have to say that it was nice to have a young lady architect in a dress sitting next to me, joining our conversation.
Movies mentioned: “I Love Melvin” from the 30’s and “The High Rise” from the 80’s. They tell me that the movie Swingers was filmed there and that it actually features swing dancing, which I didn’t know.
…A *lot* of shade was thrown on action hero movies!
Then the band is through and the house music kicks on. …First song is a bossa nova number with a Playtime-esque twist. What the heck? The bartender says Oh yeah that’s how we roll. The next song is Al Green. Wow, as I stroll out for my bike ride home. Nice place. Just show up after the first act. Unless you really love your irony.
Downtown LA (…Wed.)
Aunt Jo liked hearing about my quest for the adult hang-out.
I work on my laptop while we watch TV. In the afternoon I head out for a happy hour beverage over the hill in Burbank at the Idle Hour, a pub built into a huge wooden barrel. I take the bus since no human should attempt to ride over the hill on Cahuenga. At the pub they make me a cheap, good margarita, $3. Lush courtyard with a large, strange, vintage concrete dog smoking a pipe towering over the place.
Idle Hour courtyard for a tasty $3 marg.
When I got back I order sushi delivered in and we have a feast.
After dark I head out on the subway, taking my bike with me, and check out the Ace Hotel rooftop bar. It has a free swimming pool so take your shorts, which I forgot. But it’s a tiny pool. Still, a classy hangout, with fireplace and soft seating. Caring staff. I got a nice ceviche. Hung out by the fireplace. Eventually a group asked if they could join me. Turns out they were a BNB Experience group — people visiting town can sign up and be guided to some cool places in town. A local guy was with them. We intro’ed all around. They were from various countries. We finally got into movies and creative writing — several of them were in theater. I tell ya, a lot of those people around this town! Decent music with an actual DJ. Not too loud since the place has nooks and crannies that protect a bit from the beat if you want to chat. A young crowd but classy. No TVs.
Then I check out the Bone Shaker rooftop bar at the Freehand hotel. This place and the Ace both have nice ground floor bistros. The Shaker had a much bigger free pool. But more of a driving club beat in the music — and thus much more of a backward baseball hat, shorts and t-shirts sorta young crowd. With a couple TV screens. I kept it moving…
Bone Shaker rootop with a nice, big, free, public pool. Music overly harsh, however.
I was toodling around downtown craning my neck. I didn’t go far when I saw a glamorous bar and circled back around. The place was empty but magnificent. Suddenly I hear traces of Al Green wafting out from an alley next door. Huh? But it’s not Al, it’s a cover… There’s a gate but I go in, looking up and down. A bus boy comes out of a place to empty trash. I ask Where is that music coming from? He points up. “Go up the stairs in that big bar next door.” So I do…
I walk up the stairs of the empty bar and into Seven Grand, a dark, elegant space full of well-dressed people. Here’s the action! A band of older black musicians is playing, in black suits and hats, bass player in dreads. The bartenders are dressed in period vests. When I see what’s on the wall behind the bar I realize I’m in a whisky bar. I quickly google the name and see it’s one of the first ever. Snazzy! I order a drink and say Hi to the bartender. He asks where I’m from then says he’s from Detroit. I’d explored around the space and noticed cages full of bottles going down a hallway with strange name-tags on them. He says they belong to customers who give them pet names. They go with the speakeasy in the back. See the button on the wall? Press it and they’ll show you around. So I do. And it’s true! There’s another bar back there, a “sipping bar” designed on a Japanese whisky education theme.
I stumbled onto the lovely upstairs Seven Grand whisky bar.
Back at the bar, I try a Rye Manhattan — and it’s nicer than what I make at home. There are pool tables and a dance floor. The songs are compelling but only a booze-wobbly couple are moving around on the side. Suddenly a new group comes up the stairs. It includes a young lady who quickly keys into the tunes and is moving around, but none of her gang is catching on. I go halfway across then hold out my hand as she looks my way. She laughs, says something to her friends then runs over. We have a great dance in front of the band. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’ve been taking swing lessons on and off for the past year and so I figure out a nice way to behave for this blues sound. She’s tall, curvy and lanky, with huge frizzy hair. And she completely relaxes and has fun. We never say a word. I’m used to dance classes where people are aware of their skills and know each other, and the lights are bright and there’s no booze. Here we are strangers in a dark bar with steamy live music. Later the band takes a break and a couple of the guys give me fist bumps. …I have to say this is my first pure social dance and it was a success: having a nice time with a stranger at a perfect moment, thanks to the tiniest of skills I’ve acquired after considerable effort.
On that satisfying note I head out into the night and into the subway station. A young person is talking to a security guard. Then she comes up to me and says “I see you’re waiting, so just wanted to let you know that guy said the last train just left.” That was nice of her. It looks like I have to bike from downtown back to the Hills. That’s quite a few miles but oh well! (What I didn’t know then was that the busses keep operating after the subway closes.) I ride home fast, through dark neighborhoods, pleased.
A most beautiful and empty bar. It was open! …But the action was upstairs in another place.
Swing Dance! …Then Sad …Then Glad (…Thurs.)
I tell my aunt about my adventures in the morning. As for tonight, I’m taking the subway to Pasadena for the big weekly swing dance.
During the day, I take a strolling tour of secret walkways and gardens in the neighborhood. These are my favorite places. I love tiny, hidden paths and gardens. Our neighbor lives out one such path. You can’t see his house from anywhere — you just have to walk out around the big hillside on a shady path.
There is a secret walkway behind these trees that goes to our friend’s house.
Once again, we watch TV and eat leftovers.
Then I head out for swing dancing. I lock up the bike to a bike rack on a sidewalk outside the subway station. There are a lot of people and cops milling around.
A cafe at the bottom of the hill by my aunt’s house. I didn’t notice the car in this photo at first. …Astin Martin, not bad.
The dance and classes are hosted by the highly developed Lindygroove program at the Pasadena Masonic Temple ballroom, a gloriously huge venue with a huge sound system and 2 ventilation fans the size of jet engines. Hundreds of people of all ages have a fun evening dancing. There are several classes beforehand.
I run into a couple who I met in Ann Arbor a few weeks ago! At the time back then they were doing a move and I said “What is that? I’d like to learn it because I’m going to LA soon.” They said “What? We live in LA! We teach in Pasadena so come dance with us when you’re in town!” That was crazy. So I say Hi to them.
Not my photo. Shows only about *half* of the huge Lindygroove ballroom at the Pasadena Masonic Temple. “Floating” hardwood floor, big speakers, big fans, all sorts of classes, hundreds of ppl having fun!
I have a fun evening. I see some people trying to figure out a basic move and even though I’m a “begin-termediate” I think I was able to help them. I had a lot of fun with one dancer and told her that I liked her carefree style. She wasn’t fussy and was gung-ho for anything. That’s my style, too. I asked her if she’d been to any of the swanky downtown clubs I planned to visit. She said no, she wasn’t old enough, she’s only 19. I had to laugh. She was dressed up, wearing a dress. Well, I suppose that’s my level of sophistication. Ha! Raw energy… There was a wide age range there but I doubt there were many other teens.
I took the subway home, came out to the sidewalk … and see only pieces of a broken lock on the ground. Rats! My bike got stolen. It was a really nice hybrid bike. Rats, rats. I had doubted the quality of the lock but since it came with it I was using it. I should have bought a nicer lock! There were still a few people out but it was after 1am and so it was pretty dark and quiet overall. Rats.
While I was standing there downcast, dozens of people start walking past me. They seem a little different and like they know each other. I ask them what was up. They say they are the Blue Man Group and they’d just gotten out of their show, what’s up with me? I said my bike just got stolen. They yelled, “Oh no! His bike got stolen!” Then their leader said “Come with us! We’ll buy you a drink! We’re going in right here” and they lead me into a pub.
Geek bar on Hollywood Blvd.
It turned out to be a place called Scum & Villiany, a self-described geek bar with a Star Wars, Trekkie and Lord of the Rings theme. They bought me a drink and signed up for the karaoke. There were a lot of people already in the bar, but now it was crowded and rowdy. Suddenly everybody in the bar started singing to the karaoke songs. …Not just one person. Everybody. And it sounded good! It was pretty amazing. The bartender was dressed like the heroine of a Star Wars movie, with hip holster and bandoliers — a statuesque, curvier version of Angelina Jolie.
The Blue Man Group brought me here.
But rats about the bike! Now I have to find a replacement. Really, I should have brought it with me on the subway. I left it because I thought that since I was leaving at 6pm that there wouldn’t be room. Who cares: security is job #1. My Mistake #4!
But what a strange whip-lash! To go in an instant from such a bummer to being swept up in fun.
Back Downtown for Club Swing at Clifton’s! …and The Edison (…Fri.)
I tell my aunt about my adventures. Then after another day of TV and leftovers then I get dressed up to go downtown.
Tonight is a live band at Clifton’s Republic, a recently renovated classic-style night club. Also, a fancy steampunk club called The Edison would be open, so I’ll check that out, too. Let’s go!
Not my photo, but… Wow! What a club! 3 floors of ornate Victorian fun.
Clifton’s was mind-boggling. Get in before 9pm and there’s no cover. I arrive at 8:58 and a doorman sweeps me in. There are several dance floors in this huge venue. It is an ornate luxurious place with a huge fake tree towering up through the center of it and with bars and mini-clubs radiating away from a grand staircase spiraling around the tree. At the back of the 2nd floor, draperies are suddenly flung back and I see an extravagant club lined with taxidermy and with chandeliers and it’s own fancy bar. A big band is warming up. There’s a mini swing lesson first.
Wild swing dancing in a swanky ballroom off to the side at Clifton’s.
It’s a youthful Sinatra-esque band, in suits, and it is soon kicking out the jams. There are over a dozen talented swing dancers having a blast. Several eager newbies keep trying their hand. Hundreds of regular young patrons surround the dance floor at tiny round top tables.
The swing dancers are dressed wonderfully. It’s hard to imagine dancers more glamorous. Their physiques, poise and precision…wow. I would guess that most of them have been in movies. The MC lady has a 1940’s red hairdo piled high and she hollers into the mic, revving up the crowd. The band builds in energy through the night. More and more young people jam the floor and crowd around the outside.
Suddenly the band is going crazy, the singer, too. They’re all standing and blaring every which way, dancing while they sing and play. The dance floor is packed solid, like a mosh pit. Most of the young people are club dancing. Many quite drunk. The regulars are pretty wild, too. The scene then goes into overdrive. The crowd is clapping and hollering with the music. It makes me think that this is what clubs must’ve been like in the 40’s. It’s the most amazing swing club thing I’ve experienced. I’m dancing with a couple tall lanky newbies. (Hmmm, there seems to be a somewhat common physique out here in the dance scene. Might relate to entertainment.) A really good regular guy in a fancy outfit is leading some (tall, lanky) newbies into moves they’d never imagined — they seem to have a showbiz background and are game to keep up. People are sweaty and going wild. It’s like punk dancing only it’s swing. A couple is hunkering low and spinning hard in front of me, forcing space for intense swing-outs. The club kids don’t really understand what is happening. The guy is wearing a zoot suit and a hat with a big feather and is kicking out between their legs and scaring them. Then he kicks up between their shoulders. Suddenly there’s some negativity but the music is going so fast and the swingers are too intense, like a buzzsaw, for the kids to intervene. I’m doing solo Charleston dancing between the spinners when they swing out. At the finale everyone screams and the swing couple jump and give each other a high-five. And that’s the end. Wow…
Buzzing from all that, I catch the subway further downtown and find The Edison. …My mind is then blown for the second time that night. It’s after 1am and the evening has wound down but it’s such a majestic space. I pass a glamorous dancer in sequins headed out as I go in. Industry, engines, velvet, gilding and glamor. Hugely high ceilings. Vintage movies playing silently. Let’s see: Nosferatu, Cabaret, and Goldfinger. I could easily spend hours here, lost in time.
The Edison. Not my photo, but, again…WOW.
More.
More.
More.
I take the subway home and walk up the hill.
Fun at the Bike Co-op (…Sat.)
I call a used bike shop. The owner says the local co-op is closer to me and has a better selection than he does. I check em out: they’re in Venice and are having a 10th anniversary party and ride. I message with them that I’ll come out early and help and hopefully get a bike for my friend since I just got hers stolen.
On the walk down the hill to catch a bus to the party I notice juicy smears on the sidewalk then look up: a fig tree! I find a stick that I break about 3 feet long with a fork in the end then reach up and twist off a dozen fresh, juicy figs that plop down into my hands. Yay! I stash em in a bag.
Next, I take a couple convenient busses and get off right at the Bikerowave.
I meet the staff. I help haul out the trash and recycling and help with clearing the shop floor for the upcoming party. Then we peek outside and see that dozens of riders have arrived to go on the celebration ride.
We enjoy a couple hours of night-time riding visiting the previous 4 locations of the Bikerowave, as it grew its way across town. It’s a neat scene, about half guys and gals, all the colors of skin, a variety of ages. Quite a few people had a long history with the group and seemed proud of how far it’s come. They were friendly to me and included me in on their tasty potluck and beers in the shop afterward. (The ride used corking as needed as we rolled along, which I got in on.)
But it seems like they’ll be gentrified out and soon have to move yet again. Their block was cheap and trashy when they arrived. They helped make it cool. Now it costs too much and they don’t fit with their snazzy new neighbors.
A crazy thing happens at the party: I chat with two guys who ask where I’m from. They say “No way!” …They’re from Lansing and pals with AJ, one of our quirkier local bike freaks! “Tell him Hi from us!” They’re flipping out…
I get a sweet urban truck bike to replace the twitchy hybrid that got stolen. And I get to use the bike on the ride. It has a front basket which is instantly great and makes me want a basket on my city bike! Nothing is more convenient. So nice just to toss things in right up front! I really missed not having a bell! Thankfully I still had my blinky and headlight. The bike is a fairly recent Schwinn with fenders, chain guard and rear rack. Heavy, but steady. And my friend lives where it’s flat and says she only needs to go a couple miles. This bike should be better for her than her old one. I hope so! The shop lets me have it half-off (as an industry courtesy) and I got a good U-lock.
It’s a bike party at the Bikerowave.
Shopping at the Bikerowave.
Ready to ride.
Night ridazz.
Scooters Taking Over! …the Upside?
Folks at the shop gave me some insights into a recent huge trend: E-devices are taking over and pedal biking is in decline. And it sure enough looks to be true. I saw fewer regular bikes on the roads on this visit to LA compared to the past. But I saw 100’s of E-scooter users. And the rental scooters themselves were everywhere. There were also scooters with seats. Kind of like a little bike with no pedals. Hundreds of those, too. I also saw a FEW E-bikes. Perhaps the same number of e-bikes as regular bikes, overall. On our bike party ride we had about 40 bikes and maybe 4 e-bikes. The e-bikes seem to be used by able-bodied people. They gave more range. The ones on our ride were customized and accessorized just like any bike buff’s ride. The few other times I saw e-bikes on the street they caught my eye because they were zipping along a lot faster than regular bikes. Zoom! At all hours of the day or night when I was biking I would encounter scooter users. Even when I was cutting back to the house in the wee hours on side streets, suddenly folks on scooters would be zipping around in my vicinity.
It’s amazing what a huge acceptance there is of this owner-less effort-less mode of transit. Actually, there IS skill involved — it’s kind of like surfing. But it’s easy because there’s a handlebar. Still, you have to bank and balance the thing. I often saw 2 people riding on one. It very often seemed like the users were careless. I’m pretty sure I saw a collision but when I looked back nobody seemed either hurt or angry. It was a weird vibe.
It also seems like car drivers are very aware of these scooters. And that scooter acceptance is benefiting pedal bikers. It’s like the magic of laziness plus a motor has completely won over the public. It’s astounding: they are accepted like bikes never have been. And I assume only for the reason that their operators are idiots and car drivers can relate.
On the way home the busses didn’t behave right per my app. The app said a bus was going past me right then, but I saw it go by on the other side of the road. But it was going to the ocean and I was headed downtown. I was confused. Usually the bus app is awesome — it even shows a little live-action bus moving toward your stop to let you know how far away it is. Well, the app said the next bus was in 20 minutes but I didn’t want to risk it showing up but going the wrong way so I started riding toward the Hills. I soon notice a bus coming up behind me on the app. I thought I’d keep riding until a stop where it was only a few minutes behind me so I didn’t just stand around waiting for the bus. …In the end the bus never caught me. Oh well!
As I biked across town through the night I passed this scene of dudes working on the sign of their little neighborhood movie house.
Before I head up the hill I take a break at the 101 Coffee Shop, a 24-7 swanky mid-century styled joint near the base of the road up to my aunt’s. I get a malted. A favorite Al Green song comes on and I notice quite a few of the hipster patrons singing along to it. The staff is friendly. A male model and his model girlfriend come in and order a basket. She starts flipping her hair and pouting while he takes photos.
101 Coffee, a relaxing 24-7 cafe, soda fountain, bar on Franklin. Decent classic pop soundtrack.
My little room below the house…
One thing I missed on this trip was spending an afternoon with Pascal on one of his nature foraging hikes. He’s a French chef who leads urban wild foods hikes followed by an awesome picnic featuring dozens of goodies he’s prepared, for about $30-50. But he had the flu! www.urbanoutdoorskills.com
Hollywood Farmer’s Market …and the Last Wandering (…Sun.)
My aunt, as usual, enjoyed hearing about my evening’s adventures.
Today’s fun was the big Hollywood Farmer’s Market. What a blast! They have this great jazz combo playing there every time. What a treat to people watch and stroll the whole venue a few times. I really missed seeing the Wild Mushrooms booth but apparently it hasn’t been there for awhile. I hope nothing bad happened!
I bought some heirloom tom’s, fresh sourdough, homemade cheese, nectarines. A booth had samples for all its fruit — very smart! They had so many kinds of stone-fruit so I picked my favorite. And one really was a stand-out!
The Hollywood Farmers Market
Among all the beautiful people I noticed a black dreadlocked family with a baby in a stroller and the dad carrying a *merle* colored French bulldog! Amazing. I said Hi and what a pretty dog. The guy said “And you are a most beautiful human being!” and gave me a fist bump.
I bought a brisket sandwich from a guy with a well-smoked greasy leather hat. I said I liked it then I noticed the knife he was using — hammered. I commented. He said “You know, I like you. Want some extra brisket tip? How about an extra sweet potato?” and laughingly piled extra goodies in my sandwich box.
After a visit back home, my aunt and I set out in her convertible for lunch at Connie & Ted’s fish shack. It’s a new place but built to resemble an east coast fish shack, as per where the owner was from, and is named after his parents. Michael C also started Providence, sometimes voted the best restaurant in LA and one of my aunt and uncle’s weekly favorites, once upon a time.
Fresh fish is what I want, though, when I visit LA, and we ate a variety platter of oysters followed by soft shell crab sandwiches with a bottle of sparkling rose’ shared with a couple of the managers, who both sweetly remember me from previous visits. They propose we have a party on the veranda at my aunt’s house ASAP. But after they leave us she says she’s just not up for hostessing anymore.
See the crab sticking out all sides of my sandwich? The bubbly rose’ went with it perfectly.
Later on, once it’s dark, I head out for an adult beverage. I try my stand-by The Dresden, but a guy is playing loud folk guitar to an audience of one right inside the front door and I do not feel compelled to do more than open it then back out.
I stroll past my other fave, Figaro, but the soundtrack piping onto the sidewalk isn’t alluring enough for me, sounding like trivial contempo singer songwriter. I move along to my trusty Fred 62 which is playing crusty rock. Teams of quirky creatives are pow-wowing per usual. I have another malted.
I still back to Figaro and make myself go in. It’s fine. I order a French 75 which tastes great. The young staff is friendly. They’re rolling silverware into napkins. I ask if they serve steaks. They do. Do you know Laguiole knives? They’re a classic French knife and are also available as tableware, I tell them — and at least a few of your customers would go nuts to see them. They come in an institutional price point. They both look em up on their phones. Hmmm, they say, and type some things. I also ask if they know Jacques Tati movies. No. I describe them a bit. They look him up on their phones, type a bit, say thanks.
Figaro closes early, 10:30, so I head out and wonder what to do. I look across Vermont. I’ve never crossed the street. In 30 years. The pubs on the other side are always pumping out club music and I see many sports TV screens. So I’ve never crossed. Now, though, I notice a place called The Study — it looks dark and luxurious so I cross… There is a screen but it’s playing Between Two Ferns, the Movie. The bar music is borderline. Well, it’s bad, but, maybe just maybe tolerable. Then I notice the drink menu: it starts with “Old Overholt Rye Manhattan.” …That was my uncle’s drink early on. I remember when I was 19 he had me walk down the hill and pick up a bottle for him. (That liquor store is still there, the Pla-boy.) So I told the bartender, who was friendly, about coming across the street and about getting the bottle…
After that I swung by the Blue Palms, which was now empty. It had been jammed on my ride toward Vermont, but it must have been a theater crowd, since there’s a big venue next door.
I decided to check out Stout, a beer-fan’s joint. It only has beer and it’s right at the bottom of my aunt’s hill. A few dozen taps, highly curated. And a kitchen featuring burgers. Caddyshack was playing on 2 big TV screens. I had a seat next to some guys at the fairly crowded semi-circular bar. We all said Hi and chatted a bit. The guy next to me told the bartender, “Put his beer on my tab.” He was a bartender from the Mama Shelter. She looked at him funny. He said You don’t recognize me in my glasses. She said Oh jeez. “I work next door to you.” She said I’m having such a bad weekend. We said “Well now let’s all start making it better, we can do it!” So we all had a nice visit. He was young and a local, talked about wanting to get out of town more. After he left an older sorority gal with blond ponytail and a ball cap sat down and started chatting. She was in town for a rock concert. She talked about MSU and UM sports. She said Let me haul you and your bike back up the hill in my Land Rover. I’m staying in a bungalow up there. …Wink wink. Well, thanks for the offer, we’ll have to see if it’ll fit. She said “Bartender, put his beer on my tab.” I went out and checked. That was a nice new car. It wouldn’t fit. I told her so. She said Se la vie and wished me a nice ride.
And that was how I ended my week of nightly explorations in LA!
Homeless fill in under every bridge with elaborate tent cities. Often with very large tents. A big issue is not blocking the sidewalk. They are allowed to use the sidewalks but not to block them.
Japanese Culture and Airport Hijinx (…Mon.)
I’m leaving today so it’s time to look for cute things for the kids. There are some quirky Japanese shops in the Highland / Hollywood mall complex down on the Blvd, so I coast on down the hill that way. On the way down I pick more feral figs to take home.
Storm before the calm. …But I like my piles of cool stuff.
My first stop is Muji, the unbranded Japanese department store. It’s a style and housewares store full of thrifty yet classy wares. I find a variety of nifty things for our teenage sketch artists. Too bad they were out of their brush aluminum fountain pens.
Then in the Highland mall proper I find a place called Sweet! that makes its own chocolate and sells tons of Japanese pop cute items.
The mall is also home to the Japan House, a culture galley, event venue and gallery. An amazing display of Bakeru was on display. This is their “folk spirits” art form. They had exhibits showing step-by-step how the folk spirit artifacts are created. Then there were masks you put on and go into an interactive digital VR space and dance around, becoming the various folk spirits. Bakeru means transform. The show showed how close the normal world is to the spirit world. Here’s some of what their website says:
These annual traditions fulfill practical needs of education and community building, and they remind people of the symbiotic connections to nature; for example, rain helps crops, the ocean brings fish, and diligent cultivation promises harvest. However, as nature itself is increasingly being neglected, the festivals face imminent disappearance.
A folk spirit mask.
VR masks for the spirit transformation.
From a brochure of the Bakeru show.
I planned to take my first-ever red-eye flight home at 11pm, arriving at 6am. Will I have a nice sleepover? An $8 Flyaway shuttle zipped me quickly to LAX. I allowed an hour of spare time in case of bad traffic but didn’t need it so arrived early. I had an unpanicky delay at TSA as they were curious about all the goodies I was bringing home, especially a lump that was my tasty sandwich. They liked my sourdough loaf. It was nice to not be in a hurry. …I did remember to trash my cheap folding knife before the checkpoint since I forgot to leave it in my aunt’s toolbox for the next visit.
Then I went to the bar across from my boarding gate. Wow, so much extra time! I ordered a cocktail and found out they cost as much in the terminal as on the plane. Hmmm… Well, it was well made. I said Hi to the other folks hanging out and started chatting with a young guy next to me. Turns out he is a hotshot forest fire fighter and skydiver. And SWAT medic. A handsome brawny lad. We had fun visiting and including folks around us in. He was thinking of saving on rent by moving onto a boat in Santa Barbara. Due to my own fun experience doing this, I was able to advise that this can be a workable plan. He liked that. The bartender said So are you guys going to share all your deets now? Yeah, it was a bit of a bromance. So we’re having a hale and hearty time when suddenly I check the time and realize my flight has been boarding already for quite some time. I holler Wow, nice to meet you, gotta go! And I whip around and slide on board pretty close to the doors closing time. Yikes! That’s what I get for… um… sitting with my back to my gate? For not setting an alarm? For being a forgetful dummy?
Our flight on Spirit Airlines had extra seats and plenty of room. The budget flight did seem to attract a much more “casual” crowd, but no screaming children or crying babies! (These are different kinds of problems.) As I settled in, I thought to take the melatonin pills I brought to help me sleep through the flight. Apparently the dose is one pill per day. But, um, I had brought 4 with me and for some reason just popped em all down the hatch. We took off. I was nauseous and dizzy. About 10 minutes later I had to use the puke bag. The lights were out and it didn’t even seem like anyone noticed. Oddly, I’d had a couple drinks and a couple slices of pizza, but not much came up. Well, I was dizzy and nauseous the rest of the flight though I did sleep just fine. What a finale to my big trip!
Well, it was a smooth flight. We arrived a bit early and I was able to grab a $25 Michigan Flyer bus that was just heading to Lansing. Slept. Martha picked me up. I still felt out of it. I would’ve thought that both the booze and pills got out of me pretty early but, whew, I still felt a bit poisoned. Back home I slept another few hours. Lesson: take only one melatonin pill. And don’t drink if you’re going to take any melatonin. I looked it up *afterward*. It’s a bad combo. So: look before you leap.
When I finally woke up everything was fine again and it was nice being home. It was raining and actually damp inside the house. The doors wouldn’t close. Our homely house was as rumpled and scruffy as always. Home again to the land of make-do and humidity!
So that was my trip! I wasn’t meeting people in an in-depth way but I was impressed at the friendliness that I experienced.
People commented on my old shoes — “what kind are they?” Um, “old”? People commented on my hats — even homeless people. People commented on my bike(s).
The trip was mostly oriented to night-life and not very foody. Also, I didn’t spend any $ on fees or cover charges. But an obvious aspect of having a drink in a fancy pub is: you pay for what you get. I was happy to pay for such pleasant experiences.
