This morning I was very chilly in Oregon. It was about 41 degrees. Then we crossed into California and when we parked the R-Pod, it was about 87. Right now (it’s almost 9 PM), I’m chilly again. I wish someone would develop a reversible shirt. I could put it on when I’m chilly and then, later, when I’m warm, I could just turn it inside out.
Someone who travels across the USA and back and does not include a post on California is going to have a travel blog without something about California. Well, I’ve been in this state for about five hours now and I feel ready to make the following observations:
This is a state of memories. When I was a kid growing up in Owego, NY, I knew that the Triple-R Ranch, where Spin and Marty would spend the summer, was out here somewhere. Downstate, on a back lot, Rick said “Of all the gin joints…” and Rhett said, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Cowboys and Indians rode all over this state. Out here, the Lone Ranger said “Hi, Ho, Silver.” A young girl from any town USA would come here, be a waitress…and before you could say “Directors Couch”, she would be walking across the red carpet. Somewhere out in the San Fernando Valley, the headquarters of “grown-up movies”, (I’ve been told) some pretty girl named Alice from Alabama is saying “Oh, Oh, Yes!”. Or a good-looking hunk from Florida is saying “Oh, Oh, Yes!”. It’s an amazing state.
It’s startling to realize that nearly every 50’s TV show or movie was filmed here. In a way, the California culture defines the American culture.
One thing I find a little odd, though, is that there are a great many people here who have lives of their own and, hold on to your derby, haven’t paid me the slightest bit of attention. The exception is the guy at the state line that checked our trailer for gypsy moths.
In the hours I’ve been here, not one person has taken me for George Clooney.
That chills me out.