Arlo Guthrie Celebrates 50 Years Of Alice's Restaurant At Disney Hall

I was excited when invited to see Arlo Guthrie at Walt Disney Hall, because though I've grown up on his songs, I'd never actually seen him play them live. The audience filing into the wonderful room was clearly a room of Guthrie's own demographic, and they were all excited too. Really excited. You know it's going to be good when you run into Ramblin' Jack Elliott and Sarah Lee Guthrie backstage before the show even started. It was that kind of a show, like a family reunion in stories and song.

The show opened with a video of an animated pickle - yes, a pickle - riding along on his "motorsickle", that seamlessly became his band playing it live on stage beneath the screen, and then Mr. Guthrie joining them (to raucous applause) to be the pickle singing "The Motorcycle Song". He looked like a tall General Custer type, in a black Western shirt - groovy and commanding all at once.

Everyone loved it, and at song's end, Guthrie said, "Thanks for helping us celebrate 50 years of stuff!" He went on to say that they'd lost that video for 40 years ("for good reason") and then wondered what to do with it when they found it. "Now we know." Guthrie introduced his band at the beginning, a group comprised of his friends and neighbors, and including his own son, Abe Guthrie.

"We're gonna play a lot of old stuff tonight,"said Guthrie by way of introducing, "Chilling Of The Evening." That was more than fine by everyone in there (especially when Guthrie wailed on his harmonica). Old stuff because his vast catalog goes back fifty years, and Guthrie said when choosing songs for this tour, even if he'd picked only one from each album, we'd be here for a few days, "and that's just from what I can remember, 'cause you can't pick stuff you forgot." That brought chuckles, and knowing nudges between the also-grey haired majority of the crowd. "I love the old stuff," Guthrie said at the end of "Darkest Hour". We were all in agreement there.

As the tour is in its beginning stages, the set list is still being worked on. Guthrie said he was happy to include one by his father's (the wonderful Woody Guthrie, of course) best friend, Cisco Houston. "St. James Infirmary" was great, and featured an acoustic guitar solo by Guthrie that brought whistles from the people that know.

"On the off chance that there are some young people here ..." made people laugh, but Guthrie explained that he'd been "dragged to things like this when I was a kid ... but before there was recorded music, you had to go get someone to play ... play for getting married, getting buried, for getting hung, songs for kids ... but overnight songs for kids went to hell, they all had to be about building self-esteem, building character ... but these songs were not by someone that had actual, living, breathing kids! It's stupid. You want to scare 'em ... give 'em a reason to stay under the covers! This is for kids." While Guthrie then played the charming, "Me And My Goose" as the video for its children's book of the same name played on the screen. The goose gets cooked, and Guthrie said at its conclusion, "I know it's sick, but that's why I like it." And why we do too.

"My kids made a list of my songs I should know, and this is one of them," Guthrie cracked to introduce his "Last Train". Whereas his father's train was BOUND for glory (and his autobiography has that title), Arlo's is the LAST train. Hmmm. Either way, it was great, as was a rollicking, old Ledbelly tune, "Pigmeat". Guthrie met Ledbelly when he was two years old, and remembered that "If it made a noise, Ledbelly could play it." His early memory was of standing there holding Ledbelly's pants leg - "and that was about it." Guthrie's storytelling is as good as his playing, and both compliment each other beautifully. Ledbelly played the 12 string guitar, so Pete Seeger played the 12 string (in addition to and as often as his famous banjo). "Pete stole everything from Ledbelly, so I stole everything from Pete."

With friends like those growing up, and Wavy Gravy, and Ramblin' Jack, and the list goes on and on ... the stories are really something. Guthrie told his tale about Woodstock, and being flown into the venue by an open-doored chopper. Two policemen were on board with them, talking about how they'd never go down there with all them dirty hippies ... and that's when Guthrie knew it would be a good time. He wasn't set to play until the next day, so went off "and did what everyone else was doing." Suddenly the promoter told him it was his turn to play, "And I couldn't even talk! Or walk!" But he did play ... "At least that's what I remember". He took us back there with him when he launched into a rocking version of "Coming Into Los Angeles" ... a couple gals that might have really been at Woodstock were up and dancing for this one, but they were tame in comparison to a groovy old dude down front who was dancing all alone like he just didn't care, even in the staid Disney Hall. It was awesome.

There was then a brief intermission before Guthrie came back saying, "You're still here?!", sounding surprised. Of course we were, because now it was time for the reason for the evening - the 50th Anniversary of "Alice's Restaurant". People clapped loudly just for the opening chords, prompting Guthrie to say, "Oh, you've heard this one before?" The 18 minute, 34 second talking song really put Guthrie on the map as a spokesman for social justice. The whole story (and accompanying film by Arthur Penn - that stars all the real people of the story, even the Officer Obie nemesis, who in real life became Guthrie's good friend) is all about how dumb justice (or the lack of it) can be sometimes. Some well-meaning kids help a friend dump some trash, get busted for littering, get drafted and have to go with hardened criminals ("These weren't Mother rapers, they were FATHER rapers!" - I've never even heard that phrase!) because of the arrest ... and all they were trying to do was be cool on Thanksgiving. People sang and laughed along throughout, and as Guthrie said, when you get enough people together singing the same song for justice - it becomes a movement. "We can change the world! So sing it loud enough that it's worth correcting in the first place." The last strummed chord brought people to their feet, and the building was tangibly rowdier. It was again awesome.

"When A Soldier Makes It Home" was a lovely tune, but sad too, because it talked about how people didn't care that they were home. It unexpectedly choked me up, because when you think about it, isn't that all ridiculous too? That people would go fight for someone else's idea of a war, and then make it home and be mistreated for it? UGH ... it's all just ridiculous. Thank goodness for people like Guthrie that tell truths, and do it in a way that you don't even realize until it hits you.

Guthrie explained that his sister, Nora Guthrie, has been compiling all their father's work, and as there was so much of it, many of the lyrics found didn't have music. She gave some of those songs to different artists to put them to music, and Guthrie then played us Janis Ian's version of "My Mother's Voice". I, of course, choked up again listening to him sing about hearing his Mother's voice one more time. In a family where everyone is musical, you can imagine how lovely hers must have been, while treasuring the voice of your own in your mind. A special song, for sure.

People LOVED "City Of New Orleans", and Guthrie told about how its writer, Steve Goodman, actually wanted Guthrie to get it to Johnny Cash. Cash passed as he already had a bunch of train songs, "So that worked out well for me." The whole place sang along with the "Good Morning, America, how are you?" chorus, and I think it took everyone back to the sunny day when they first heard it, wherever they were. There was certainly a lot of nodding along and toe tapping to let you know people were feeling it.

One day, friends of Woody Guthrie, Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry, asked young Arlo to open for them on their West Coast tour. Guthrie's mother said he had to stay with friends or family, and that meant Ramblin' Jack Elliott. Guthrie was thrilled, as he knew what kind of trouble Ramblin' Jack could get into. Immediately upon arrival in Malibu, Elliott took Guthrie to a rodeo, where he saw the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. She totally ignored him, so Elliott gave him some kind of pill to cheer him up, saying, "Don't worry, it will wear off!" When it did, he went to The Troubadour, where the same pretty girl was working as a cashier. She paid him enough attention then to marry him, have his children, and "put up with me long enough to celebrate our 43rd wedding anniversary in 2012." As it's 2015, that suddenly let us know that she was gone, and as the slides played on the screen of Guthrie's beautiful, happy wife Jackie ... this time actual tears sprang to my eyes when Guthrie said, "This is for her," and played "Highway In The Wind". It was a truly beautiful memorial to her.

One of the few songs that Woody Guthrie actually taught Arlo himself was his seminal wonder of a song, "This Land Is Your Land."  We've all sung that classic a million times, but as Guthrie explained it, a piece of you is left with it each time it's sung, making it all the more meaningful. Like when you visit a place that an event happened and everyone goes there to see it, you leave some of yourself there, making it even more of a special place. As we all sang it together again, with the son of its writer, it indeed felt special. Also because of the massive standing ovation Guthrie again earned for it.

When speaking of his father, Guthrie is appropriately reverent, but also funny. He told of how Woody read and was very affected by John Steinbeck's The Grapes Of Wrath, which inspired him to write "The Ballad Of Tom Joad." Steinbeck wrote him a letter after hearing it, kind of mad that Guthrie was able to distill his entire novel into 12 lines! The Steinbecks and The Guthries are all good now, even intermarried, and Guthrie told more tales of their family together, hanging out in a mental hospital with Woody, having parties, making the best of it. You really could sit and listen for days.

There was only one more song, however, and though it was, as Guthrie said, "A bit Kumbaya", we all did sing together once more, the lovely "My Peace." Guthrie said it was a fitting summary of his father's life, and what life could be better than one that goes ...

My peace my peace is all I’ve got that I can give to you
My peace is all I ever had that’s all I ever knew
I give my peace to green and black and red and white and blue
My peace my peace is all I’ve got that I can give to you

My peace, my peace is all I’ve got and all I've ever known
My peace is worth a thousand times more than anything I own
I pass my peace around and about ‘cross hands of every hue;
I guess my peace is justa ‘bout all I’ve got to give to you

And that was that for the music, but not for Guthrie, as his fans stood and applauded until he was gone with a "God bless you and Good night!"

... And we were blessed and the night was good, just for having been there.

The 50 Year Anniversary tour of Alice's Restaurant continues throughout 2015.


*Photos by Paul Gronner Photography

A Venice Easter Weekend

Easter weekend 2015 was all about family, friends, and family friends here in Venice. I had my dear Krsniks/Hendricksons here and we did all the usual L.A. tourist stuff (and had an Easter miracle finding a lost purse - with cash and everything still in it! - at Hollywood & Highland. Good humans.) which is always fun to do with people ... and then it was time to simply relax (after all the cooking was done).

First there was some worship and gratitude, then Easter Bake and Monkey Bread were consumed Sunday morning. That had to be followed by a brisk walked to the beach to digest. There we saw the Venice Easter Bunny, delighting kids and me alike.

Danny Samakow was out and about, making sure that everyone was having a good time, and keeping the holiday spirit pumped up - as he does for just about every holiday.

People were lounging about on the sand, and displaying their own Easter egg hunt treasures by the graffiti walls, also looking as if it was post-brunch laziness for them too.

As it was both Easter and Passover this weekend, there was a lot to observe. At the beach, even the Hare Krishnas made a strong showing on a Sunday they might otherwise have been overshadowed by.

Then it was time for another holiday meal with dear friends, followed by another Easter egg hunt, with still more candy to be found.

We kept saying, "It's just once a year" to justify all the sweets and over-stuffing ... but still. When you see little faces looking this happy over some candy in a plastic egg, you just laugh and hope for the best.

With Easter 2015 in the books, Sunday night was pretty much all about crashing for everyone I know. I hope your weekend was spent with your dear ones too, and that none of us see another Peep for an entire year. Thanks Easter Bunny! Bawk Bawk.

Norman Ollestad's Gravity

I'm so excited for my friend, Norman Ollestad! His new book, Gravity, came out last week on Amazon Kindle (though I'm not into those things, it's also available to read on any device, like your phone, thank goodness), and it's already the #1 best seller in Memoirs! With all that buzz going on, Ollestad still made time to sit down and chat with me about the new, kind of sequel to his last best seller, Crazy For The Storm.

More a companion piece to Crazy For The Storm than a sequel, Gravity takes place 15 years after he was last in Austria at the age of 5 (9 years after his last book), when Ollestad was 20 years old. He'd been attending UCLA and making money doing window washing when he decided to leave all that and go be a ski bum in St. Anton, Austria, a place he'd visited many times before with his late father, and the home of modern downhill skiing. The junior Ollestad left with only his skis and backpack, and went to stay at a pensione owned by a woman the senior Ollestad used to know. Soon upon arrival, the woman showed Ollestad his father's guitar, and he didn't want to touch it. It was his first indication that this trip might actually turn out to be really heavy.

His father was a bit of a legend in St. Anton, and all the while Ollestad was trying to fit in with all the other ski bums and live up to his father's shadow, he found himself also having an extra-intense emotional experience being there. The more time that passed, the more he realized that all the connection and feelings he was having for and about his father were actually the reason he went.

Ollestad stayed in St. Anton for six months (where that guitar still remains), but while he was there, he also fell in real love for the first time. With all that was going on in his head about his father, this girl also reminded him of his dad. The entire experience served to reaffirm what he'd been given by his father, who he really was, and he found love, which was something he never expected to find.

After the success of Crazy For The Storm (which is to be a feature film directed by Sean Penn!) and its incredible story (if you haven't read that one, buy both), Ollestad found himself back in St. Anton on his book tour. While there, he went out to revisit his old ski bum super back country spots, and got lost. He started to panic, thinking about his young son, Noah, and then fiancee (now wife), Jenny. Whereas previously in his life, he'd always wanted to defy gravity, he now found himself thinking (and freaking out while lost) that he now really, really wanted that gravity. The grounded feeling of family, home, and love. Hence, the new book's title.

There are so many more wonderful stories from Ollestad's life that more books will be coming. The idea is to have a few novella length ones (as Gravity is - a great, fast beach/plane/couch read!) come out as e-books, then compile them together in a great, hard copy book down the road. I love it. You may also read a new Ollestad story in this month's (May 2015) issue of Outside Magazine, out this week. Ollestad and his son, Noah, took a surf trip to Mexico, which brought back more memories of those same surf trips he'd taken with his own father, coming full circle again.

Enjoying our chat and swapping of stories of our late fathers (and the Ollestad's ridiculously darling baby girl, Camille), it occurred to me that Ollestad may have actually found the gravity that his father never did. That - coupled with all the surf and ski skills also passed down - may be the true gift he's now able to share ... with his children, and with us all.

"I see life as an adventure ... so I hope I can take you along on one with me in this book."
                                                                                                                - Norman Ollestad


I went, and it was great! You should go too.

Gravity is now available for download right here:

http://www.amazon.com/Gravity-Kindle-Single-Norman-Ollestad-ebook/dp/B00UZGZT8W

A Spring Sunset Sail

My dearest friends are here visiting for Spring Break from Minnesota ... and as they are avid boaters back home, this called for a sail.  I called up my favorite Commodore, Noah Farrell (of Abbot's Habit fame) and he agreed to take us out for a spin around the Santa Monica bay.

The Krsniks are motor boaters, and this was a sail. That meant a crash course in being Farrell's crew, which is never a dull moment. It was a fairly choppy day, with plenty of wind (on the vessel named "Got Wind?"), so at times we were almost literally flying.

The day was so beautiful, made even more so by the glow of good friends, and the appearance of a little baby dolphin gang that delighted in jumping around our wake. It was awesome.

We nearly lost Renato at one point when we hit a wave and his 6'6 frame nearly upended him into a MOB drill (Man overboard, rookies). Luckily, his beautiful wife Christine broke his fall (and almost her neck), pretty much saving his life, and ensuring that he'd be here today to celebrate their sweet 16th wedding anniversary!

The air grew chillier as the sun started to set, and Captain Farrell let me operate the tiller almost all the way back in. It's so fun to feel the effects of the wind on the sails, and how the slightest correction in driving makes a total difference. I could see getting obsessed, as people do. The gorgeous sunset was our reward for all the kind of hard work.

We warmed up in the cool South Coast Corinthian Yacht Club (SCCYC) in the Marina, and did more boat talk. It's the ultimate best when you get to share parts of your life and where you live with your very best friends that live far away, and have them get to know the people you surround yourself with when they're not there. We all hit the hay last night exhausted, and more than stoked.

Thank you, Captain Noah! Happy Anniversary, Christine and Renato!

Roll Model - Skateboarding With Eric Tuma Britton

When third generation Dogtown skater, Eric Tuma Britton is your skateboard teacher, it automatically gives you an edge. Not only because he's been a professional skater for most of his life, but because he's right in there with the student, literally holding their hands.

Britton was born in Culver City and raised in Venice. More precisely, he was raised by skateboarding in Venice. He was given his first skateboard at the age of 5 by his father, and as it was a very surf and skate culture at the beach, he started skating a lot. A LOT. And making friends with the very legends who founded the sport, becoming a full fledged member of the Dogtown family by the age of 12. Britton still says that the highlight of his entire career was "turning pro for the legendary Skip Engblom," of Santa Monica Airlines (in 1991), and for whom Britton's respect is palpable.

Turning pro at a young age meant having a lot of freedom, a bunch of money, traveling a lot, not having much responsibility, and living a full-on punk rock lifestyle. For many around the country, it was a time of skating still being seen as unacceptable and rebellious, but at SAMO High, where Britton attended school, they were the cool dudes, skating in from the beach.

It was good times. Britton hanging out with all the legends (like Natas, my favorite, and who gave Britton a skateboard when he'd hang around on Santa Monica's Fraser Avenue with Kaupas), learning all the tricks, and being featured on the cover of Thrasher in 1992. It was all great, until Britton gave up skating for six years, neither the scene or Britton being that into it anymore. He did well at modeling - and partying - during those years, but when Juice Magazine moved to Venice in 2000, it brought both the scene and Britton back to skating. And skating HARD.

"It made me feel good. It brought my drive back to do something for myself, it brought the vigor for the sport back," reflected Britton on the scene at the time. Fellow pro skater, Bennet Harada had been teaching skate lessons to local kids. One day, Harada asked Britton if he could pass a lesson off to him, and Britton accepted. He found that he immediately connected with the kids, and that teaching came completely naturally to him. So much so, that now it has become a real business, with more students signing on all the time.

A big part of Britton's success (all word of mouth!) with teaching kids (or the young at heart, the midlife crisis, the bucket list, whatever) comes from his ability to be childlike himself. From his willingness to get in there with them, to have fun with it, to make them comfortable through holding them and letting them register how a move feels as he does it with them, and by really being ultimately more than a teacher to these students, but a mentor and a friend. At the skatepark, and in out in the world. Another reason that Britton is so good with kids might be that he is father to perhaps this town's most darling kid, Taj. Who is six, and has been skating most of his life ... just like Dad.

Testimonials from kids and parents alike all sing Britton's praises. "He has such patience!" "He has such a gift for this!" "I love Tuma!" "He's such an amazing teacher!" All true. When Britton hears those compliments, "My heart melts. It gives meaning to what I do." And you can feel the meaning behind it when he says that. I spoke to Louis Ryan (proprietor of Venice's Townhouse), whose eight year old daughter is a student of Britton's, to get his take on it. "Tuma is a natural teacher. It's not like a coach feeling, he made it fun. He gets in there and jogs next to her, and she did really well. You can see the respect he gets at the skatepark ... he's an amazing teacher. The style and grace that he teaches her exudes off her after her lessons ... and it's helped with her surfing too!"

Which is great, because that's the master plan for Roll Model Skateboarding. So many people want lessons that it's probably time to get a real warehouse facility, with means for other employees to help with the demand, skate camps, surf workshops, skate trips, contests ... all that good stuff. It's time.

It's time for Venice kids to get involved too! Britton told me that the majority of his students are from Malibu, the Palisades, and Santa Monica ... with only a few in Venice! (But awesomely, almost all Venice girls!) With our beautiful skatepark, and our legendary history as a skateboarding mecca, there needs to be future generations of rippers from Venice. Lessons with Britton are about as good a place to start as there is.

In speaking about Venice, Britton told me about how when he was growing up, it was the ghetto. It was unsafe. People either lived there or went there to get drugs, but with all that, there was still more community, more culture, more of a family feeling. "The poor artists are doing the most creative stuff. The monied people want to buy into that, and sanitize the area. That might be better for kids, but it's taken away that family feeling, and what bothers me is the families of color are being displaced." Yes, that bothers me too. Because we're better than that. And we know it.

"Skating has been my entire life. I kind of fell into teaching, but I didn't expect it to be so fulfilling and heartwarming," Britton told me genuinely. "You get back such a heartfelt response from the kids, you can see the gratitude in their faces when they get it." Those kids have sent him letters of thanks, and sent him new students so they can have skate buddies, and that's how it's all growing bigger every day.

"It helps kids keep on the right track. Skateboarding has done miraculous things in my life. I've had my struggles. Life isn't easy. It can be brutal. You're gonna fall down. You're gonna get hurt. But skating teaches you to persevere. To get back up. To push forward until you get it."

That can apply to everything in life, of course. What good lessons to learn as a little kid, while having a complete blast!  Like Britton tells the kids, "If you believe you can do something, you will. In skating, or in life." You. Will.

Roll Model Skateboarding can be reached at Tumanation13@gmail.com or by calling Tuma at #310.663.0365


*Photos courtesy of Eric Tuma Britton

Rebirth In Death Valley!

Sometimes you just have to get away from it all, and in California, about the most extreme place you can do that is in Death Valley National Park. I've been wanting to check that place out ever since I moved here, and when I read that there might be a wildflower "Super Bloom" this Spring, plans were finally made. Well, they weren't really made at all ... we just got in the car and went for the weekend.

The drive is pretty fast, about four hours from L.A. It gets increasingly hot as you go, and scrubbier and drier. We started to see some wildflowers along the sides of the road, and I started to get that excitement you get when you're almost at a place you've never seen before.

Death Valley is far more dramatic than I'd pictured, and a lot more mountainous. The Valley itself is in between mountain ranges that trap the heat in there, making it the hottest place on Earth at times (the high temperature ever recorded was 134, and they're very proud of that). It's gnarly. 

We arrived in the HUGE park in the early afternoon, and immediately set out to see as much as we could. There were surreal landscapes in every direction, but as we had only two days, we opted to look for flowers first, and the park's greatest hits second. 

There is a wildflower hotline that had said the day before that it was blankets of blooms like the person had never seen. The thing with Death Valley though is that it's so hot that everything changes every day. The superbloom of the day before had already shriveled up from the heat in one day. We saw exactly one hot pink cactus flower bush in the entire park.

With everything so spread out (like hours and miles between some landmarks), you have to use your time wisely. The information center lady told us what the coolest things were and where we were most likely to see flowers, and that's where we went. The rocks and mountains are multi-hued, as different minerals make up the landscape. You'll see red, green, pink, yellow in the stone, and one scenic drive is even called the Artist's Palette, as it resembles exactly that in the right sunlight.

It's harsh conditions in Death Valley. Very rough terrain and the ridiculous heat make it an excursion for at least the somewhat hardcore. I'd like to think that's me, but even I was reduced to tears at the end of the day, so bad was my head pounding from total heat exhaustion. 

The heat is seriously heavy metal, and not to be taken lightly at all. All the streets and sights are named for things related to Hell, and that's pretty apt. But an awfully beautiful hell.

Badwater Basin is the lowest point in the U.S. It is probably also the hottest. This is where I started to wilt. It's a giant salt basin, and you can feel your lips and skin chapping as you stand there. In the photo below, Paul was being honest, I was faking it.

When you turn around and look up, you can see "Sea Level" painted hundreds of feet above you. You're now under the sea, in a total Land Of The Lost environment. The fact that ANYTHING can live there is a serious miracle.

But things do. Little lizards, mountain goats, caterpillars, scorpions, snakes, spiders, hawks ... and those elusive flowers we were looking for.

A true highlight of the trip was running around in the sand dunes. They're real, rolling sand dunes, and someone told me some of Star Wars was shot there. 

I believe it, because Sand People are about the only people that it would make sense to be there. We watched sunset and moonrise there, and it was out of this world. Purple mountain's majesty in full effect.

We stopped in the village of Stovepipe Wells to get supplies and ask about lodging. As a slew of bikers (both spandex and Harley) came through for the weekend, there were absolutely no rooms at the inn. Anywhere. 

We ate an exhausted and marginal meal at the town bar, and geared up to drive another two hours back out of the park to find a bed to sleep (and recover) in. I thought I'd ask one more time before we left, and sure enough, someone was a no-show, and the nicest, cleanest, most welcomed bed was mine at the Furnace Creek Ranch, right there in the heart of the Valley. Praise Jah.

After being a dusty, sweaty mess for the entire day, the pool was about the happiest place on Earth. Floating on my back in water that was the same temperature as the air, looking up at the billions of low hanging stars and bright moon, it was like being suspended in the womb of the Universe. It was an out of body and deeply within my body sensation all at once. I was saying all weekend that the theme of the weekend was rebirth - I'd meant that mentally, but in this pool, it also felt physical. Spring is the rebirth of the planet too, but where most places it's rebirth from the dead of Winter. Here, it's life before the death of Summer, when the sun burns everything to a crisp. Trippy. Plus it's Easter time. Rebirth, Life, Death ... Timely.

We set the alarm to get up at 3:30 am to see the stars after the moon had set. The only place I've ever seen the stars better was at the top of Mauna Kea in Hawai'i. After a brief panic attack thinking our car would get stuck on this old mining road and I'd die in my pajamas and flip flops (dumb idea), I laid back on the hood of the car and watched the stars dance and shoot across the sky. It was magic ... until fatigue and the thought of another full day of heat in a few hours sent us back to our cool beds.

Back up and at 'em, we set out to look for flowers where they'd allegedly been spotted in the south end of the park. Another long and lovely drive brought us to a mountain pass that  had a field of yellow flowers reaching to the peaks, but we could almost see them slowly dying right in front of us. The rare bright spot of color and life is even more pretty than normal here, because the stark contrast against the brown and lifeless terrain. This was about the happiest yellow ever.

The whole place was founded on mining, which kind of wrecks it a bit for me, because it's an obvious sign of mankind messing with nature. People only ever came here for the mining, and then they needed more people to come once the mining dried up, so their inns and things could still be of use. 

They made it a National Park to get people to go to this outrageous place, and they've been coming ever since. You see people running - actually running - and wonder what the hell is wrong with them. It's insane.

A weird thing is that all the salt everywhere makes it look like snow and ice, so you're the hottest you've ever been, yet it looks like it could be tundra. Very bizarre.

We climbed another mountain to see another view, and this time, we made sure to be absolutely waterlogged to try and avoid the previous day's pounding, debilitating headache. I did much better.

This park is much less populated than other National Parks, so you can get the photos without other people in them. There's also a bit of a camaraderie among visitors, as you're all in the same boat, wearing the same spent smiles, and encouraging each other that they're almost at the pool at the top of the hike (lie).

Paul had a show at the Troubadour that night, so we had to hustle to see as much as we could, so we raced through our Sunday at Death Valley like greased lightning, but even with that deadline looming, Paul still had to get the shots (and still made it in time!).

There was a hike called Mosaic Canyon that was one of those really narrow slot canyons like in the movie where the dude had to saw his arm off to get free of a boulder. We didn't stay too long there. To be that hot AND stuck ... naw, thanks.

We didn't see quite the superbloom that I'd imagined, but we saw LIFE in Death Valley. We saw rebirth, and experienced a little bit of our own. It's always good to get away, and it's always good to unplug. I had no way of connecting with the outside world for two days (well, I could've, but chose not to) and it was great. To only think about what is right in front of you is one of the best trips you can take, and Death Valley will do that for you.

Existing under those conditions - even for just a weekend - makes you sincerely appreciate all the beachy breezes, abundant life everywhere you look, and the sheer convenience of everything in your life. That is one of the true joys of travel and exploration ... loving where you are when you return.

Thanks to Death Valley for reinforcing that lesson, and thanks to Venice for being that happy place to come home to.