from the mountain to the prairie to the ocean white with fog

If this is Friday, I must be in California. I think.

My trip to my home in Nevada was two-fold. First, I needed to get my new driver’s license and register to vote. Both were completed by the end of the day on Tuesday. My license and voter registration card will be mailed to my Nevada address within ten days.

But the second reason is far more important. I have not spent much time with my friends Roy and Nancy recently. True, I went to China with Roy in February. But Nancy has not been part of our adventures.

We resolved that on this trip. And, with the exception of a dinner and late lunch, we relied entirely on each other’s company to keep us amused. And a battle of wits we had.

One night at their house in Reno and one night at their condominium above Lake Tahoe. One night stands with friends seems to be my style these days.

Thursday morning Roy and I headed off in his road car on a trip to Los Angeles.

Starting at about 7000 feet above sea level and unseasonably warm weather. Lake Tahoe usually does not have summer temperatures above the 70s.  When we left at 9 AM, it was over 80.

But the scenery driving out of the mountains could have provided a geology class with material for a full year.  The glacier-grazed granite was everywhere.

Then came the long drive through the San Joaquin Valley.  I was stationed at Castle Air Force Base near Merced in the early 1970s.  For an Oregon boy, it was a big change in scenery.

But I quickly came to appreciate the prairie beauty of the wide valley.  Unfortunately, I seem to have lost that appreciation with time.  Or the valley has changed.

The valley struck me as being particularly brown.  And that brown was punctuated with political signs planted near dead orchards and bare fields.  The message was that Congress's policy on water was creating another dust bowl.

I suspect the message was exaggerated -- as almost all political positions are.  And water policy is always complicated.  But the message was clear.  Some farmers are particularly angry at Democrat congressmen.

Our original goal was to visit some of the better wineries around Paso Robles.  But we were running a little late and the temperatures were running a little high.  111 to be exact.

So, we decided to head over to our mid-trip destination -- Morro Bay on the Pacific coast.

We were only half way through the mountains when we noticed the temperatures dropping. Around 60 when we reached the beach. And, not surprisingly, we were greeted by a heavy fog bank.

I visited Morro Bay about 40 years ago. It is a far nicer place than I remember. A little bit of New England pasted on the California coast.

So, here we are for the night after a great dinner. 7000 feet lower in elevation, and a temperature difference of over 50 degrees between the valley and the beach.

Who says that California is not filled with extremes?