Category Archives: Travel

Thoughts and comments on the trips I’ve taken or plan to take.

Flagstaff – Jan, 2014

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This travel blog provides highlights and commentary for the trip I took to Flagstaff, Arizona (USA) in January, 2014.

REASON FOR GOING
Regular readers will know that when my son and I went to the Museum of Tolerance recently, one of my daughters broke her foot the same day. I planned to surprise her with a visit.

THE CAR RENTAL
I didn’t want to put the wear and tear on my own vehicle, so I rented. I rented the cheapest, most fuel-efficient vehicle the Ontario Airport Avis had. With the various discounts and incentive programs working together, I paid less for three days worth of car rental than you might pay for a single day. But that’s not the story here.

Again, another Seinfeld reference: remember when Jerry reserved a rental car but the agency representative told him they were out of cars? That happened to me. They confirmed my reservation for a cheap-as-crap car but they did not have any available. Unlike Jerry’s encounter, the Avis rep said he was going to upgrade me immediately without any additional charges. So far, I was pretty excited. Then he said he would put me in a Ford C-Max. Uh-oh.

Almost all of my cars have been either Toyotas or Fords. I even owned a Pinto. Regardless, I had never heard of a C-Max. To me, Ford passenger cars, SUVs and cross-overs have names. You know, like Escape, Explorer, Fiesta, Focus, Mustang, etc. Even their small trucks had a name: Ranger. I only know Ford’s full-size trucks by number: F-150, F-250, etc. I fully expected to be renting a van at this point because other than “Econoline”, I don’t know how Ford designates vans.

With paperwork in-hand, I moved out to the parking lot where I was directed to space G-3. As I started walking towards the vans and SUVs, I found my car. It was similar in size to my old Saturn Vue, so I immediately became disappointed. My anticipated 40MPG fuel rate was now dropping into the 25-30MPG range. They didn’t get me on the rental charges, but I was going to pay for it in additional fuel.

FORD C-MAX
I was wrong. The C-Max is a hybrid. A very quiet and fuel efficient hybrid. After I got tired of looking for the key I realized it was a push-button start. I pushed the button and nothing happened. The engine didn’t turn over, the car didn’t shudder, nothing. I pushed it again. Nothing. I pushed it again. This time, however, I paid attention to the dash board which had a message that the car was ready to drive. Huh. Technology. I put the car in reverse and a large rear-drive assist camera shot took over where the radio controls had been displayed.

The rear-drive assist was totally cool. It showed your current wheel path and your destination based on that angle. Move the wheels and the angle changes. I really, really liked it but it violates my first rule of driving: if you can’t park it, you can’t drive it. We have so many huge SUV-driving people out in my small berg that can’t park their freaking monster trucks it causes me no end of anger and frustration. I can see some dickweed being an ass and taking up two parking places with their Mercedes because they don’t want it to get door dinged. They’re just asses and I can forgive them for that. But to take up two spaces because you couldn’t judge the distance between the left and right of your vehicle and you’re over the line by eight inches on the passenger side because you have no depth perception? WTF? The vehicle is only slightly larger left-to-right outside than it is inside. FIGURE IT OUT! Oh, and don’t get me started with the people that make the 32-point turn to get out of a parking place because they can’t judge how long their boat is. I saw one woman in a parking lot get so frustrated with trying to get out in her Princess Cruise Liner she chose to drive over the concrete tire stops rather than keep trying to back out. Oh my gosh it pisses me off. Anyway, I’m way off-topic.

I can’t say enough good things about the C-Max. I only drove it for three days and I didn’t read the owner’s manual, but I really liked it. With all the driving I did I only filled up twice, which would be the equivalent of one full tank of gas. I guess the Avis guy didn’t have it out for me in fuel charges after all.

ON TO FLAGSTAFF
I picked up a Little Caesar’s pizza for my son and I to eat on the road. I met him at 2:30pm and we were on the 15 freeway north-bound by 2:35pm. We had no traffic issues whatsoever on a get-away Friday on the road to Barstow. Barstow, of course, is where the 15 north goes to Las Vegas (and points beyond) and the 40 begins (or ends). With the cruise control set, the ride was a breeze. We anticipated making Flagstaff between 9:30pm and 9:45pm (the time zone changed at the Colorado River; it’s only a six hour drive).

My daughter, who had no idea her brother and I were on the way, sent a text message around 8:30pm informing me she was headed out to see a movie but would be back before 11:00pm if I wanted to text-message her later. This actually worked out well because we were able to check into our hotel in Flagstaff and I knocked out some computer work before she returned to her dorm. She sent a message at about 10:50pm stating she was home.

CONTACT
My son and I left the hotel and headed to the campus. I had not been to her current apartment so we knew it would take a minute or two to find. I sent her a text and told her I had ordered a pizza for her and the driver would arrive at 11:15pm. That text was meant to confirm she was in her apartment and that either she or her roommate needed to be awake and dressed, not in bed wearing pajamas. After an initial complaint about having to get dressed again, she said she would wait for the pizza guy and call me when he arrived. We found the correct apartment and my son, holding the now empty Little Caesar’s box, knocked on the door.

My daughter had a very strange reaction. She looked at her brother, looked at the pizza box, looked at her brother and looked at the pizza box again. Not being able to hold back any longer, my son finally started laughing and she finally realized who he was. She later told me that when she opened the door her first thought was that the “pizza kid” looked a lot like her brother but she was very disappointed that I had ordered Little Caesar’s and not Dominoes. She was looking forward to Dominoes. Although she was very pleased my messages turned out to be a ruse from the get-go, she was genuinely disappointed that even the Little Caesar’s box was empty; no pizza at all!

DINING AND ENTERTAINMENT
On Saturday we went to the Riordan Mansion, which was pretty neat. It’s either on the Northern Arizona University campus or carved out of one edge of it. If you’re into that type of architectural style, you’ll enjoy the visit. The architect was also the same guy who designed one of the lodges at the Grand Canyon. I couldn’t tell you his name or which building but the people with whom we took the guided tour (recommended) gushed about it being so similar.

Saturday night we went to Salsa Brava for dinner. I had Portobello mushroom and spinach enchiladas. Oh my gosh they were fantastic.

Sunday would not be complete if my son couldn’t get his Cracker Barrel fix. Well fed and fueled, we left for home.

OATMAN
I briefly discussed Oatman, Arizona before (linked here). This time, however, instead of taking Route 66 southwest from Kingman, we took it northeast from the 40 (Exit 1 in Arizona). Oatman is the most enjoyable tourist town I’ve visited. The people are very friendly and the shop owners don’t seem to treat you like a “mark” but as a person. They want to know where you came from and where you’re headed. We ate lunch at the Olive Oatman Restaurant and Saloon and, of course, fed the burros that wander through downtown.

Leaving Oatman we took the Boundary Cone Road into the Fort Mojave Indian Reservation and then the 95 south into Needles.

HOMEWARD BOUND
I topped-off my gas tank at the last ARCO on the 95 in Arizona and paid $3.019 per gallon of 87 octane. We crossed the Colorado River into Needles and found the closest ARCO on the California side. Same gas, same octane, 1/4 mile distance and one state line later, $3.539 per gallon. I freaking hate California’s fuel taxes. I don’t know about where you live, but a recent check of California’s taxes (here) show we’re still one of the highest in the nation.

So other than the fact I left my house keys in the rental car after we returned it to Avis, we had no issues.

If you enjoy reading these musings, please let me know. Whether you do or don’t won’t keep me from posting but it will let me know if anyone other than me finds them entertaining at worst, informative at best.

Utah Trip – The Hotel

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This is number four in the series documenting my recent trip to Utah. Today we discuss the hotel. The hotel near the Salt Lake City International Airport that I couldn’t find to save my life because of all the construction. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Grand Prix race. Long Beach, California has been known to host a Grand Prix every now and then. They put up barricades to officially protect the spectators from the vehicles. Some would say the barricades redirect traffic flow and allow drivers the ability to drive super fast, using the entire roadway (both directions) for their dangerous dance of speed and precision driving. Truth be known, nothing happens at the Long Beach Grand Prix in a high-performance race car that doesn’t happen most weekends with either a ’67 Monte Carlo, a ’73 Lincoln or a herd of ’04 Subarus and Mazdas. Okay, I doubt the Grand Prix drivers are gang members or a tagger crew on their way to the next target, but you get the idea.

Except for the fact it was pouring rain, night-time and I’d never driven on that road before, I felt like I was in the Grand Prix. Barricades on my right, barricades on my left, orange cones here, flashing lights there; it was almost awesome. Had I not been going 25 MPH or less looking for non-existent street signs, I would have had fun. I was like a pace car. The locals behind me, the “pros”, clearly didn’t appreciate my detail for respecting the posted construction speed limit signs. Okay, that’s a lie. I didn’t care about the speed limit. I just wanted to find the freaking hotel.

My daughter was able to get me into the general area, kind of like an FAA radar. I then had to switch to “the tower” which, in this case, was the front desk of the hotel. Even the woman who worked there couldn’t easily direct me. We had to go through a series of landmarks based on flashing lights; turn right at the flashing red signals, straight through the next set of flashing reds and then left at the flashing yellow barricades. No street names, no business names, just flashing lights. When I got to the front desk the woman who helped me said the construction was causing all types of problems with getting guests from the airport to the hotel.

You may remember that I love Travelocity, particularly the Secret Saver deals (or whatever they’re called). I used the site to book my room for two nights in Salt Lake City. I won’t say the name of the hotel but it was, by Travelocity ratings, a 3 to 4 star venue. It had a heated, indoor pool and hot tub that bordered on the Japanese restaurant within the hotel. They had complimentary coffee and pastries available 24 hours a day and the staff was very courteous.

I went up to the room and just about wet myself. The door opened into a living room with a large flat screen TV, a sofa, a recliner and a complete kitchen which included very nice quality plastic plates but actual glassware for drinks. Down the hallway was the restroom and then the bedroom. The bedroom had a very large bed, an even bigger flat screen than the front room and a step-down (step-up, in this case) tub. I was very, very happy.

I had a great time in SLC mostly because I was able to see my daughter, not because I enjoyed the hotel. Your results, of course, will vary.

Utah Trip – The Road To SLC

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This is the third blog of the series on my recent trip to Salt Lake City, Utah from Ontario, California. Here I’ll deal with weather and the clearly distinct differences between California and Utah as they relate specifically to road travel (excluding speed limits, which I already discussed).

Southern California has a lot issues related to highway and interstate roadways. By way of example, let me point to the section of Interstate 15 north of Barstow to the agricultural inspection station in Yermo. That stretch of highway crosses over a number of dry washes, creeks, wadis, arroyos, whatever you want to call them. The whole area is considered a construction zone (with traffic fines doubled throughout) as the orange signs indicate. But as you approach one of the insignificant “bridges” over a dry creek bed you’ll see a sign that says, “Bump”. Stand by. Depending on what you’re driving, that “bump” could cost you some ground-effect bolt-on molding, it could launch you off the pavement or you might not feel anything at all.

For whatever reason, the spirits that possessed the highway workers deemed the asphalt over the concrete bridge should be removed. Okay, I’ll go with that. Well, I would have gone with that about a year ago but nothing seems to have changed. Heck, the signs have been there so long they’re blanching more white than orange. So I guess I’m not as enthusiastic about the repairs now then I might have been a year ago. Regardless, I’m certain that the highway repair people work hand-in-hand with the civil engineers that know all about road repair. Or maybe not.

I am not an engineer. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, acceptable or not, when it comes to road gradients, construction materials, surfacing or anything technically specific with respect to roadways. What I have picked up on, though, is a small amount of common sense.

When you’ve taken a couple of inches of asphalt roadway off to return it to the concrete base, adding a short asphalt ramp (or apron or “lip”) from the elevated road to the concrete and back again can’t be done at random. I’m certain someone with a slide rule and basic trigonometry knowledge can tell you that at 55 MPH you need an apron of “X” inches to go from the concrete to the asphalt with minimum vehicular damage. Sometimes you have a 12″ apron and you don’t feel a thing but a slight undulation. The next bump might only have 6″ of apron which gives you a fairly strong jolt and then the sensation that all of your car’s weight has been suspended for a split second before you nearly bottom-out. And then you have my favorite, the 3″ apron after-thought.

I swear the roadway workers use the exact same amount of asphalt for each apron they make. The difference is how it’s distributed. When you’re dealing with one of the after-thought aprons, they have to figure out how to get a predetermined volume of asphalt into a space 3″ wide. Since they don’t seem to want to make the apron wider, it goes taller. It’s like a freaking speed bump. It’s not uncommon to see bits of air dams, rigid mud flaps or large pieces of low-hanging bumpers or plastic ground effects along the side of the road at one of these killer sites. For me, at least, the whole apron concept seems rather random and hit-or-miss. Especially since no one really drives 55 MPH like the sign says. Except me.

Afraid of a double-the-fine speeding ticket and the cost of a front-end alignment, I’ll drive the posted speed limit when I can and when it’s safe. Sometimes I’ll even punch it up to 4 miles an hour faster than the posted limit. I am a speed demon.

Once you clear the Minneola off-ramp, it’s pretty much clear sailing into the downtown Las Vegas construction area. Even there the roadway itself isn’t bad at all, just the volume of traffic. When you leave Mesquite, Nevada and get into the Virgin River section of Arizona the roadway definitely needs to be resurfaced but it’s still fine. And then you get to St. George, Utah.

I encountered one “Bump” sign as I left St. George. Expecting the worst, I was on the alert. I passed over what amounted to nothing more than a tar bubble and did not see any more warning signs regarding a bump. Awesome. Utah had a totally different standard when it came to highway maintenance and I was thrilled to death. I didn’t encounter any pot holes, tire-eaters or launch ramps as I got closer to Provo. And then it started raining.

I had been driving for a number of hours by the time I got to Provo. I was tired and road-weary. It was getting dark, the rain was picking up, the city was the largest I’d encountered since St. George and more local drivers were entering the roadway.

Not familiar with the area at all, I reduced my speed from the posted 75 MPH and fell in line behind a line of cars headed in my direction. All I had to do was start looking for the off-ramp I needed to get me to my hotel in Salt Lake City. The rain got heavier.

The first thing I noticed after all the cars I was following left the freeway was the highway itself. In California, we have hard composite “dots” fixed onto the road. We jokingly refer to people who run over the dots (because they’re not paying attention while they’re texting) as “driving by Braille.” Even in the rain you can see the dots. At specific intervals, the dots are supplemented by a rectangular reflector that helps identify your lane. In areas that experience snowfall and use snowplows to clear the roadway, dots are not used because they’d be scraped off by the snowplow blade. The rectangular reflectors are still used, however, in a rather unique way: the roadway is contoured and the reflectors are recessed. When driving, you can still see the reflectors. When operating a snowplow, the reflectors are below the road surface and are safe from the blade. But this was Utah. And it was raining hard.

Without the aid of dots or reflectors, totally unfamiliar with the area, in the dark and in the rain, my next-best hope was to follow the white lane stripes on the road. Uh, no. Perhaps because it’s California and our line painters are all union or something, you can pretty easily see the reflective paint they’ve sprayed on layer upon layer of white stripes. The layers of paint on the stripes give the road a contour of their own. But I guess when a snowplow might scrape the surface clean you can’t rely on the “feel” of the road. No dot, no reflectors, no stripes, no one to follow. I was down to easily 55 MPH, thinking that I was experiencing the “driving lanes are just a suggestion” attitude of Afghan drivers. I was pissing off the locals like a boss.

I would know when a local was coming. Easily going the posted 75 MPH or better, they’d swerve out from behind me and be gone in an instant. Had I not been looking for my exit, I would have followed them. I know I was creating a traffic hazard. All I needed to do was find the exit for the highway I needed and I would be safe. All I needed was the correct highway. And then I realized the second major difference between California and Utah: state highway signs.

In California, a lot of our larger, high-volume highways have green and white signs. The background is green and the white logo and highway number are done with reflective paint and white reflectors. They’re fairly easy to see. Even many of the older highways have signs with white backgrounds and black numbering that are pretty easy to see. The highway logo looks like a fat triangle and the numbers use a non-serif font. But this was Utah.

The logo for a state highway in Utah is a beehive. California’s a triangle, Utah’s a beehive: I’m okay with that. Except when it’s raining and dark, I don’t know how far it is to the correct exit and I’m creating a traffic hazard. Then the beehive looks like a pile of dog crap. Inside that pile of dog crap I’m supposed to make out the numbers for the highway I need. Great. It’s raining and the idea of using any type of reflective materials in the construction of the road sign completely escaped the drawing board phase of their highway safety commission. You can’t see the freaking numbers in the middle of the dog crap until you’re already under the sign, which means you missed the exit by about 50 feet.

Having caught a glimpse of the correct exit I needed, I knew it was only a couple of miles down the road. I could not take my eyes off the road to glance at the odometer on the rental car I had as it would have taken me precious moments just to remember where the odometer was in the first place. Since I couldn’t do the odometer/trip meter countdown to the exit I chose to base my freeway departure on time. The time would be a guestimate, however, since I didn’t want to run the risk of looking at the digital clock. So I started counting. Two miles, two minutes, no problem.

Basically, in order for you to go two miles in two minutes you have to maintain a constant speed of 60 MPH. If you go less than 60 MPH, you won’t go two miles. You’ll get off at the exit BEFORE the exit you need and wind up all by yourself on a transition road about 50 feet above the highway wondering where in the heck you are. But that’s simple enough, you just take the next off-ramp and get your bearings. Unless that off-ramp is 900th Street.

I will abbreviate this long story by telling you that only because of my daughter and her iPhone was I able to finally make it to my room. Well, my daughter and the night clerk at the hotel. Nothing my daughter did could have prepared me for the heavy construction detours around the hotel. Even the hotel clerk had to guide me in not by streets and cardinal directions but by landmarks and flashing barricade lights. Seriously. “When you get to the Radisson, turn right at the yellow flashing lights and then go straight through the flashing red lights.”

So, when I’m in charge, the people responsible for maintaining the condition of Utah’s roads will be supplemented by the people responsible for creating the signage for California’s roads. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t want the California Department of Transportation (CalTrans) responsible for actually posting the highway signs. If they can’t get Route 66 right, who knows what they’d do.

If you plan on driving anywhere between Salt Lake City and south of Provo, just be aware that the whole Interstate 15 area is a huge construction site. I didn’t see it on the way to Salt Lake City because I was locked in behind a row a cars in the dark and the rain. You’d never know it, though, because it was smooth sailing all the way. Those guys know how to build a road. Except for the dots. And the reflectors. And the white stripes. Other than that, it was awesome.

Utah Trip – Speed Limits

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This is the second post in my series involving my trip from Ontario, California to Ogden, Utah.

In my very best Jerry Seinfeld-ish voice I have to ask, “What’s the deal with speed limits?” By my own admission, I’m happy to keep my speedometer at or not more than four miles above the posted speed limit when it’s safe to do so. I hate speeding. Why? I can’t afford the ticket. I’m not afraid of going fast, I just can’t afford it. When I was in the Army at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, Adam Silverman would drive his turbo-charged Merkur XR4Ti to Tucson at better than 100 MPH so we could have more time to screw around and make fun of the Air Force guys from Davis-Monthan. My personal best, longest duration land speed record was 120 MPH on my Honda Interceptor because I was pissed off about something (a very, very stupid reason to drive fast). Anyway, it’s not the speed or the death I’m afraid of, it’s the cost. So I don’t speed.

Touring around my local freeways and interstates you’ll see signs allowing you to drive up to 65 MPH. The signs don’t really mean anything, though, because you’re usually locked in behind an idiot in a beat-up Nissan Sentra doing 50 MPH while the guy in the BMW next to you chats on his cell phone, oblivious to anything other than he’s going with the flow of traffic. Semi-trucks and vehicles pulling trailers in California are limited by law to 55 MPH. So, you’ve got the very slow traffic on the right side of the road and, when it’s open, traffic moving at better than 80 MPH in the left lane. I don’t know how many accidents are caused by cell phone texting shit heads trying to decelerate from 80 MPH in the fast lane to less than 50 MPH, crossing four lanes of traffic in a single motion, all so they can exit at the next turn-off. This is a case for my concept of summary executions for idiot drivers by Predator drones but it’s not the focus of this post.

North of Victorville, California, the speed limits become very generous at 70 MPH on Interstate 15. Semi-trucks and vehicles pulling trailers are still limited to 55 MPH. So, since it’s a two-lane freeway, watching the traffic in front of you is like watching a giant Slinky. You go into the left lane, punch it to 80 MPH to pass the guy in the Smart Car and then back it off to 75 MPH and return to the right lane. Oh, crap. A semi-truck. Back into the left lane for a quick pass and then return to the right lane. But it’s not just you. Everyone’s doing the same thing. Slinky, leap frog, whatever you want to call it, it’s fun to watch. Why? Because inevitably, one idiot will find another.

As you roll down the highway at a comfortable 75 MPH you see a semi-truck in the distance you know you’re going to have to pass. A quick look out your driver’s side mirror tells you someone is coming up in the fast lane rather quickly so you’ll need to wait a second before you think about passing the semi. You give the speed demon a couple of seconds and realize he wasn’t driving as fast as you thought. Worse, it’s a Cadillac. There’s no effing way you’re going to let a ghetto-sled Cadillac pass your finely-tuned piece of German engineering, so you accelerate to get in front of the Caddy and pass the semi.

But the Caddy’s on to you. All he has to do is push it just a little bit more (since he already has the speed and position advantage) and he’s effectively used the semi to block your forward movement while he cuts off your lateral movement. The classic “hammer and anvil” tactic. Used for centuries by fighting forces around the world, its brutal effectiveness most recently broadcast to the world by General Norman Schwarzkopf’s ground forces during Desert Storm. Awesome.

Anyway, you’re trapped. Worse, the Caddy brought a whole herd of people with him. All of them are now streaming around you and won’t let you in. You’re blocked and locked behind the semi until the procession of cars has passed. Then you join them as “Tail End Charlie.” But you want revenge. You and everyone in front of you to whom the Caddy did exactly the same maneuver. Everyone’s gunning to pass the Caddy. The first guy makes it. Success! Too bad he can’t tell you the guy driving the Cadillac is really a seventy year-old man who honestly had no concept that his driving had pissed off two miles of cars behind him. But that doesn’t matter because all of a sudden a highway patrol vehicle appears at the top of the next on-ramp. Now you’ll never have the chance to pass that bastard, reestablish your superiority and confirm once and for all that YOUR car is better than HIS car. Rat Freaking Bastard. But I digress.

North of the Nevada Interstate construction zone known as Las Vegas, the speed limit goes to 75 MPH. The speed limit didn’t matter, though, as I didn’t see a single highway patrol vehicle between Primm and Mesquite. Then I was in Arizona.

Arizona maintained the 75 MPH speed limit until you arrived at the Virgin River. The speed limit dropped to 60 MPH while you wound around the canyon. You’re only in Arizona for about 35 miles before you enter St. George, Utah.

Utah, I laugh in your general direction. The I-15 in California and Arizona had some of the worst pot holes, road damage and general disrepair I’ve ever seen. Shortly after leaving St. George I saw a warning sign for “Road Damage Ahead”. I was expecting an RV-swallowing pot hole with the remains of the countless tires it had destroyed strewn around it. What did I see? Nothing I would count as road damage, unless you meant that little bump where the asphalt met the concrete of an overpass. Was that it? I didn’t know. I moved on.

The speed limit continued to be 75 MPH. It was only then that I noticed semi-trucks and vehicles pulling trailers were no longer limited to 55 MPH. I don’t know when that requirement ended but it sure as heck didn’t exist in Utah. I had my cruise control set to 79 MPH and I was passed by people pulling trailers that were fishtailing down the freeway. The funniest was being passed by a guy pulling a U-Haul trailer that had a stencil you could clearly read that said, “Trailer Speed Limit 55 MPH”.

At this point I’m hours into my driving experience when I see the lights of a law enforcement vehicle ahead pulling someone over. In California, the knee-jerk reaction is to slow down. In Utah, I think the rule of thumb is that since the highway patrol has “bagged” one, everyone can speed up. I had reduced my speed to 75 MPH and pulled over into the left lane to give the patrolman room on the right (which is the law, as reminded by the billboards every five miles or so). I must have been the only idiot on the road. With the highway patrolman right-stinking-there, people were pulling into the slow lane and accelerating to pass me. Very odd. And then I saw the highway patrol car.

Back in the eighties (I don’t know about now), the California Highway Patrol used to operate Cameros on some freeways. It reminded me of the first Mad Max movie where the Aussies had Pursuit and Interceptor cars. Utah’s keeping the dream alive. A very, very nice Mustang GT with a really cool sky blue paint job with a yellow racing stripe had pulled someone over. Later, similarly painted Dodge Challengers and more Mustang GTs enforced the speed limit law along the interstate. Kind of.

Some areas of Utah had a sign that said something to the effect of, “Speed limit test area.” The speed limit increased from 75 MPH to 80 MPH, but I think that was just a recommendation. I put my cruise control on 84 MPH and was left in the dust by anything with two wheels or more. And I don’t mean they crept up behind me and took a minute to pass. This was full-on autobahn driving at its best. Eventually, a 75 MPH sign would reappear along with the highway patrol.

Between the start of the 80 MPH signs and the next 75 MPH sign you couldn’t find a highway patrolman to save your life. But within a mile or two of the “reduced” speed back to 75 MPH? Watch your ass. So, finally, I return to my initial question, “What’s the deal with speed limits?”

Why can I go 90 MPH or better in an 80 MPH zone but get popped for going 80 MPH in a 75 MPH zone? Does Utah have a “text-type” code? Perhaps I read the sign incorrectly. Work with me on this. You know how a colon and a right parenthetical mark make a smiley face like this 🙂 and a colon and an upper-case “p” make a person sticking their tongue out at you like this 😛 ? Maybe instead of reading as an eight and a zero, I wonder if they’re actually symbols that represent speed. You know, the eight really represents your eye sockets and the zero represents your open mouth unable to close because of the wind speed. Look at it again: 80 . Do you see it? If someone died because they were going to fast, would the sign look like this 8P ? If they were driving angry, would it look like this >80 ? A uni-brow speed-driver’s sign would look like this |80 ?

I don’t know. I don’t speak leet key and I really don’t think the Utah Highway Patrol promotes leet key or text symbol traffic signs. But it’s Utah. What do I know?

Utah Trip – The Primm Experience

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As previously announced on this blog, I do not watch television nor do I listen to the radio. I stream NetFlix almost exclusively (no commercials) and stream old time radio programs via the Internet if I want to listen to the radio. This post will cover the first and the last legs of my recent trip from Ontario, California to Ogden, Utah.

I left the Ontario International Airport area on the morning of Wednesday, March 28th. A few hours later I was passing the California / Nevada state line in Primm, Nevada. I saw a rather puzzling sight on the east side of the freeway.

As I headed out of the dry lake bed and into Primm, I noticed there were a lot of people–hundreds of people–standing at the south side of the fashion outlet mall. I got closer and realized that there was an order to the madness: The people were standing in a line. My first thought was that some studio had put out a casting call and this is where they were conducting auditions.

If you are not familiar with the location, Primm, Nevada (aka State Line) is the first town you encounter after you leave Baker, California (home of the world’s tallest thermometer) northbound on Interstate 15. It has three casinos, one of which (Buffalo Bill’s) has a high-thrill roller coaster that winds its way through the casino itself. Anyway, the southeast side of Primm has a casino with a huge factory outlet mall.

The mall’s parking lot includes a couple of gas stations, a McDonald’s, a Taco Bell, a Greek Restaurant and a liquor store. The liquor store is the farthest southern point of the whole paved area. Anyway, this place had a line of people coming out the door, circling the building, snaking through the parking lot and continuing inside the doors of the mall. Again, hundreds and hundreds of people were in line. Why? I had no idea, nor did I care. I don’t gamble.

That was Wednesday. I returned from Ogden, Utah on Friday, March 30th and I made the critically bad decision to stop for gas at Primm and maybe grab a bite to eat. Not thinking, I opted for the Texaco station on the southeast side of the freeway by the McDonald’s and the fashion mall. I chose poorly.

Once locked into the parking lot traffic I could not escape. I knew I had made an error in judgment and wanted nothing more than to escape from the traffic nightmare in which I found myself and head to the Chevron on the west side of the interstate. But I couldn’t. I finally made it to Texaco and filled up. I noticed the little liquor store had even more traffic on Friday than it had on Wednesday. The lines were HUGE! Why? Once again, I had no idea nor did I care. I figured what I was seeing was a flood of people returning from their Southern California spring break and for whatever reason, that liquor store was important as the first one in Nevada.

Anyway, when I finally left Primm headed south-bound on the 15 again, I noticed the traffic: bumper-to-bumper. I didn’t see any accidents, highway patrol, chupacabras or armadillos, just traffic. Lots and lots of bumper-to-bumper traffic, all headed north, all exiting at Primm. I passed Zzyzx Road doing the speed limit. The north side was still bumper-to-bumper. In fact, it remained bumper-to-bumper all the way from BEFORE Baker! That’s over 50 miles! Clearly, something was happening.

It was then I decided to remove the boxed set of Sam Spade, Private Detective CDs I’d been listening to since Ogden and tune into the radio. Huh. Apparently, there was some huge half-a-billion dollar plus lottery happening of which I was unaware. The drawing didn’t matter to me at all. As I indicated earlier, I don’t gamble. But I did some research into what the fuss was over that seemingly insignificant liquor store.

I was surprised to learn that the liquor store isn’t really in the mall’s parking lot, it’s across the street. In fact, the liquor store isn’t really in Primm, nor is it in Nevada at all. It’s in a little slice of heaven all by itself with a street address in Nipton, California. Its parking lot is literally on the border between California and Nevada; the street is the physical state border. The “liquor store” is actually a well-known Mega-Millions Lottery retailer in California. The place: Terrible’s Lotto Sales. I hear it’s more like a 7-11 than a liquor store with the focus on California Lottery sales of quick-picks and scratchers. I also understand it’s *THE* place to go if you live in sourthern Nevada and want to play the California lottery.

I read an article from another blogger who said she stood in line for three hours to get her Mega-Millions tickets and that was through the automated machines! The person-to-person quick picks took even longer. Who would do that? Gamblers, apparently. I know next to nothing about the lottery system but it seems to me that if the jackpot is only one million dollars, fewer people play so your odds of winning go up. The higher the jackpot the more players so your odds go down. I think I’d rather play when the lottery is not as loaded as the most-recent game. I know for certain I wouldn’t waste my time driving to Primm if it was only to buy a ticket. I’d take my chances at the local Qwik-E-Mart.

California Sucks – Reason 2

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On a recent return trip from Flagstaff, Arizona, my kids and I agreed it would be fun to travel Route 66 as much as we could. We entered “The Mother Road” just west of Flagstaff and stayed with it. Before I continue let me state that if you don’t have either a ham radio or a C.B. radio, get one before you head out on this road. There were vast areas where my Verizon and my daughter’s AT&T cell phone services did not exist.

I enjoyed the old Berma-Shave ads they still have on the side of the road. I also enjoyed the cattle-guards, the tumbleweeds and the feeling you get when a semi-truck passes you in the other direction and your car swerves from the forces of the wind. Seriously, that was fun.

We passed towns (like Seligman, AZ) that are still close enough to Interstate 40 that if you chose to, you could ditch the highway and go back to the freeway. As I think many people know, the creator of Disney’s “Cars” received his inspiration for the movies after speaking with a barber from Seligman who talked about the “old” days, when Route 66 was the only game in town. So, with that in mind, we continued down the road.

We came across Peach Springs (speed limit 25 MPH) which could have been Radiator Springs? Who knows. We saw huge rock formations very similar to the hoods of the cars seen in the movie. Then again, we were probably seeing what we wanted to see. Except for the two or three towns where the speed limit went from 55 to 25, the countryside was beautiful and uneventful all the way to Kingman.

Once you leave Kingman, stand by. They don’t have any signs posted, but if you’re in a large motor home or pulling a trailer, or if you’re either afraid of heights or mountain driving, DO NOT TAKE Route 66 between Kingman and the California state border.

As we wound our way along the narrow road through the mountain pass, the view was spectacular. Well, you had to look over all the crosses placed on the side of the road where people had gone over the edge and apparently died, but still, the view was fantastic. If you’ve ever driven to or from Big Bear Lake, CA the back way from Victorville, it’s very similar to that except it’s steeper with sharper turns, more narrow, and they don’t have railings on the side of the road.

Not too long after we passed the Gold Road mine, we turned the corner to Oatman, AZ. If you have ever been to Calico, CA, imagine Calico with about 200 residents. I have links here and here if you want to check it out. We stopped the car, stayed for the gunfight, fed some burros and made a friend or two. I would go back in a heartbeat.

So, why does California suck (reason number two)? Route 66. In Arizona, there is no limit to the number of signs pointing you to Route 66 and in which direction you must travel to get there. To cross into CA from AZ you must re-link with I-40, but as soon as you’re across the river they have a sign for Route 66. Don’t fall for the lie. You will take the exit but it leads nowhere. That’s not true. It leads to some touristy boat dock area that doesn’t have a single through street anywhere. So we went back to I-40.

As we came closer to Needles, there was another sign for Route 66. We decided to try our luck and took the exit. Here’s the thing: I know we were on Route 66 because it was painted on the highway itself. However, at some point it became something else (Route 95) and no one bothered to post a sign. You know, something like Route 95 with a sign beneath it reading Historic Route 66. Nothing. I went from being on Route 66 to being on another road headed for Searchlight, Nevada.

Headed down the road trying to loosen my load with seven women on my mind, we came to a decision point. A regular street sign indicated we were at the intersection of Goffs Road and the 95. Straight or turn? There was nary a Route 66 sign to be seen anywhere. Bastidges. So my daughter did the next-best thing: Used her iPhone.

Interesting thing about an iPhone, or maybe it was because of where we were, but if you’re at the intersection of Goffs Road and Highway 95, you’re guaranteed to confuse the crap out of Siri. A simple request like, “Route 66 from my location” will give you two abortion clinics and a Chik-fil-A in Portland, Maine. Ask something like, “nearest gas station” and you’ll be asked if you want to make a spa appointment at Madame Wong’s Day Spa in Vancouver, British Columbia. I don’t think it was until my son shifted just to the correct angle that we had sufficient signal for the GPS map to appear and realize that Goffs Road is, in fact, Route 66.

Once you leave Goffs, CA (be careful of the 90 degree, 10 MPH turn from north to west), put it on auto pilot and take a nap. Unlike Arizona’s small towns still alive along the road, California’s small towns all died–except where they intersect with I-40.

I guess to be fair, California doesn’t suck *because* of Route 66, it sucks because it’s hard to find. The freeway signs do a good job of teasing you off the freeway to relive the days of old, but once you’re off the freeway you’re on your own. I really felt AZ did a great job keeping you on the road and encouraging you to stay there even if it was to feed the speed traps and tourist towns along the way.

California was more like a card from one of those adult phone sex operations. They tease you with the promise of a good time. On the surface, it’s sexy and appealing–Route 66: The Mother Road. It even has it’s own song! And then reality hits. Candice really isn’t a 22 year old fit-and-trim, blonde-haired, blue-eyed co-ed who walks around in short-shorts and a too-tight tank top just like Route 66 (in CA) isn’t full of nostalgia. Candice’s name is really Betty and she works in a cubical at a call center when she’s not serving beers at the local bar. Route 66 (in CA) is really just a pseudonym for a hyped-up road (when you can find it–thank you CalTrans) that cuts a path of loneliness and despair through the desert.

And that, my friends, is why California sucks (reason number two).

Travel

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Today I summarize my recent travel booking experience with respect to AAA, Amtrak, Travelocity and USAA.

Situation: I had a daughter visiting from Las Vegas and another daughter visiting from Flagstaff.

Mission: Coordinate round-trip transportation between Arizona and California and hotel accommodations in CA for up to four people for two days.

Task #1: Amtrak
Tools Used:
AAA Membership
Computer
Credit Card
What Happened: My daughter in Flagstaff will oftentimes take the train from there to home. It’s about an eight hour ride by train when it’s not delayed (by up to six hours recently). The train has a set schedule you need to check frequently to ensure everything’s still on time. If you schedule your trip at http://www.amtrak.com, you can make lower-level seat reservations, take advantage of the AAA 10% discount off the posted fare, e-mail your itinerary to whomever you wish and print a bar-coded receipt you scan at the Amtrak kiosk to receive your tickets. Easy, cheesy. I did everything on-line with my credit and AAA cards. Everything was set for her to arrive in CA on Thursday and return to AZ on Saturday.

Task #2: Holy Crap, Change Almost Everything
Tools Used:
Amtrak Receipt
Computer
Phone
What Happened: It occurred to me that if I rented a car (which I had to do anyway) through Monday, I could drive my daughter back to AZ and my son, my daughter from Las Vegas and I could all enjoy not only the time together, but the experience of “doing Flagstaff” for a day or two.* I needed to cancel the return leg of the Amtrak ticket and change how I was going to rent the car.
Lesson Learned: By canceling the return ticket BEFORE she scanned the bar-coded receipt and received her tickets, I was able to receive a full refund (in 5-10 days) for that portion of the trip. I still received the 10% AAA discount for the one-way ticket and my daughter kept her lower-level seat assignment. To cancel the ticket all I had to do was call the 800 number I found on the Amtrak website and speak with their automated assistant. Very easy.

Task #3: Rent A Car
Tools Used:
USAA Membership
Computer
Credit Card
What Happened: I used to always use an American Express card to reserve rental cars because I knew they covered any insurance issues and I didn’t have to buy the rental agency’s policy. I no longer use AMEX, so I thought I’d call my auto insurance carrier and see what they had to say. As a member of USAA, if I rent through one of their partners, not only does my USAA policy cover me, they cover any additional costs incurred with a claim. Long story short, I booked an Avis rental car through the USAA website. The cost for the rental (Friday through Monday) was the same cost it would have been if I rented a car through Hertz for Friday and Saturday with a AAA discount. My USAA price was the price–I didn’t have to add any additional anything for insurance purposes.

Task #4: Booking Hotels
Tools Used:
Computer
Credit Card
What Happened: I tried booking through the USAA website but they didn’t have “partners” in the two places I needed to stay in AZ and CA. I looked at the AAA website and found some deals but I wasn’t thrilled with the choices. Then I tried Travelocity.

I needed a hotel for four people in CA for Friday and Saturday nights. I am very familiar with the area and the hotels. Not satisfied with the pricing I found from the hotels displayed, I looked into their “super discount” rates. They will describe a hotel but not the name until after you book. Most of the discount rates for the “named” hotels in this area were as low as $65 but hovered around $110. I found a hotel in the “super discount” area for $48 per night that included two queen sized beds, a pool, hot tub, exercise room, laundry facility, complimentary breakfast and a nightly social hour (two hours, actually). The hotel was in the specific area I requested so I took a chance and pre-paid for the two nights.

The hotel wound up being the Ayers Hotel and Suites (or something like that). Crappa dappa it was nice. Located at the Ontario Mills Mall, the room was large, clean and secure. The complimentary breakfast was a misnomer. I was thinking a plastic bowl of Fruit Loops and a cup of coffee. Instead, they had menu cards whereby you custom ordered what you wanted. Eggs, meats, cheeses, vegetables, breads, potatoes, fruits–just fill out the card, hand it to the grill staff and when they called your room number, it was ready. I told my kids to go to town and eat what they wanted, assuming it would be added to my bill when I checked out. Not so. When I checked out they reviewed all of the room charges and said I was covered because I had pre-paid and had not incurred any additional costs. Awesome.

Booking for AZ was different. I again used Travelocity but because I only know the east side of the city very well I wanted to know the name of the place I would be staying. I again booked a double-queen bed room for four. This was at the Ramada Inn. Normally a $65 room for $40, I was very happy. They had the plastic bowls and Fruit Loops, but I’m not complaining at all.

I returned from AZ sans one daughter and my son, who was going back to his house. I needed a hotel in CA from Monday night through Thursday morning for my Las Vegas daughter and me. I went back to Travelocity looking for a “super discount” room.

I searched in vain for the $48 room that would have tipped me off it was the Ayers again. I found one hotel for $45 and another for $55 that had, at least by iconography, the exact same amenities with one exception: The $55 room had shuttle service to the airport. I remembered that the Ayres also had shuttle service but since I didn’t need it, it didn’t matter. It does matter, and I’ll tell you why shortly.

Anyway, I opted for the $45 room. This turned out to be the Econo Lodge Ontario. Again, being familiar with the area, I double-checked the safety on my 0.357 and chambered a round in my 9mm. Just kidding. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The area itself is not someplace I would want to be after dusk. The hotel itself, however, had a controlled single-entry access point with multiple exits under video surveillance and a staff member that routinely walked the perimeter with the resident beast-on-a-leash, checking the security of all the exit doors and keeping watch over the vehicles in the parking lot. I felt much better after I checked in than I did after I initially booked the room. Other than the wireless service going down Wednesday afternoon and not being repaired before we left, I had no issues with the room or the hotel at all.

Okay, what difference does the shuttle service make? Here’s my thought: Better hotels close to the airport will have a shuttle. For me, this includes the two Hiltons, Ayres, Doubletree and Aloft (though I’m certain there are others as well). Off-brand hotels or hotels more than three or four miles from the hotel don’t seem to have shuttle service. The Knight’s Inn is just as far from the airport as the Doubletree but they don’t have a shuttle. If price is your only issue, the Knight’s Inn is your best bet. If safety and security is an issue, the Doubletree might be your choice. Regardless, I will be staying in a hotel at least once a month with my son. I’m going to explore the shuttle versus non-shuttle iconography on the “super discount” portion of the Travelocity site and let you know if my theory pans out.

Hotel Booking Summary:
The desk clerk at the Econo Lodge clued me in to a couple of things I didn’t know about the Travelocity rate I received. First, not even the people at the front desk know what I paid. When we stayed at the Ayers, I assumed that because I pre-paid they had my credit card on file to bill any additional charges. I didn’t think it was odd that they didn’t ask me for the card when I checked in but I didn’t dwell on it. At the Econo Lodge, however, I had to sign a statement that I agreed to the room rate. However, the room rate amount was blank and in the total it simply said, “Pre Paid.”

Second, I was told that when you book a “super discount” room via Travelocity, the rate is withheld because the hotel may only offer one single room for that rate or that rate may only apply for a specific period of time (like a stay not exceeding two days or a three-day minimum stay). The rates are truly unadvertised so the desk staff cannot offer someone else a room with the same deep discount you paid on the “super discount” Travelocity site.

Believe it or not, this was the summary. I’ll talk about the trip down Route 66 some other time.

*NOTE: There is no “doing Flagstaff”. If you don’t drink or eat pizza there’s not much to do after about 8:00PM.