Today I went to a state park about six miles away from where I am staying. It was a beautifully sunny day. It still feels strange that this is so normal, no one comments on it here, unlike at home where the minute the sun comes out, we all rush outside to enjoy the rare occurrence.
There were HUGE redwood trees, and a display with a slice from one cut down in 1934 showing the rings from major events in human history across around 2000 years. I stood inside one redwood that had been burned out (but was still alive). Someone in the past had actually cut a window in the bark, which had grown over again. A little further on I felt quite thrilled when someone walked past and ACTUALLY SAID 'HOWDIE'.
Yay! I'm definitely in America!
It was a very nice park, one half seemed to be totally natural and set up to admire the trees, and the other side was a wacky, fun pastiche of the Wild West. Then I remembered. I was in California. This was the Wild West, once.
I decided to take the vintage steam train up the mountain. Just sitting in an open wagon was fun, with the whistle going (and sounding very American, just like in all the old films), and with a commentary coming out of a speaker next to my seat. The commentary started off quite amusing and helpful, 'Has the little chap who went to the restroom returned yet? We don't like leaving anyone behind', and 'Welcome to the Mormon Mission in the last carriage'. As we passed a man balancing a sledge hammer on his chin, the voice intoned 'Don't try this at home kids' as parents looked a bit worried and made a mental note to lock up the heavy duty tools as soon as they got back. This was reinforced by the man waving jovially at the train with one hand, while wielding a humming chain saw in the other (he was making sculptures out of logs - eat your heart out Michael Angelo). The disembodied voice continued talking, and talking and talking. It wasn't clear where the physical presence that went with the voice was, so when it said, 'the tree we are just passing on your right....' it was confusing to work out whether, as the train was quite long, he might have been in the front with the driver, or at the back with the Mormons. The voice didn't seem to need to draw breath, and only stopped in submission when the train's whistle blew, which it did, frequently. The peace and tranquility of the forest was being completely overwhelmed by the train, rather like the effect the man with the chainsaw was having on the hapless logs.
We steamed up the mountain, and it was very beautiful. The voice was promising some 'additional entertainment' at the top, but also warned us to 'watch out for our wallets'. I started to think about the attractive possibility of ice cream, possibly at top notch prices to match the top notch venue, but I was wrong. As the train arrived at the highest point some actors dressed in Wild West costumes greeted us with waves and smiles. Then everything went a bit haywire as some cowboys started shooting the friendly actors. I couldn't hear the dialogue, so couldn't tell what was happening, so for once, I wished the disembodied voice would chip in and help, but he didn't. I idly wondered whether he had been shot. The actors were doing a good job, but I couldn't help feeling a tinge depressed about the lack of an ice cream stall, as it really was getting hot.
The train wended its way back down the mountain to the Wild West shopping opportunity. I was relieved to see that the man with the sledge hammer still had his skull intact, and the chain saw man still had both hands fully functioning. It was quite a relief to not have Mr Invisible trying to enforce jollity any more, he was giving me earache.
I started walking the mile or so back to where the bus allegedly went from. It was still really hot, and I was starting to feel bothered too. It didn't help that bus stops are almost invisible here, and I had to ask in two shops where it was. I eventually saw two small tin signs attached to a bent pole with a bench, and realised this was where I needed to wait. I did feel quite smug that at least I have got the hang of which direction the bus comes from, and don't sit watching the traffic on the other side of the road, wondering how the bus will get across to me.
The food store was near where I was dropped off, so not to waste a walk back empty handed, I thought I would buy a few additional bits and pieces. You know how it goes, you only mean to buy this and that, and end up with a large bag full. So it was I staggered out with my rucksack bulging and heavy into the 90 degree sunshine, with a mile uphill ahead.
I started off strongly, but my pace became slower and slower as I started seriously overheating. I had sweat pouring off me as if I was in a hot shower. My one consolation was that, as I climbed the last stage, no one I knew would see me.
You can imagine my dismay as a car pulled up, with a well groomed man inside, who let his electronic window slide down on his smart and shiny car, and said, 'Hello, are you Hilary?' I kept my distance to avoid sweat dripping into his immaculate interior, and considered looking confused, and turning round to see where Hilary was (having been inspired by the actors on the train trip). I didn't, I gasped an apology for my appearance, explaining I had just walked up from the town. He was very understanding, but I really, really didn't want to start making new friends at that exact point in my life.
Back in my apartment it was a case of kick off the shoes and grab a pint of water before collapsing in a heap on the settee. I tried to console myself with the thought that all the walking must be making me fitter, even if I feel like I am about 100 years old.
There were HUGE redwood trees, and a display with a slice from one cut down in 1934 showing the rings from major events in human history across around 2000 years. I stood inside one redwood that had been burned out (but was still alive). Someone in the past had actually cut a window in the bark, which had grown over again. A little further on I felt quite thrilled when someone walked past and ACTUALLY SAID 'HOWDIE'.
Yay! I'm definitely in America!
It was a very nice park, one half seemed to be totally natural and set up to admire the trees, and the other side was a wacky, fun pastiche of the Wild West. Then I remembered. I was in California. This was the Wild West, once.
I decided to take the vintage steam train up the mountain. Just sitting in an open wagon was fun, with the whistle going (and sounding very American, just like in all the old films), and with a commentary coming out of a speaker next to my seat. The commentary started off quite amusing and helpful, 'Has the little chap who went to the restroom returned yet? We don't like leaving anyone behind', and 'Welcome to the Mormon Mission in the last carriage'. As we passed a man balancing a sledge hammer on his chin, the voice intoned 'Don't try this at home kids' as parents looked a bit worried and made a mental note to lock up the heavy duty tools as soon as they got back. This was reinforced by the man waving jovially at the train with one hand, while wielding a humming chain saw in the other (he was making sculptures out of logs - eat your heart out Michael Angelo). The disembodied voice continued talking, and talking and talking. It wasn't clear where the physical presence that went with the voice was, so when it said, 'the tree we are just passing on your right....' it was confusing to work out whether, as the train was quite long, he might have been in the front with the driver, or at the back with the Mormons. The voice didn't seem to need to draw breath, and only stopped in submission when the train's whistle blew, which it did, frequently. The peace and tranquility of the forest was being completely overwhelmed by the train, rather like the effect the man with the chainsaw was having on the hapless logs.
We steamed up the mountain, and it was very beautiful. The voice was promising some 'additional entertainment' at the top, but also warned us to 'watch out for our wallets'. I started to think about the attractive possibility of ice cream, possibly at top notch prices to match the top notch venue, but I was wrong. As the train arrived at the highest point some actors dressed in Wild West costumes greeted us with waves and smiles. Then everything went a bit haywire as some cowboys started shooting the friendly actors. I couldn't hear the dialogue, so couldn't tell what was happening, so for once, I wished the disembodied voice would chip in and help, but he didn't. I idly wondered whether he had been shot. The actors were doing a good job, but I couldn't help feeling a tinge depressed about the lack of an ice cream stall, as it really was getting hot.
The train wended its way back down the mountain to the Wild West shopping opportunity. I was relieved to see that the man with the sledge hammer still had his skull intact, and the chain saw man still had both hands fully functioning. It was quite a relief to not have Mr Invisible trying to enforce jollity any more, he was giving me earache.
I started walking the mile or so back to where the bus allegedly went from. It was still really hot, and I was starting to feel bothered too. It didn't help that bus stops are almost invisible here, and I had to ask in two shops where it was. I eventually saw two small tin signs attached to a bent pole with a bench, and realised this was where I needed to wait. I did feel quite smug that at least I have got the hang of which direction the bus comes from, and don't sit watching the traffic on the other side of the road, wondering how the bus will get across to me.
The food store was near where I was dropped off, so not to waste a walk back empty handed, I thought I would buy a few additional bits and pieces. You know how it goes, you only mean to buy this and that, and end up with a large bag full. So it was I staggered out with my rucksack bulging and heavy into the 90 degree sunshine, with a mile uphill ahead.
I started off strongly, but my pace became slower and slower as I started seriously overheating. I had sweat pouring off me as if I was in a hot shower. My one consolation was that, as I climbed the last stage, no one I knew would see me.
You can imagine my dismay as a car pulled up, with a well groomed man inside, who let his electronic window slide down on his smart and shiny car, and said, 'Hello, are you Hilary?' I kept my distance to avoid sweat dripping into his immaculate interior, and considered looking confused, and turning round to see where Hilary was (having been inspired by the actors on the train trip). I didn't, I gasped an apology for my appearance, explaining I had just walked up from the town. He was very understanding, but I really, really didn't want to start making new friends at that exact point in my life.
Back in my apartment it was a case of kick off the shoes and grab a pint of water before collapsing in a heap on the settee. I tried to console myself with the thought that all the walking must be making me fitter, even if I feel like I am about 100 years old.
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