Santa Barbara...Why Would You Live Anywhere Else?

Sorry for the break in posts, it has been hard to find time.

The next morning we were supposed to go fishing, but I awoke to a call from Mark's buddy Andy saying the weather was not right for a fishing trip. The backup plan was a bike ride all over Santa Barbara. We got up and had some coffee cake and fresh squeezed orange juice from Mark's backyard and prepped for the ride. Blair's wheels were all screwed up (you might know), so we spent 2 hours replacing spokes and truing them. It was a good learning experience, in case we face similar problems on the tour home.

The first place we rode was the Santa Barbara Mission, which had this awesome festival going on called I Madonnari. It's an annual Italian festival in which local artists use sidewalk chalk to paint beautiful pictures on the street in front of the Mission. We dug it and Blair and I jumped into an all-Asian group picture, sticking out like sore thumbs. Mark took pictures and said we would be famous in China. I sure hope so. We continued to Old San Marcus Pass, which was one hell of a climb. We passed a broken down cyclist on our way up, and I said it was a bad omen. We should have turned back then. When we got to the top of Old San Marcus Pass, the plan was to turn around and ride toward Goleta Beach, a nice level route. I looked up at the road ahead, Painted Cave road, and wanted to keep going. Blair and Mark said, yeah, I guess we could keep going if we want to. I said "we HAVE to." What followed was the most bad-ass ride of our lives. Painted Cave road went up and up and up in endless corkscrews and narrow curves. Finally we made it to the ridge and took a right on El Cielo, which was closed to automobiles. Mark was cramping up already, and we weren't even halfway done. He was not in a good mood, and made several threats on my life that would be carried out if I did not stop chattering to him. We went up and over various mountains on the Santa Inez range, culminating with one last climb to La Cumbre Peak. I beat Blair and Mark there by a good 20 minutes and laid down in the sun to rest. I was out of food, nearly out of water, and FREEZING. The temperature at the bottom was a warm 77 degrees, but it had plummeted to 46 at the peak. Soon Blair reached the top and I demanded a cliff bar, which he graciously gave me. It was apricot flavored and nasty as hell, but at that point I was looking for plants on the side of the road that I could eat that I had seen on the discovery channel. Mark caught up on his hard-tail mountain bike, which weighed probably 20 pounds more than my road bike, and whizzed off the peak. We talked briefly about how much this ride sucked, and elected to get off the mountain as soon as possible.

We bombed down El Cielo until we reached Gibraltar, and bombed down that road as well. We passed a makeshift shooting range, and feared for our lives. Mark said there were a lot of crazy assholes in the mountains. He was right. A little further down, I was leading the pack, and there was a dirt biker coming the opposite direction. I moved over to the side of my lane, expecting him to do the same, but he crossed lanes and sped straight at me. Terrified, I pulled my bike off the road with inches to spare between my left handlebar and the crazed dirt biker. I yelled "dude, what the f#$*!!!" and stood shaking by the side of the road until the others reached me. I was in shock. And I was angry. In utter disbelief over what had just occurred, I grasped for an explanation. Mark told me the dirt biker community does not take kindly to "roadies," which is apparently what I was. Unless you have thick tires and can go off-road, you are an enemy. This jackass wanted to play chicken. I wanted to spill his blood. I cannot think of a time in my life when I was angrier than that sadistic bastard made me on the mountain. If I had a gun, I would have killed him. I scanned the road the rest of the way down looking for a truck that was equipped to transport a dirt bike. It's good I couldn't find it, because I would have broken every window and taken off as much paint as humanly possible. My blood boils when I think about that event. I calmed down on the rest of the beautiful descent, and enjoyed the cool breeze as we flew down the mountain. We had gone from about 30 feet to 4000, and almost lost our lives in a few different ways. We returned to the Von Dollen's and had bbq chicken and magic potatoes, with steamed broccoli and asparagus on the side - Another award-winning meal expertly prepared by Karen Anna Von Dollen.

After dinner, Mark built a fire in the outdoor fireplace, and we lounged in the spa for the rest of the night. The hot water soothed our aching leg muscles, and the only complaint was that there were three guys in the spa. We grew tired of sitting near each other, and went to bed.

For breakfast on Sunday May 25th I had the best omelet ever to have graced a frying pan. Karen Anna packed these things full of cheeses, peppers, ham, mushrooms, etc, and tossed some hash browns on the side. The omelets were almost too much to handle, but we ate up to prepare for the days hike. Santa Barbara has the most trails of anywhere I've been. You can take a trail anywhere you need to go. We decided we needed to go up to Montecito peak. I insisted that Mark's dog Wanda came along, so we loaded her portable water bowl and a few biscuits and drove to the trailhead. Wanda dumped twice in the first hundred yards. Mark picked it up with a plastic bag. I laughed. Mark told us about a waterfall that was supposed to be a few miles off the main trail. We set out to find it. We hiked toward the sound of rushing water, and followed one fork of Cold Creek Springs up and up until the terrain became too difficult for 7 year-old Wanda to traverse. Mark stayed at the base with Wanda and told Blair and I to scout ahead. We climbed some enormous rocks and finally glimpsed the magnificent Tangerine Falls. There was a couple eating lunch below the falls, and I'm sure they loved it when Blair and I popped up right in front of them and climbed around taking pictures. The 200 foot waterfall was sublime. You can see the ocean from it between the ridges of green mountains.
We took it all in and climbed back down to meet Mark and Wanda. Mark said he'd wait to see the falls till some brothers were home to see it with him and we pressed onward and upward toward Montecito Peak. We encountered a dead rattlesnake that was 10 years old. It was covered in rocks indicating someone stoned it to death. Mark was astonished that no one took the buttons, so he whipped out his Leatherman and severed those babies. Next Blair spotted a nest full of infant birds - possibly grouse or quail. They were pretty damn cute and we had to tear Blair away to continue the hike. Wanda was getting tired during the final section to the top - a heart-breaking climb straight up at a nasty angle. We made it to the top and it was cold but beautiful. The whole city was visible between us and the ocean. We could see little white triangles in the harbor. We ate our picnic lunch on top and soon began the hike down before Wanda decided she was done for the day. She was panting like crazy on the way down, and we made frequent stops for water. We finished the 10 mile hike and got her in the truck just in time. Mark drove us home along Mountain Drive, one of the most beautiful drives in Santa Barbara and hence one of the most beautiful drives in the world. We drove past Jeff Bridges house, and countless other monstrosities teetering on unstable cliffs just waiting for a landslide to make toothpicks out of them. The pickup wound around the narrow roads and I scratched Wanda's head and belly the whole way home. The minute she entered the house, she lay down on the kitchen floor and didn't move for 6 hours. We enjoyed Fajita Burritos for dinner, and played Eucre with Karen Anna. We turned in early because there was a great chance of fishing in the morning.

We awoke to a gorgeous Memorial Day, and to Karen Anna's blueberry muffins. I proposed again. Mark and I had to meet Andy at Goleta Pier at 7:15AM, so we ate some muffins, drank fresh squeezed orange juice, packed the cooler full of sandwiches and water, and took off for the coast. I read an article from the LA times on the way about the awful water situation in Northern Mexico. An Indian tribe there is forced to illegally fish up the Colorado River because by the time the river reaches the delta, there is not enough water to sustain the valuable fish they sell commercially. There were photos of the Mexican Indians with boats so full of fish that they frequently capsized - losing the entire day's catch. It is so sad that 100 years ago 30 ton steamers had no trouble reaching the gulf from the Colorado River, but now at Low tide, you can't even swim it. The article made me think seriously about environmental law - specifically water law. It doesn't seem right that US cities along the river and further away can water a gulf course in the desert, while some villages in Mexico often don't have enough water to bathe, drink, or wash clothes.

Anyway, we got to Goleta Beach and Andy was getting the boat ready to be lowered in off of the pier. The craft was an 18 foot Boston Whaler. We left Blair in town to get his bike tuned since the boat wasn't comfortably big enough for four of us. We dropped the boat in and sped to Naples point, north of Goleta, to try and catch some sea bass. I caught the first fish, an ugly, prehistoric-looking ling cod. Andy caught one too. We gave up on sea bass and cruised out a mile and a half to catch some rock cod. Andy showed me how to bait the string of 5 large hooks with sections of squid, and we dropped the lines down 320 feet. Fishing over 300 feet deep means when you feel the slightest vibration on your pole, you must rip it up to set the hook. First cast, Mark reeled in an enormous rock cod, ugly as sin. We each went on to catch a few, and I brought in a 32 inch ling cod to end the day. It was exciting to have no idea what you're fighting 300 feet below you. We saw whales and seals and basked in the warm morning sun. At about 12:30PM, we cruised in and Andy's dad met us to clean the fish. This man is a Pro. He quickly carved out succulent fillets from our keepers and gave the heads of the fish to some Hispanics who would make soup from the cheek meat. We followed Andy back to his house and cleaned the hell out of the boat. His dad instructed us to wipe gasoline on the outside of the vessel to get rid of the oil stains. Nothing like a good ol' driveway toxic fuel spill. Mark and I cringed and did what we were told.

We met Blair back at Mark's place and rode downtown to check out a couple bike stores. I was in the market for a new saddle, because I was afraid the one I had would make me impotent. The guy at the bike store assured me that my seat was fine, and that he had been biking for 30 years and had 4 kids. We rode back to Marks to make brick oven pizzas.

Mark constructed a brick pizza oven when he was in eighth grade. We made 8 pizzas to celebrate his parents homecoming from their 10 day trip to various graduations across the country. The pies were amazing as usual and we even grilled the fish for an appetizer. Delicious. We crashed early in a food coma.

This is a good place to highlight the fact that we consumed not a drop of alcohol in the four days we were in Santa Barbara. It felt great to be in such a beautiful place and be completely lucid to experience it all. I look forward to the rest of the summer being the same way. But first I had to meet the Lampes in Tulare.