The Cabot Trail

John R Beyer ready to explore the Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

It was not always easy to be an early explorer. Take Christopher Columbus for example: in August of 1492, he took off with the ships from modern day Spain and headed for India.

In October of that same year, his tired and ocean-weary band of sailors arrived in what would later be known as the Caribbean.

Columbus, being rather hard-headed, referred to the folks they found paddling around the island in canoes Indians, believing he had ventured all the way across the great waters to South Asia.

A rumor is that one of his sailors pointed out the ‘Indians’ were drinking foo-foo drinks from coconuts with little plastic umbrellas stuck in them, and did not seem like the people they were supposed to meet.

“Are they not supposed to be wearing dupattas, your Excellency?”

“Senza senso,” Columbus may have replied.

Even when the natives started shouting, “It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere,” the expedition leader continued to tell his men it was nonsense and they had reached India.

“But, let’s not advise Isabella,” he may have said. “She gets sort of touchy now and then.”

And even when the explorer John Cabot left England in 1496 after being given permission by King Henry VII to explore the coast of North America, all did not go as planned.

A letter written by John Day, a Bristol merchant, stated the following of Cabot’s first venture into the unknown: ‘He went with one ship, his crew confused him, he was short of supplies and ran into bad weather, and he decided to turn back.’

Sounds a lot like me when my lovely wife, Laureen, sends me to Target.

“Where’s the bread?” she may inquire.

“I got beer, it’s sort of like liquid bread.”

But Cabot’s second venture turned out a lot better and he landed on the North American coastline on June 24, 1497. The exact location is not truly known, since GPS was a couple of years away, but it is believed the adventurer landed either on Cape Bonavista, near St. John’s in Newfoundland, or on Cape Breton in Nova Scotia.

Since we were in Cape Breton, that is where I chose to believe he made landfall 527 years ago.

Our home for a few days was the small fishing village of Baddeck, which lies upon the gorgeous waters of Bras d’ Or Lake. One thing we learned while traveling Nova Scotia is that most places you'd want to visit are within a few hours’ drive and so, having a home base made a lot of sense.

It also saved my back a lot of pain toting Laureen’s ten suitcases from the rental car to a different hotel room each evening.

The roadway which supposedly shows the route Cabot sailed and trapsied around Cape Breton is 185 miles long - it is a well-paved, winding road that reveals some of the most stunning scenery I have ever witnessed.

Majestic coastline along the Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

Trunk 30 is the main path to follow the Cabot Trail and since I had never heard of a trunk except for the rear of a vehicle where goombas used to stash bodies or rich folks use when traveling on luxury cruises, I was puzzled.

A trunk road in Nova Scotia is used for long-distance and freight traffic. They are the recommended routes between cities, ports, airports, and other places. Of course, since most are single lane each way and possibly narrower than highways, visitors should expect slower times in reaching destinations.

The term is also utilized to perplex out-of-country drivers.

“Should we pack a picnic?” Laureen asked, the morning we were going to venture around the Cabot Trail.

I nodded. “Yes, how about Scotch eggs, apple pie with pickled figs, and black pudding?”

“Nope, just bring your wallet for when I get peckish,” Laureen replied. No homemade picnic basket would be accompanying us that day - that would also mean no pear pies, drat!

Driving around Cape Breton takes a person with nerves of steel and a head on a swivel. There is a constant gorgeous coastline, tracts of green trees, cute little forest creatures darting here and yonder, and houses hugging the shore with docks.

Forests right down to the ocean's edge, Nova Scotia

A house with a dock means there is a boat, and I love boats.

That concept was mentioned enough that Laureen finally stopped me, “I know, that house with that dock means our pontoon tied to the cleats there.

“No, that house deserves a fifty-foot Grand Banks,” I replied. 

I drove on and at every curve of the road the view never changed, it was all beautiful. Of course, being a Desert Rat, seeing green trees, green bushes, green grass, green moss, and sometimes people green with envy is a wonderful treat.

I wrote about Baddeck in an earlier column but we also drove through tiny towns or villages by the names of St. Anns, North Shore, French River, and Nell’s Harbor while traveling north. Each place was a photo stop - and none were better than the last.

We stopped at a town by the name of Ingonish which boasts one of the top 100 golf courses in the world. Since I had not brought my clubs and was wearing a pair of ankle high Keenes, I did not think I would be allowed to play.

“Puhleez, the servants quarters are in the back,” the golf pro stated at the Cape Breton Highland Links.

Traveling often reveals things a person did not know, of course that is a good enough reason to travel. We discovered that Ingonish has a wonderful winter skiing resort by the name of Cape Smokey. We stopped by to see what this was all about and were pleasantly surprised by what we learned.

It is a four season resort for skiing, hiking, having lunch, or just taking a gondola ride to the top of Cape Smokey to enjoy the views of the Atlantic Ocean and the Cape Breton Highlands National Park.

Unfortunately, we did not have the time to travel up to the 1,000 feet to the top of Cape Smokey on this trip and marveled that folks can ski at such a low elevation.

I asked a staff member at the gift shop. 

“It’s cold here in the winter and everything is covered with snow,” she replied.

In winter, Ingonish has an average temperature of 32 degrees fahrenheit during the day and 18 degrees at night. A person could ski on their driveway for most of the winter is my guess.

We took our time touring the Trunk and stopped here and there for photographs or just to enjoy the immense beauty of nature along the Cabot Trail.

There are hundreds of spots for a walk along the coastline, Nova Scotia

Around oneish, we both were getting ready for a bit of lunch and found a wonderful little restaurant high on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. 

Tables were set outside but since the weather had turned suddenly, such is the way in Nova Scotia, and the wind was now howling and we could see reindeer in the air, we chose the interior which was warm and friendly.

The owner smiled, “You should be here when the wind really blows.” At that moment a Prius was hurled down upon the rocky shores.

“I see,” I replied.

My order was a basket of fried shrimp with scallops and Laureen ordered something - I don’t recall. But my lunch was fabulous with a cold Big Spruce as a chaser.

One of the most picturesque stops was the town of Cheticamp which is heading south toward our temporary home of Baddeck.

A fishing boat heading out for a late day of fishing

The name of the town probably comes from the native Mi’kmaq which means ‘rarely full’, indicating the harbor was rarely full of sand which allowed boats to enter unhindered by Mother Nature.

And I enjoyed the name because if you say it multiple times fast enough it sounds rather naughty.

We stopped, even though we had eaten lunch a mere two hours earlier at the DoryMan Pub and Grill because it sat waterside and the sun was shining. 

“It is so beautiful here,” said our waitress. “I’ve only lived in town a couple of years but I could not imagine living anywhere else.”

“How about winter?” I asked.

“Wear heavier clothing.”

We wandered the boardwalk, and just enjoyed the brilliance of this now late afternoon summer day on Cape Breton.

On the drive back to Baddeck we passed other towns such as Margaree Harbour, and Lake O’Law and appreciated the stoic folks who founded these towns so many centuries ago, but also the resilient people who still live here battling the brutal winters.

Five hours is recommended for the route and we spent nearly nine. It was not even close to what was needed to take in all that the Cabot Trail and the lovely citizens along its route had to offer.

Memorial to those service members who would not be returning home

John can be reached at: beyersbyways@gmail.com 

Anne of Green Gables

The bridge to find the home of Lucy Maud Montgomery.

I have had the privilege of visiting the residences of Hemingway, Steinbeck, Wilde, Stoker, Doyle, and so many other writers of renowned fame.

Recently while traveling through Nova Scotia, Laureen, my darling wife, and I had a chance to stand next to JK Rowling’s 290-foot yacht, moored by the boardwalk in Halifax. The rain was pounding our umbrellas but we did not care - the ship was gorgeous and I was hoping Joanie (as I call her) would look out and say, “Johnny, don’t be a silly sod and get your waterlogged behind onboard.”

Turns out that she may or may not have been aboard, but nevertheless, the invitation never came.

Writers can be criticized, and I get my fair share for my columns, but one thing I learned at a young age is if there were no writers, there would be no readers.

That almost sounded profound.

The truth is that I love to read: fiction, historical fiction, non-fiction, somewhat non-fiction, newspapers, magazines, and I truly love real estate magazines.

Oh, there are other books out there, just saying.

So, when we traversed the Confederation Bridge and landed on Prince Edward Island, Laureen looked at me and smiled.

“This is where Lucy Maud Montgomery spent much of her life.”

I drew a blank. “Is that before or after she used to snag the football from beneath Charlie Brown’s foot when he went in for a kick?”

The roll of her eyes almost threw us back across that eight-mile bridge we had just crossed.

“Anne of Green Gables? The books our girls read while growing up,” she said.

I remember reading to our girls all the time. But they were fun books about how body parts made funny noises - usually Laureen was not within earshot for those bedtime readings.

‘What sound does the elephant make before going to sleep?’ And our daughters would roll with laughter as I impersonated a gaseous elephant in the forest. If Laureen happened to come in, the reading topic would suddenly change to something by Niccolo Machiavelli.

I wanted our children to be well-rounded when it came to literature.

It seems on Prince Edward Island, Lucy Maud Montgomery is very important, and rightfully so. 

We drove into the town of Cavendish and spent a couple of days looking here and there. What we learned was there was nowhere we looked that the name of Lucy Maud Montgomery wasn’t present.

She put this small village on the map - well, it was actually on the map already but she made it famous.

It is very similar when people mention Riverside, California.

“That’s where John R. Beyer was born, right?”

Cavendish is an old town, founded back in 1790 by three families who had moved from Scotland. It was not a sea town with a large harbor but what it lacked there, it made up with wonderfully rolling green farmlands and the town flourished.

We drove around in the pelting rain, loving every moment of it since we came from the desert and rain is simply something one reads in the history books.

Montgomery was born around November 30th, 1874 (exact dates at this time period were not always exact) and died on April 24, 1942. During that time she was able to write 20 novels, 530 short stories, 500 poems, 30 essays, and knit a full-length replica of the Canadian Red Ensign.

She also was married and had three children. And my kids believe getting up before eight in the morning is a hardship.

Growing up in the idyllic countryside of Prince Edward Island, Montgomery came up with an incredible story of a young orphaned girl, Anne of Green Gables, being taken in by a brother and sister to work their farm. They had wanted a boy to work the land but by mistake, they were sent a girl, Anne Shirley.

This was before Amazon and returns were not easy to accomplish.

As Laureen told me, and I nodded, this fictional brother and sister who got Anne by mistake were meanies but later, due to Anne’s wonderful personal demeanor, loving spirit, goodness, and the fact she could pull a plow across rocky ground without the aid of a horse proved she was a wonderful asset to the community.

The point the author was making was that this young woman, no matter her dire background, succeeded due to her ‘youthful idealism and spirituality.’

The novel, Anne of Green Gables, was an immediate success and the young author gained both national and international fame.

Later in life, Montgomery tried for a new series entitled, Joey of Yellow Gables, but it did not do very well.

We visited a wonderful public park in Cavendish, Montgomery Park, where there are kiosks describing Lucy’s life and what her inspirations were as she spent her life telling tales for her readers.

Bronze benches lined a walkway around the park where the visitor can sit and reflect amidst beautiful green treed lanes. There is a bench dedicated to the writer with a full-size metal sculpture of her gazing into the sky while two black cats saunter nearby.

Bronze bench with the author and her cat.

We wandered the park and then ducked beneath overhanging tree branches as we made our way to the home in which the author grew up. There is a wonderful visitor center and gift shop at the site and docents who explain everything one would want to learn about Montgomery.

“It is sad,” a male docent told us. “Even though she was a famous writer and her books sold well, she never made the same money as her male contemporaries did.”

“Talk about misogyny,” I retorted, in solidarity with women.

He looked at me, “No, she had a bad literary agent. She made good money later on with her writing.”

We walked the grounds despite the gale-force winds and soaking rain and learned that this writer did not grow up in a land of the rich. Simple wood-structured buildings were her home with large rock foundations laid as the floors. A small kitchen, which was refurbished for the museum site, showed a very modest room with rudimentary furnishings.

The original kitchen where Lucy grew up.

“So, is this Green Gables house real?” I asked as Laureen was shaking off her umbrella.

The docent looked at Laureen who only slowly rolled her eyes. “Ask him if he ever heard of the book before this trip.”

Foundations of the original home where Lucy grew up.

Thirty minutes later we found ourselves at another museum in honor of Lucy Maud Montgomery and this one was huge. The entire life story of the author was on display, as well as the actual house that inspired the story of Anne Shirley.

A beautiful two-story, not counting basement, farmhouse-styled structure painted white with green gables.

The original 'Green Gables' home

Tourists, despite the continual rain, were traipsing here and there across the grounds and as we toured the home, the docent reminded us to wipe our feet.

“We need to keep the home as pristine as possible and water tracked in can ruin the period carpets.”

I wanted to mention that this section of Prince Edward Island receives about 600 days of rain each year but kept that to myself.

It is a beautiful home, but the best part was the exterior trail leading to the Haunted Woods.

Once again grabbing our umbrellas, we traipsed through the mud into the thick and dark woods behind the home and looked for ghosts or anything else that would be haunting. There was nothing scary except plants that looked very similar to poison ivy. Then I remembered I was an adult and Montgomery would have written her stories about a young girl entering these dark woods alone.

The narrow tree-clogged trail could easily allow the imagination of a young girl to expect something terrifying to emerge at any moment. When Laureen was turning her head from the trail I jumped up and yelled, “Boogie boogie boo!”

Trails to the haunted woods.

I did not know that the swelling of an eye could last a week even with ice packs.

Anne of Green Gables is still a must-read for young folks, both boys and girls since it is a series that shows the reader diversity in one’s life is no excuse for failure. Anne knew that and with her inspiration and positive attitude achieved wonderful things in her life.

Laureen explained that - but I do know the noises elephants make in the forest.

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

Happy 2025!!

With each new year, there is a chance to reflect and make each one of us a much better person - the world needs that, and together it can become a reality.

Happy New Year!

Your success and happiness lies in you. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties.

 Helen Keller

Merry Christmas

 

As we travel through this Holiday Season, we want to wish all our friends and loved ones a very Warm and Merry Christmas - and to always remember the reason for the season is - 

John 3:16 - 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' 

In Search of Puffins

 Laureen, my wonderful wife, promised we would be seeing Puffins in Nova Scotia. She wanted to see Puffins in Nova Scotia. She was excited to see Puffins in Nova Scotia.

I always thought a Puffin was something Pillsbury made for breakfast.

Actually, a Puffin is any of three species of small alcids (auks) in the bird genus Fratercula. These are pelagic seabirds that feed primarily by diving in the water. They breed in large colonies on coastal cliffs or offshore islands, nesting in crevices among rocks or burrows in the soil.

A Puffin just enjoying life

Not being an Ornithologist, I have no idea what all that means except a Puffin is a sea bird and Laureen was keen on seeing them.

Being the doting husband I am, it would be Puffin-hunting season when we arrived in Nova Scotia - figuratively speaking only. How could anyone want to harm these little clowns of the sea? With their black and white bodies, orange feet, and a multicolored beak sporting stripes of orange, yellow, white, and black, they definitely appear ready to jump out of a Volkswagen with 300 of their closest aquatic friends.

We crossed the eight-mile-long Confederation Bridge from New Brunswick to Prince Edward Island and I suggested Laureen take a gander far below at the beautiful but somewhat foggy surface of the Northumberland Strait.

“Nope,” was her reply. She doesn’t like bridges of any height or length - the Confederation Bridge is very long and very high above the ocean.

It was so cool. “Do you feel it vibrating?”

Spotting a gift shop as soon as we crossed over into the town of Borden-Carleton, I realized I would soon be paying for my smarmy remark about the shaking bridge.

We stopped at the Gateway Village and soon were patrolling huge shops filled floor to ceiling with every sort of tourist trinket, tourist apparel, tourist photographs, and so many other tourist items that I truly believed locals were not allowed into the village.

Approaching a clerk while Laureen was loading up a couple of shopping carts, I asked the woman where we could see some Puffins.

“That would be New-Found-Land,” she replied. “There be no Puffins on Prince Edward Island.”

It was at that time I came to the rationalization that we would not be seeing Puffins and I had pronounced Newfoundland wrong for my entire life.

I was taught by a teacher in elementary school that New-fun-lund was somewhere in Canada.

So much for the private school my parents had paid for while growing up in Riverside, California.

With the boot, which is a trunk in Canada, full of loot I broke the news to Laureen.

She merely shook her head and said, “I have faith we will see a lot of cute Puffins.”

A week later we saw the elusive Puffins and they were not in Newfoundland, but in Cape Breton Island near the very small town of Englishtown along St Anns Bay - which happens to be part of Nova Scotia,

Driving along the 105 toward Baddeck I saw a road sign advertising Puffins tours. I hit the brakes, threw out the anchor, and careened onto the 312.

“What are you doing?” Laureen asked while hanging onto the handgrip near the passenger seat of the rental.

“Keeping your faith alive.”

Within a few kilometers, which is really cool since they are shorter than miles, we pulled up to  Donelda’s Puffin Boat Tours.

All of us lining up for the Puffin Tour

Turns out that the owner of the boat tour, Donelda has run the business for over 28 years with her husband John - sadly we were informed that John had passed away recently, but Donelda was keeping the tours as well as their lobster business alive in his honor.

Donelda is known as the ‘Puffin Lady’ around St. Ann’s Bay.

We signed up for a three-hour tour, which gave me a bit of an apprehensive feeling, thanks to growing up with the television show, Gilligan’s Island.

I shrugged it off but it suddenly came back as we were about to board the sightseeing boat, Highland Lass, when I heard a man ask, “Lovey, did you remember to bring stacks of money?”

The tour would include visiting an official bird sanctuary located off Cape Dauphin which consists of actually two islands - Hertford and Ciboux.

I asked the owner just prior to casting off if people could land on either of the islands.

Donelda replied, “I’ve been doing these tours for a long time and let me tell you, I or any other tour operator would not stand by idly if we saw trespassers on these islanders. By law, no human can set foot on either island so the natural habitats of these sea birds will remain pristine.”

Though she was a very warm and funny person, I was sure that if she caught someone trespassing on either of the Bird Islands, she would tow them back to the harbor in a lobster trap.

One of the Bird Islands the tour investigates

As we powered out into the bay for the tour, Donelda went through a few minutes of boat safety in case the boat was struck by a mine, iceberg, or torpedo. Then for the next forty minutes, the woman explained the various types of marine life we would be observing.

Donelda going through the safety drill with passengers.

“We will be seeing a lot of different sea birds during this tour,” Donelda said while holding up large colored photographs.

“There will be Artic Terms, Common Loons . . .”

“Don’t,” Laureen whispered to me.

“. . . Common Elders . . .”

“Don’t,” again the whisper.

“. . . Red-breasted Mergansers, Belted Kingfishers, Great Blue Heron, and of course many Bald Eagles.”

Almost on cue, the Captain, who did not resemble Alan Hale Jr., stated that to the port, that is the left side of the boat facing the bow, was a Bald Eagle. Instantly, Donelda climbed out to the exterior and grabbed a large Mackerel out of a bucket.

“Watch the fish,” she yelled while tossing the fish into the waters beside us. Within moments that huge majestic Bald Eagle swept by within yards of the 41-foot Highland Lass and snatched the fish up with its huge talons.

It was marvelous to see this bird, so cleanly drop from the sky and quickly pick up the fish floating on top of the water.

During that tour, if we did not see three dozen Bald Eagles I would be surprised.

Eagle catching a fish right next to our boat

Soon we plowed through the semi-rough waters and reached the bird sanctuaries - and Laureen got her wish. Besides all the birds Donelda had mentioned were on full view darting here and there, there were hundreds of the tiny little Puffins.

Some were floating in the water, where they actually spend most of their lives, and others sitting atop the craggy cliffs of the islands, safely tucked away in the nooks and crannies carved into the rock faces created by wind and waves.

I was somewhat shocked at how small the Puffins were. Photographs I had seen in the past gave me the impression they were just a bit smaller than Arctic Penguins. Nope, they were tiny - but they did waddle a bit like penguins. Reminded me of Charlie Chaplin, if he was a Puffin walking around on the Bird Islands.

The Captain slowed the boat and for the next hour or so, we cruised within yards of the islands snapping photos with phones and cameras marveling at how many different varieties of birds lived together in this sometimes harsh environment.

“They are so cute,” Laureen said with a large smile while pointing at the Puffins. It made me happy to see her light up while looking across the waters toward these little Clowns of the Sea.

After taking so many photographs, we just went outside to the aft and took in all of what nature had to offer that afternoon.

And nature had a lot to offer.

Cool blue waters with brilliantly white wisps of waves curling here and there on the surface, dozens of sea birds flying overhead in the clear sunlight, families of Harbor Seals frolicking along the shorelines or just out sunning themselves, and feeling the ocean breezes against our faces made for a perfect day of adventure.

Show Off!

As the Highland Lass headed back to its berth near Englishtown, Donelda told us that the area near the small fishing port dates back to 1597 by the French, later becoming part of the English Empire.

 It is one of the oldest towns in North America.

Mission accomplished - the search for the Puffins was complete and I knew once we bumped into the wooded docks, there may be a new search for a pub near Englishtown, which seemed apropos.

For more information: https://Puffinsboattours.com/our-tours/

John can be reached at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

Happy Thanksgiving

 

Often, between Halloween - a Holiday we love, and Christmas - a Holyday we love, we often forget the importance of the Holiday of Thanksgiving.

It is not only a day to spend with family and friends over a lavish feast spinning tales or watching sports but one of simply being thankful for those we love.

That is the utmost importance. To be 'Thankful' for those we love, present and past.

So, this upcoming Thanksgiving, please remember the words of Marcie, from A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

'We should just be thankful for being together. I think that's what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.'

To be just -

The Rebirth of the Ghost Town of Amboy

Welcome to Amboy, CA

According to Ken Large, Operations and Logistics Manager for Roy’s Motel and Cafe in Amboy, there are ongoing plans to rejuvenate this once prospering town into something for the future.

“When Albert passed away in 2023,” Ken said, “I wondered what would become of his dream of turning this once vibrant town into a go-to destination for those traveling along Route 66.”

Albert Okura, the founder of the popular restaurant chain Juan Pollo in Southern California, had purchased the nearly forgotten town of Amboy in 2005. Albert loved history, especially the history of Southern California and more importantly Route 66. When he purchased the town of Amboy, his wish was to do all he could to turn it back into the iconic spot where travelers from across the United States would stop along America’s Highway during its heyday.

The original sign is lit up nightly in Amboy, CA

He had big plans, but that was nothing unusual for this man who created a chain of cookeries which would later label him the Chicken Man for the delicious food served in his nearly 30 various locations.

Albert knew he could recreate the thrill of travelers along Route 66 that was once felt after the route was completed in 1926. Sadly, Albert passed away on January 27, 2023 at the young age of 72 in Ontario, California. 

But, his dream did not die. “His family have been wonderful in keeping Albert’s dreams alive here in Amboy,” Ken said. “Take a walk around and see for yourself all the construction being conducted to complete this place by the summer of 2026.”

That summer would be the 100th anniversary of the completion of Route 66, and there are huge plans being developed along that long river of asphalt stretching from Chicago all the way to Santa Monica.”

Rumor has it that a family of Sasquatches may attend the festivities somewhere along the nearly 2,500 mile highway - but of course, that is on a need-to-know-basis.

And, I need to know!

Before I started walking the property, Ken did inform me that finishing the entire project may be a bit of a stretch but “...knowing Albert’s family as I do, I think we may indeed have everything up and running for the huge crowds that will be coming through. They are an awesome group of folks and I am sure keeping Albert’s legacy alive will be in the forefront of their thoughts.”

I’ve been through Amboy more times than I can count - either heading east or heading west. Did I stop each time? No, but every time I passed by those stark white empty cabins, the large paned windowed reception area of the motel, and the gas station with its huge sign out front welcoming visitors, I felt a slight tug at my heart.

Road monument with unfished cabins in the rear at Amboy, CA

Amboy, once a bustling and hustling railroad stop for miners, travelers, shippers, receivers, and those that just wanted an adventure which then, as many such towns did, turned into a ghost town and was now being brought back to life, makes me smile.

The last time I visited and spoke with Ken, a large tour bus had just pulled up and about a million tourists exited. It was a very large custom made bus.

“We sometimes get up to three thousand people visiting a day,” he said. I just saw a million, so I suppose his math could be accurate, rounded off for the year.

As I was taking a snap of some of the construction going on, a tourist walked to me and in a very German accent and said he recognized me.

“Yes, I am John R. Beyer, the world-renowned travel writer,” I humbly responded.

“Nein,” he retorted. “You look like the restroom attendant. Paper is needed in stall three.”

I nodded and then mumbled, “You probably meant number two.”

Ken advised me that 50% of the visitors are European, 35% from the United States, 10% from South and Central America and the remainder from Asia or perhaps the territory of Nauru.

As I wandered here and there, teams of construction personnel were wiring this, harnessing that, and pretty much doing what construction personnel did. They were busy rebuilding Amboy into what Albert Okura had imagined.

New construction in the works in Amboy, CA

A town full of life which invited the tourist to stop for a spell for a rest, and perhaps a meal and then back onto the historic byway or Route 66.

In fact, in keeping to Albert’s plans, Ken explained that they hoped to have rooms ready to rent, a fully functioning restaurant, and other amenities which made staying in Amboy for more than a couple of hours a reality.

I asked about the family and their thoughts about Albert’s visions.

“I must say that Kyle, one of Albert’s children, comes here quite often and spends long weekends checking out how much work is getting done. Often, Mrs. Okura and other family members accompany him and they love it out here. They are a great and loving family.”

Years ago, my lovely wife Laureen, along with one of our daughters, Kelly, drove through Amboy and were delighted to see the site was being used as a Fly- In. Planes of all makes and models were actually landing along Route 66 and taxing to the small airport located there.

Music, food, and other entertainment were in abundance for all to share in.

Other events which are being coordinated by Ken, the other staff members, and the family are motorcycle rendezvous, classic car shows, airplane fly-ins, music festivals, space alien conventions, and the list goes on and on.

And gas is available at the original pumps

“We also are also a venue for those who want to rent the place out for movie shoots, television ads, music videos, weddings, and the like,” Ken stated.

Recently a Polish singer by the name of Daria Zawailaow utilized the town for a music video. It is spunky, riveting, and I have no idea what she is singing about - my Polish is rather limited except for some old and now inappropriate jokes.

The below link will show just one of the musical talents who visited Amboy and wanted to share with their audiences what an iconic place this little town is and why it is important to visit.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=CoMFkWwevjA

For more information: https://visitamboy.com/ 

John can be contacted at; beyersbyways@gmail.com

 

Amboy, Part I

Anyone who has traveled extensively along that long black ribbon of highway called Route 66 will recognize the name of the town of Amboy. Tourists, locals, and America’s Mother Road aficionados know of this old railway stop smack dab center in the Mojave Desert.

It is that iconic place just a few hundred yards from a double set of railroad tracks to the southwest which conjures up images of past times. Towns like Amboy were vital stops for visitors who ventured from the windy city of Chicago to the edge of the Pacific Ocean.

The Mojave Desert is not for the weak-willed or unprepared. No, in the summer months the temperatures can easily soar into the triple digits making driving along Route 66 a challenge at times - especially before the invention of air conditioning for vehicles.

But it is these exact spots that remind the traveler of the fortitude and tenacity of those who went out and settled in sometimes very hostile territories - and succeeded.

Railroading was big business, moving goods from here to there to be consumed by those needing supplies or simply desiring goods from various locales around the country.

And the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad honchos knew the fastest route from large hubs, such as Barstow, would be straight across the Mojave Desert.

In the late 1880s, train engines needed water to build up steam to pump those large steel wheels along hundreds of miles of track.

So railroad stops were created and boom towns blossomed.

Towns like Siberia, Bagdad, Ibis, Bannock, and so many more once were thriving, but have now been nearly all forgotten through the decades. A sign here or there may advise the traveler of a tree as the only living entity in Bagdad. There are broken slabs of cement littering this section or that section of desert allowing those with an imagination to understand that folks once laughed and loved in these towns. And yes, deserted but well maintained cemeteries dot the desert floor giving names to those who lived and died along the railroad. And sometimes there is simply a weatherbeaten wooden cross fighting to stay upright in the blasting winds and relentless sun with no recognition of who lies below.

Many of the ghost towns have their own monuments to past residents

Amboy was such a town. A place that came into existence in 1858 as simply a watering hole for the trains belonging to the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad, later to be the Santa Fe Railway. In 1883 Lewis Kingman, a locating engineer, established the stop as an actual town and soon more and more folks were moving in.

The Church in Amboy, California

In 1926 the now famous Route 66 was completed and people were able to drive their Ford Model Ts, Pontiac 6s, Dodge Specials, or other vehicles all the way from the midwest to California. 

The love affair with cars and driving was in full gear. And the tiny town of Amboy was soon to become an iconic stop along Route 66 due to an enterprising couple who through happenstance soon made the railroad stop their home for decades.

Roy Crowl and his wife, Velma, ended up in Amboy in 1924 after a vehicle mishap, and not being able to afford the repairs stayed while Roy worked as a mechanic and other jobs and Velma became a cook at a couple of restaurants that were there at the time in Amboy.

In the late 1930s, Roy believed Amboy was going to be huge on the map along Route 66 since the vehicle traffic kept getting heavier by the month and purchased four acres of land. In 1938 Roy opened a garage, Roy’s Garage, to service any and all vehicles heading east or west out of town and soon his business was booming. His son-in-law Buster Burris, who had married the couple's daughter, Betty, went into business with Roy in the garage and opened up a parts store inside the garage. Soon though, Betty came up with the idea of their own cafe and confiscated the parts store for her restaurant.

The name was then changed to Roy’s Garage and Cafe. Soon the realization that travelers not only needed fuel, food, and repairs but also a place to spend the night gave the owners another business concept.

Cabins were built just east of the garage and cafe and the name was again changed to Roy’s Motel and Cafe.

Rental cabins to be used by guests at Roy's

In the 1940s the population of Amboy was reported at nearly 200 citizens with three small motels, restaurants, multiple garages, a church, a school, and a post office.

Amboy was certainly on the map for those driving Route 66,

When Roy retired in 1959, Buster not only maintained the motel, service station, and restaurant but also acquired the whole town which included other entities such as a Post Office and school.

Unfortunately, with progress often comes decline and that is what occurred when Interstate 40, a few miles north of Amboy was completed in 1973. Travelers now opted for the faster route instead of the single lane winding road of Route 66 which often meant stopping for trains at crossings or slowing through the towns along the roadway.

Almost all but Buster’s business closed, leaving the town pretty much empty except for a few hangers-ons.  Buster sold the town in 1995 to Walt Wilson and Tim White who used it as a film set and for photo shoots. But even that dried up, forcing the men to lose the town in a foreclosure which returned what was now a ghost town to Betty Burris, Buster’s widow.

As the town died, the citizens left derelict houses

Amboy went back on the market and finally was sold to Albert Okura, the owner of the popular chain of restaurants, Juan Pollo, in February of 2005.

Part of the deal was that Okura had to promise to preserve Amboy and reopen Roy’s. Perhaps Betty Burris did not understand that Albert was a man full of his own dreams and a lover of history.

In fact, he established the one-of-a-kind McDonald’s Museum in San Bernardino of the site where the original McDonald’s restaurant was owned by brothers Richard and Maurice McDonald.

Albert Okura knew what he wanted to do with this Amboy town which he had purchased - turn it back to how it looked in its heyday and welcome guests from around the world to come and enjoy this particular part of true Americana.

He was a man with a mission and a revamping of Amboy was started as soon as the ink dried on the escrow papers.

In Part 2 - Even after Okura’s passing in 2023, his dream is very much alive with his family and the staff working on taking Amboy off the ghost town rolls and making it a living historical landmark.

John can be reached at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

Tidal Bore Rafting on the Bay of Fundy

John R Beyer near the Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia

According to Ed, “Retirement, as I view it comes in three realities. Go-go. Slow-go. Or, No-go. I am going to enjoy the first as long as I can.”

Ed is a full time RVer, along with his wife Trish. They winter in Florida and spend the rest of the year wandering here and there.

This particular here was where my lovely wife, Laureen, and I caught up with the two along the Shubenacadie River which empties into the Bay of Fundy.

The weather was warm for Nova Scotia in mid-June and we were ready for an adventure on this natural phenomenon known as the tidal bore, the shift between low and high tides in the Bay of Fundy.

We had donned our life jackets and were just awaiting instructions from our white water river guides before climbing aboard the small red Zodiac rubber raft with a 60 horsepower outboard attached aft.

Derrick, the man at the helm, announced that we would be traveling out toward the bay while the river was at its shallowest.

“I know it looks like all the water is gone but we will navigate through some channels cut out naturally by the ebb and flow of the river which will give us all a great chance to see how marvelous this experience can be.”

A view of the bottom of the Bay of Fundy after water recedes

In the past, I have run white water rapids on the Colorado River, the Kern River, the Stanislaus River, and the American River - so this should not be too much of an experience in all reality. 

Riding an incoming tide from an ocean? 

The Bay of Fundy has two extensive tides that retreat into the Atlantic Ocean twice a day - roughly twelve hours apart. The tide goes out and boats that have been photographed millions of times are seen sitting on the muddy floor of the bay. Then a few hours later the tide returns and the boats miraculously start to float beautifully upon the waters waiting for their owners to get on board as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Laureen Beyer standing on the floor of the Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia

So, here we were near the small enclave of Green Oaks, approximately 60 miles northeast of Halifax getting ready for our four hour cruise along the Shubenacadie River.

Old Railroad bridge spanning the Shubenacadie River, Nova Scotia

“Sounds like a Rolling Stones song,” I mentioned to Laureen as we made our way down a rather steep incline to the floor of the now empty river. “I can’t get no satisfaction from my Shubenacadie. I can’t get no . . .”

“Stop,” she replied. 

“The mud can get a bit slippery here,” said Steph, a guide who would be accompanying us on our wild rapids journey.

I smiled but then suddenly found myself sliding down the path to the river as though I had just donned a pair of snow skis for a downhill slalom. I was out of control.

“A hand here,” I yelled. 

“I think Laureen pushed me,” I said when regaining my balance next to the Zodiac.

We had signed up with Fundy Tidal Bore Adventures for this excursion along the Shubenacadie to see what all the hub-hub was with these Bay of Fundy tides.

I had never heard of a tidal bore. Though, it is very true that I have met a lot of bores in my life, and perhaps one or two by a tide, but this phenomenon was new to me.

The definition is quite simple: ‘A tidal bore, often simply given as bore in context, is a tidal phenomenon in which the leading edge of the incoming tide forms a wave (or waves) of water that travels up a river or narrow bay, reversing the direction of the river or bay's current. It is a strong tide that pushes up the river, against the current.’

Huh?

We had witnessed the water in various rivers upon our travels in this region of Nova Scotia over the past few days to marvel how a river or bay is full of water and then within a couple of hours you can be having a lobster roll on the dry bed.

In fact, the lobster rolls were delicious and backed by a cold Nine Locks Dirty Blonde made eating on the muddy floor of a waterway that much better.

When the water retreats and then returns to fill in the bay or river, the fluctuation can be amazing. These tidal bores only occur in a very few remarkable areas around the world and usually have a difference of about 20 feet between ebb and flow.

The Bay of Fundy is one of the grandest of them all, with a difference of sometimes over 40 feet - in fact at Burntcoat Head Park, approximately 40 miles west of Green Oaks on the Bay of Fundy, 54 feet of water difference is not uncommon.

Some people actually surf the Tidal Bore on the Bay of Fundy

We were off heading toward the bay as our captain, Derrick, piloted the small raft with great expertise finding this channel or that channel.

“Look up at the tall cliffs surrounding us,” he directed. And we did. “When the tidal bore comes in it will not be long until those cliffs are only a few feet above us instead of the sixty they are now.”

Suddenly a bald eagle soared out of the tall green trees atop those very same cliffs and circled high above us. 

"You’ll see a lot of those today,” Steph said, and in fact, we counted at least fourteen flying high and wide across the Shubenacadie in the next four hours.

Soon we were beached along a huge sand bar in the middle of the river. “We’ll be here for about thirty minutes until the tide comes in, and then it’s off to the races.”

“I read that the tidal bore can be only a few inches in height as it comes in,” I said to Ed and Laureen who were standing near me. “Doesn’t sound very thrilling.”

We chatted about this and that when suddenly we all noticed the once dry sand bar was quickly going under water and we were ankle deep in the incoming waters. The tide was coming in at a rate of about two inches a minute.

“Let’s get aboard,” Derrick said as we all climbed back into the raft and took our positions sitting on top of the inflated sides. “Make sure to hold tight to the ropes behind you when we actually hit the tidal bore.”

Warnings were given to all us customers not to bring any personal belongings upon the raft - cell phones, cameras, jewelry, car keys, or anything else of value. Morgan, the owner of the company, had told us before casting off that the waves would be so brutal that it would be nearly impossible to hold onto anything but the ropes looped around the exterior of the raft.

“I’m sure this will be a nothing burger that we paid good money for,” I skeptically replied.

Forty minutes later they could hear my girlie-man screams all the way to Prince Edward Island.

The tidal bore was anything but boring as it smacked straight into the waters of the river and with the narrow channels filling up, created pockets of swirling masses of white water, and our raft bounded into the air like a fish fighting for its life.

“You noticed when the water was out there were dips here and there across the surface of the river,” Derrick yelled across the raft. “That is what’s creating the rapids.”

At this point, I had swallowed enough of the Shubenacadie to become a local and we weren’t done yet.

“Now, off to the washing machine!” Derrick yelled, as he throttled the raft to maximum velocity.

In moments the entire bow of the raft, where Ed and I happened to be sitting was engulfed in mammoth waves. It was thrilling. It was wonderful. It was scary, as I lost my grip of the rope with my left hand and ended up on the floor of the raft, which happened to be full of water.

“I can still see the top of the boat,” Ed yelled. “Is this all you got?”

Derrick took the challenge and plunged us head first into the first set of six footers which ran over the length of the Zodiac. I lost count on how many sets there were. 

That is when, for the briefest moment, I hated Ed.

It was probably the best ride of my life. Nerve wracking and all, but to experience a tidal bore so up close and personal was beyond marvelous.

Fishing boats get stranded twice a day on the Bay of Fundy

We survived and I had to agree with Ed - this trip to Nova Scotia was going to be a Go-go. 

For further information: https://www.tidalboreadventures.ca/contact

John can be reached at beyersbyways@gmail.com

The Serenity of the Heritage House in Riverside, CA

The historical Heritage House in Riverside, CA

In 1873, a woman by the name of Eliza Tibbets got an unexpected gift from her friend, William Saunders, who happened to be a horticulturist at the United States Department of Agriculture in Washington D.C.

Knowing that Saunders liked to figure out the science of growing plants, we might presume Tibbets may have thought a nice bouquet of Camellias would be special. Those very rare flowering plants found in the far-flung lands of eastern and southern Asia would be charming to put on her windowsill at her home in Riverside, California.

When the package arrived, her friend had sent three Brazilian navel orange trees. He explained that the trees had come from Bahia, Brazil, and would grow very well in the semi-arid climate of the town situated alongside the Santa Ana River,

“I like oranges,” Tibbets may have said while donning a pair of work gloves and grabbing a shovel.

Turns out the trees did like the weather in Riverside and soon the citrus revolution in this Southern California town was in full bloom.

One of the orange trees planted by Tibbets is still thriving and can be seen at the junction of Magnolia Avenue and Arlington Avenue to this day.

By 1882, Riverside had over half of the entire population of citrus trees growing in California and people were making all kinds of moola-boola. Then, with the invention of the refrigerated railcar, oranges and other citrus could be shipped anywhere in the United States without rotting. 

By 1895, Riverside had become the richest city in the nation by way of income per capita.

As Laureen, my citrus-loving wife, and I wandered the beautiful green gardens of the Heritage House in Riverside recently, I regaled her with tales of growing up in the city of oranges.

The rear gardens including the carriage house and water tower

“I’ve heard those tales before. Many times,” she said.

I’m sure that meant that she wanted to hear more about the times my friends and I would ride our stallions through the acres of orange groves in Riverside on lazy summer afternoons looking for boyish adventures.

“I recall the time near Victoria Avenue . . .” I started.

“The tour is beginning,” Laureen interrupted. “You can finish your monologue later.”

You bet I will, I thought, as Docent Sandy invited us into the parlor of the rather large Victorian house located along Magnolia Avenue.

We were visiting the historical Heritage House which was built in 1892 wondering what it had to offer visitors in the way of Riverside history. As we stepped into the entrance, it seemed as though the residence had just been recently constructed. It is simply gorgeous - in a 19th-century sort of way.

The entrance parlor of the Heritage House

Docent Sandy was dressed in period costume and introduced herself to our small group of tourists, or as I like to refer to myself, historical researcher.

“The house is maintained in almost the exact way it would have appeared when Mrs. Catharine Bettner had lived here,” Docent Sandy said. “In fact, all the furniture, paintings, photographs, and other items in the house come from that time period, though they may not have all belonged to Mrs. Bettner.”

We later learned during the tour that all the items in the house were donated by people living in Riverside from their private collections when the Riverside Museum Associates purchased the property and converted it into a museum in 1969.

“Good time to get rid of great-grandma’s rocking chair,” a husband may have said. “Then I can get a wide lounger to take its place for game day.”

The Heritage House and all the belongings were as authentic as they could be.

Beautiful artwork abounds

“Mrs. Bettner had always wanted to live in a Queen Anne-style home and she got her wish after hiring architect John A. Walls from the firm Morgan and Walls out of Los Angeles.”

Turns out that even with detailed plans, the contractor made one terrible boo-boo as he went to turn the keys over to the new owner. He had forgotten to add the servant staircase at the rear of the house.

And we all know how that feels. Servants traipsing down the main staircase, how ghastly indeed. Laureen would have clasped her pearls in dismay at such an atrocity.

“John, my smelling salts, please,” she may say. “Jeeves just came down OUR staircase.”

The contractor sued Bettner. Bettner sued the contractor. And the judge said build the staircase and she will pay for it.

The total cost of the house, with the added servant staircase, was a staggering $13,500.00 dollars, in today's money would be nearly $400,000.  This actually is not bad considering the home boasts over 4,000 square feet of living space with an intricately carved staircase, (not the one for servants), multiple fireplaces that are inlaid with gorgeous colored tiles, and pocket sliding doors weighing four to six hundred pounds to close off rooms which glide like they are slicked with butter - and these doors are 132 years old. Try to get that warranty from Home Depot or Lowe’s.

The ceilings are designed in various patterns utilizing all sorts of native and imported wood that Docent Sandy told us but I forgot. Wait, my wife just nudged me: pine, redwood, and white oak. Finely crafted hanging lights are in each room showing nothing but elegance.

Beautifully handcrafted woodwork throughout the home

An interesting tidbit is that Catharine Bettner had moved from New York to California with her husband, James, in the late 1870s and knew about electric lights.  Even though electricity was not readily available at that time in Riverside, she had the lights installed in anticipation of retrofitting, so no changes cosmetically would have to be made to the house when electricity became available.

A very practical and forward-thinking woman.

Wandering through the residence truly pointed out how life was both similar and yet quite different at the same time, at the near turn of the 20th century.

All the comforts of an expensive home but with a few things missing, like air conditioning.

“The Heritage House is closed from June until September since the association desires to maintain the place as original as possible,” Docent Sandy said.

In other words, the museum is closed during the very hot summer months so visitors don’t faint while grasping for the banister while descending from the second floor.

“Oh my,” a woman visitor may say as she slides face-first down the stairs. “It is hot in here.”

As we entered the gracefully decorated dining room, Docent Sandy told us how Mrs. Bittner came to build her home along Magnolia Avenue.

The formal dining room

Turns out that the reason James and Catharine had left New York was due to James’s bad health. He was given less than a year to live unless he moved west to the warmer climate of California. They did and he lasted an amazing 11 years longer until passing in 1888.

When they arrived in Riverside, James jumped into the new citrus business not only planting trees but also building packing houses to prepare the citrus for delivery locally or eventually nationally.

“Back then,” Docent Sandy said. “Men had multiple jobs or careers to take care of their families. There were no pensions like today, so many men became wealthy working in this field and that field at the same time. James was a lawyer, a civil engineer, and a citrus farmer.”

I could feel Laureen’s eyes on me. I ignored them.

“So, when James died, Catharine took over his businesses and decided to build this house since she did not want to live in the house in which her beloved husband had died,” Docent Sandy told us.

Bettner was a very wise and shrewd business owner who wanted to make her late husband proud, So, under her guidance the citrus production flourished, and later on, when it was time to slow down, she turned everything over to her only surviving child Robert.

As the tour progressed we realized this was a truly special place to visit. Not only did it have a wonderful history but showed the love and respect the citizens had for this one-time small town in the West.

One of many fireplaces

It was their home and they took pride in it.

With the thought of preserving history, the Riverside Museum Associates wanted the residence designated on the National Register of Historic Places, which it received on February 28, 1973. 

For further information: https://riversideca.gov/museum/