In 1542, Captain Juan Cabrillo landed just off the coast of Southern California, having sailed into the entrance of what would be later be known as San Diego Bay. It was a momentous occasion for the Spanish explorer, even though he was actually Portuguese, to finally find such an immense safe port so far away from home.

                                                             That looks like a nice bay.

Months of sailing had tired Cabrillo and his men, and nearly exhausted their food supplies. The bearded man – I assume he was bearded; weren’t all early 16th century explorers bearded? Even the women?

“We have done it my fine fellows,” he exclaimed, in perfect Spanish, with perhaps just a hint of a Portuguese accent. “We are tired, hungry, and I know a great place that serves wonderful fajitas and large margaritas near the Embarcadero.”

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate.

But he was pretty thrilled, according to some history paper I once read, about his discovery of the bay. His men were too – finally able to disembark and look around the vacant lands that bordered the blue waters which streamed in from the Pacific Ocean. What a relief it must have been to walk on solid ground again, after so long bouncing up and down and down and up across the waters.

In fact, embarcadero means, boarding place, in Spanish. I don’t know what it means in Portuguese, though.

Cabrillo, per history, was the first European to set foot, or webbed feet – considering he had been at sea for so long, onto the soil that would centuries later encompass one of the most beautiful cities in the United States.

It would be nearly two hundred years before any other Europeans would revisit after Cabrillo departed, and start to settle there permanently. It would be a lonely land, except for the large groups of Kumeyaay – pronounced Kumeyaay - who lived there already.

                                                        That's some pretty big territory

These Native American people, had resided near the large bay for nearly 12,000 years before Cabrillo had claimed the area for Spain. I guess, Cabrillo simply forgot about the indigenous people already living there.

“I claim this land in the name of the King of Spain, even though I’m Portuguese,” he was heard announcing, at he stuck a flag in a beach.

“Uh, sorry, but we were here first,” replied the chief of the Kumeyaay people.

“Yeah? Where’s your flag?” Cabrillo asked. All his men, who weren’t busy building sand castles, nodded in agreement.

“Got me there,” the chief lamented.

Anyway, as the centuries moved on, San Diego prospered, and in 1976, the first female port commissioner, Bernice Leyton, approved two parks to be built on the peninsula jutting out into the San Diego Bay. 

                                        The two parks have great views of Coronado Island

In 1978, the Embarcadero Marina North and South Parks were completed, with rolling open grass areas, tall eucalyptus trees, and other flora making the parks not only breathtakingly scenic, but also acting as a buffer from the western breezes coming in from the bay to protect the boats in the marina.

The Embarcadero Marina Park North, was a nine-and-a-half-acre extension for the already present Sea Port Village situated at the northern edge of the park. The designers believed, and were correct, that this addition of lands would make a gorgeous area for walking for visitors and citizens of San Diego. A walking path winds gently along the bay with views of the Coronado Bridge, as well as Coronado Island itself.

Even though Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, if we remember our history, made a pretty big name for himself as another Spanish Explorer - at least he was Spanish, born around 1510 in Salamanca, Spain - who explored the area in what would later be the American West and the country of Mexico, he never set foot in the San Diego Bay area.

Why name a bridge and island after him? How about the Cabrillo Bridge, or Cabrillo Island? Perhaps, the Kumeyaay Bridge and Kumeyaay Island would have worked out just fine also.

Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.

Still, the view of the bay is outstanding, and being in Southern California, the weather is almost perfect year round. That is why San Diego is known as America’s Finest City. Miles upon miles of white sandy beaches, dozens of lush green parks, bike lanes all along the waterfront, and so much more to offer those who reside there and those who would like to. Those would be the tourists.

                                                The view from anywhere, is awesome

So, a few weeks ago, I decided to pay America’s Finest City, a visit. It was a quick visit. A little business, but time enough to walk around the Embarcadero Marina North Park, and wander through the shops at Seaport Village.

The sun was shining, no clouds in the sky, the crystal blue waters of the bay lapping the shorelines of the Embarcadero, and crowds of likeminded people enjoying the outdoors. I knew they were enjoying themselves as their foreheads were wrinkled up and their eyes squinting.

That’s the new way of knowing if someone is smiling. A scrunched up face. Since we’re all required to wear masks – the new way of life – no smiles were actually seen, but only felt.

“I was smiling at your joke, Dad.”

“I didn’t see any smile.”

“My eyes were watering, that’s the sign now.

The day was just lovely. In fact, love was in the air along the promenade that circles the embarcadero.

Young lovers smashing masks together as they sat on the bay retaining wall. Couples walking hand in hand, and then sanitizing soon after. 

It was all so romantic. 

But, I was alone on this trip. Laureen couldn’t accompany me – so I thought I’d do something she would never think of doing – I went shopping.

That last line was tongue in cheek – of course, me wearing a mask, no one would know.

There are actually some sixty plus stores in Seaport Village. I didn’t make but two – I was exhausted, after purchasing some snazzy t-shirts and a couple of patriotic masks.

                                           One of many shops offering great items for sale

There are also countless restaurants, bistros, coffee shops, sweet shops. And did I mention mask shops? The shopping area is so eclectic in what is offered, that it sounds silly to say it’s an eclectic set of eclectic businesses, all bunched in one area. I had to write that – just had to.

                                    Enough for anyone, wanting to enjoy San Diego at its finest

But, in this time of COVID and with all the rest 2020 has brought us – I’m waiting for swarms of locusts to descend from the heavens at this point – the Seaport Village and both parks on the Embarcadero are worth visiting.

It’s San Diego – that should say it all, but, and here’s another selling point. It’s cooler there by the water – and in this blistering summer – that is enough said.

This article was first published in the Daily Press Newspaper, in - Beyer's Byways.

 

 I often find myself on the road, which is a good thing, since I write a travel feature each week.  But sometimes I have no idea where to go, or where I might end up. And, that is sometimes, the beauty of traveling.

Go west young man, Horace Greeley told Mark Twain, and though I ain’t that young anymore, I just head out in any direction to see what there is to see. And there’s a lot to see.

Recently, while driving Route 66 – yes, I like America’s road – I came across a road closure sign just a few miles east of Amboy. I don’t like road closures. It seems there’s a reason why that road is closed and I want to know why. Is it closed due to a government secret? Perhaps an alien ship crashed in the desert that the government is hiding it from the citizens.

Think that’s far-fetched? Think Roswell, New Mexico, my friends.

So, anyway, I came across that road closure sign but when I read the fine print – it clearly said the road was closed to through traffic east of Cadiz Road. Well, that made all the difference in the world to me. Perhaps, I didn’t want to be a through trafficker past this Cadiz Road. That meant I could drive down the road to Cadiz and turn around, if I wanted to.

Always study the fine print

What was a Cadiz anyway? Wasn’t sure but knew I had to go there. Turned out the true closed road was exactly at Cadiz Road. That’s where the government actually was stopping any traffic from traveling further east on Route 66.

What were they hiding? After a bit of research, it turned out there were no alien crash sites but simply the road was closed due to multiple bridges being washed out after some pretty heavy desert flooding in 2014. This section of highway has been closed for many years – many, many years. How long does it take to rebuild a few bridges? Apparently six, and counting…

Hmmm, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, but I do believe in the occasional conspiracy. Maybe, just maybe, the Mojave Desert has a new Area 51.

I’ll check that out soon – I’m a professional explorer, so don’t try that on your own.

Back to Cadiz.

Turns out I had been to Cadiz. I had just forgotten momentarily, since it had been a bit over twenty years ago.

It happens to be one of the oldest constantly inhabited cities in Western Europe. This city, located on a piece of land jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea in Spain, is thought to have been founded in 1104 B.C. – oops, wait a moment. Wrong Cadiz.

Our Cadiz, the California one, was founded in 1883, by Lewis Kingman. He worked as a railroad engineer for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. This was the third railroad station located along this stretch of the Mojave Desert. Each station was alphabetical to its neighbor – Amboy, Bagdad, Cadiz, and so on. 

Driving into the area, the ruins of the Road Runners Retreat lines the south side of Route 66. This retreat was actually in what is now the ghost town of Chambliss – originally known as Chambliss Station. A water tower location for the railroads.

However, this resort had plenty of life in the 1960’s, when Roy and Helen Tull built the comfortable and welcome resort for travelers along Route 66. But when Highway 40 was built miles away to the north, the business lost its customers and closed its doors in the mid 1970’s. The café struggled until the early 1990’s.The buildings are boarded up. There’s no sign of life except for lizards, snakes, and possibly extraterrestrial life forms. I believe I saw a shadow run between two of the buildings. Can’t be certain, but the hair on my neck stood up. 

Not much left out there in Chambliss

Chambliss, as with the resort, faded to obscurity with that darn highway that made traveling so much faster, but also so mundane. In fact, records indicate that in 2005, the population of Chambliss was six residents and a dog. I didn’t see a dog on my visit.

The sign for the resort is still standing tall. One can imagine the neon lights flickering in the clear night, beckoning road weary travelers for a bit of a respite from the dry desert.

What's left of the Road Runner's Retreat 

Of course, there is the Bolo Station Bar/Grill and RV Park. It looked like life was percolating there. Well-kept buildings, tall trees, bushy bushes and plenty of space for RVs.  I drove in, asked a gentleman if I was in Cadiz, he pointed down the road and said three more miles.

Well, those three miles turned out to be quite interesting. As I thought I had been given erroneous information, suddenly there was the sign for Cadiz. There was no town. But, I did run across a smashed up vehicle on the east side of the asphalt. It looked like something out of Mad Max. Really cool.

Desolate and Mad Max worthy

Soon the asphalt ended and I was on dirt. I followed that dirt road to what appeared to be a large agricultural center. It should be noted that Cadiz actually sits atop one of the largest aquifers in Southern California. So much so, that it is listed as being able to supply water to Southern California for 400,000 residents with plenty to spare. The area is known for being in the forefront of water conservation and is earnestly working with the State of California, as well as the federal government for this very purpose.

As I drove into what was the labelled Cadiz Farm, I noticed what appeared to be a Christmas tree forest. But no, as I got closer and closer, the realization hit me that it was a gazillion acres of marijuana. 

Ah, a forest of green - hmmm, not Christmas trees though

I got out and walked through the fields for about ten minutes, or perhaps a couple of hours, or a week. Wasn’t sure, but when I got back to my truck, Jimi Hendrix was standing there playing his Fender Stratocaster. We laughed, exchanged musical lyrics and far too soon, he faded away – but just before he was gone, he smiled as only Jimi could and stated, “Cadiz you later.”

Cadiz you later, Jimi

Turns out the farm actually produces an array of other farm produce – it’s a huge agricultural business.

Is Cadiz worth visiting? I enjoyed my time there, but with all traveling, there are hits and misses. I’ll take the hit on this, and perhaps you can take the miss. But then again - - -

In full transparency - this article was first published by the Daily Press Newspaper - Beyer's Byways

The not forgotten town of Goffs

 According to Laura Hammonds, the executive director of the Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association, (that is one long title, she has), nearly 3,000 people visit the center each year in Goffs.

People visit so they can learn history - a good thing

Hmmm, what is Goffs? Anyone driving east or west along Highway 40 knows the turn off for Goffs Road. It’s that exit with a certain gas station, won’t say the name but it charges a wee bit higher price for gas than anywhere else. That’s okay – capitalism works and supply and demand is the root of capitalism. But here’s a thought – check your gas gauge before leaving Barstow or Needles. You may be able to afford your kids’ college if you do. Now, I’m a financial whiz.

Back to Goffs.

Goffs, like many of the small towns or villages along Route 66, has an interesting history. And like many, the towns or villages are now non-existent, or very small when it comes to the number of humans living there.

“I’d say, that there are probably ten fulltime residents and maybe twenty-five during peak times,” Laura stated.

Must be very quiet in the desert at night, miles away from the rumble of Highway 40 to the south. Really quiet.

“You can hear a bat flapping its wings while it flies over the Piute Mountains, it’s so quiet here.” That wasn’t really a quote from Laura. I made it up, as I sometimes do – but it must be pretty silent at night – except for one thing:

The railroad that is literally in the town itself. 

“The Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad Goffs crossing is here. The train crosses Route 66 right here at Goffs,” Laura told me. Yes, that’s a real statement, and not one I made up.

That wonderful creation, the railroad which brings us so many of the things we need to make life bearable, sweeps through Goffs at all hours of the day and night, tooting its horn. Things like medicine, food staples, stuff we buy that we don’t really need, and personal hygiene supplies like toilet paper – yes, toilet paper. 

No one will forget the year 2020 – when it wasn’t unusual to see people stop at traffic lights, roll down their windows and ask the driver in another vehicle – Pardon me, but do you happen to have Charmin Ultra-Soft?

Goffs was originally named, Blake, in 1893 after Isaac Blake, who was the builder of the Nevada Southern Railway. That name was later changed to the California Eastern Railway and that was changed to something else even later on and that changed to something else still later. Seems, as with so many things in life, change is inevitable. And so it is with names of railroads. Today, it is the Santa Fe Railroad for short, and so far that name has stuck. But, who knows what tomorrow may bring? And a rose by any other name…

And the research is not conclusive as to where the name for Goffs name actually originated, but the railroad was using names in an alphabetical way for stops along the tracks. Let’s call this one Goffs? Have no idea why, but won’t it be fun a long time from now having people guessing its origin? There you go, future folks!

My lovely spouse, Laureen, likes to think that Goffs was named after the author Helen Lyndon Goff, who wrote the magical nanny story, Mary Poppins, under the pen name P. L. Tavers. And she says I have an imagination. But who knows?

The history of Goffs goes way back, to when this area saw the likes of Francisco Garces, the first non-native in 1776. The Spanish friar and explorer was looking for an easy passage east and west through the Mojave Desert and spent considerable time not far from present day Goffs. 

In fact, Garces desert route is what we know today as the Mojave Road – that stretch of isolation on which off-roaders love to spend time. I drove that stretch a few years back, in the summer, of course, with only one vehicle, of course – and lived to tell about it. Thanks Friar Garces – in my heart, he’s a saint for watching over not the brightest of desert travelers.

Then the adventurer, Jedediah Smith came through the area twice, once in 1826 and again in 1827, also looking for a route through the oftentimes difficult desert terrain. On one of those adventures, it is believed that Smith was running for his life from the direction of the Colorado River, chased by a group of angry natives. I wasn’t there, but it is a good story all the same. 

Goffs played an important role delivering water for the steam engines on the main line to Barstow. Situated only thirty miles from Needles made this location – at the top of the hill – to be the ideal watering stop for trains. By 1911, there were enough Santa Fe workers and their families to warrant the building of a school house, which was built in 1914.

The school house still stands, and can be visited on the museum grounds, run by the MDHCA – Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association. Along with the school house, there are many exhibits detailing the history of this once thriving town on Route 66.

Site of the once thriving school house

The grounds contain many interesting displays of bygone days

Like any town along the route, simple paths became wagon trails, then railroad lines and eventually the dirt paths along those railroad lines were paved. And, there you have a road for that contraption called a car.

The United States Army built a training center in the area during WWII called Camp Goffs. It served its purpose until 1944.

According to Laura, “Because of the availability of water and good rail service an entire division was here at Goffs at one time. People can still find military artifacts throughout the Goffs area.”

We all love finding trinkets on our adventures, but if you come across a rusty pointed munitions thingy – please leave it alone. A military button, belt buckle or an abandoned tank, okay – a bomb, not so much.

“Everything that happened in the West, happened here. Mining, homesteading, cattle ranching, railroad, and Route 66. It all happened in Lanfair Valley,” stated Laura.

Yes, Goffs is located in Lanfair Valley. According to Wikipedia, Lanfair Valley is drained southeastwards, then due south by the Sacramento Wash, which then turns due-east and combines with the Piute Wash drainage. The dual valley drainage is a U-shape, and the first major dry wash drainage from the west, into the Colorado River, south of Lake Mead.

I have no idea what that means exactly, but the area sure is pretty.

Goffs’ largest building, the general store, is abandoned but still standing – unfortunately it has been vandalized and graffitified – I made that word up, but looks like it should be entered into Merriam Webster’s book. 

What was once the general store in Goffs

Goffs is definitely worth a visit. The museum opens in October, which is a wonderful time of year to visit anything in the desert. When did I visit? The summer – who’d think that? 

 In full transparency - this story first appeared in the Daily Press Newspaper, under Beyer's Byways.