Fairmount Park, Riverside, CA

The great American author, John Steinbeck once wrote – ‘You can’t go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.’ 

John Steinbeck - a great writer

When I had first read that in his non-fiction book, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, I didn’t completely comprehend what he had been trying to suggest.

Actually, it was more like - What, the heck was this guy thinking? You can’t go home? Home no longer exists? Memories of mothballs? And by the way, what is a mothball?

Decades after reading those words, it made sense. I was born and raised in Riverside, California before relocating to the High Desert. Yes, I would visit Riverside quite often when my parents were alive, but after they were gone – the visits pretty much stopped.

Oh, we would still drive down during the Christmas holidays to take in the Mission Inn’s Festival of Lights. Perhaps drive down Victoria Avenue to take in the beautiful rows of orange trees – and yes, once in a while drive down the street, and pass the house I had spent my childhood in.

The Mission Inn in Riverside during the Christmas Season

Pleasant memories. Those days when all I had to ponder was going to school, hanging out with friends, and doing some chores. It would be later in life that the reality of careers, parenting, mortgages, utilities, food, and all the rest of the grown-up responsibilities would make their presence known.

More like – geez, did I really sign up for all this adulthood drama?

Recently, I had to drive down the hill to Riverside to pick up a few items for a party one of our daughters was having. Of course, it was to be a COVID-19 compliant party – with the limit on guests to only six family members, and each guest would sequester into their own room. We would communicate with each other by means of a string attached to metal cans. 

I arrived a bit early to pick up the items and found there was about an hour to burn. Never let an hour to burn go to waste, is one of my mottos.

Heading west on Route 60 from the junction with Interstate 215, I exited on Market Street and found myself driving through a place that was full of recollections of my youth. 

Fairmount Park is an iconic place in the city of Riverside. Two hundred and fifty acres of relaxation.

In 1911, the city commissioned the nation’s first landscape architectural company to design an urban park. The company, first started by Frederick Law Olmsted, and later taken over by his sons John Charles Olmsted and Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. had a great amount of experience developing barren land into things of natural beauty.

Some of their most famous works were Yale University in New Haven, Stanford University in California, and Central Park in New York City, just to name a few. 

This talented group of landscaping architects was as busy as bees in spring. Just thought I’d throw that in – I’ve seen bees buzzing a lot in spring, and they seem pretty busy. Same with the folks from Olmsted and Olmsted.

With this incredible resume, the city of Riverside knew they had the best team on their side.

“Well, let’s grab some shovels and start planting trees!” one of the city planners gushed.

“Yes, some giant Redwoods would be nice, and perhaps a wading pool with duckies,” suggested a city engineer.

“Hmmm, I believe it may take some time to design the park before we start the actual process,” either John or Frederick Jr. replied.

“Oh,” said the city planner. “I’ll put the shovels back in the shed.”

It took nearly thirteen years to complete the project, but the time and effort were worth it. In those years, Olmsted and Olmsted turned vacant land into an inviting and restful respite for the city residents.

There were walking trails through lush green grass areas. With the completion of Lake Evans, there was plenty of space to fish and to use sailboats or rowboats. There were tall trees to lay beneath on hot summer days. A bandstand to listen to music by local bands. Eventually, tennis courts, lawn bowling areas, and a large rose garden complete with a gazebo were completed, making Fairmount Park something to be very proud of, in this city nestled beside the Santa Ana River.

Looks like a nice place to take a restful saunter

The rose garden with a beautiful gazebo

As I drove around the park, beneath trees with branches nearly covering the entire roadway, I recalled riding my bicycle to the park countless times with friends when I was young. It was the place to go. A few miles of peddling, and soon we would find ourselves at this beautiful oasis with so much to do.

No one was supposed to swim in Lake Evans. Signs were posted everywhere. But, and that’s the pivotal word ‘but’ after riding along the streets of Riverside, we were hot and sweaty.

My mother would ask, more than once, “Why is it that you get pink eye so often?”

Pink eye, again?

I had no answer, as most kids wouldn’t, knowing that swimming in a muddy, dirty, but inviting lake might be the reason.

Ancient thoughts of days spent at the lake ran through me as I continued my slow drift through the wonderfully green park. A tree inventory conducted in 1985, determined that many of the trees planted during the building of the park were still living. It made sense, as I walked around a bit and marveled at the size of some of the Montezuma Cypress trees – it looked as though it would take four or five adults linked together to wrap their arms around the trunks.

Another view of the lake at Fairmount Park

It was Olmsted’s idea that these trees would forever be home to many different species of birds. Listening to the chirping above me in the limbs, I knew these architects would be very happy with their choice of Taxodium mucronatum – that’s the botanical name for this tree. 

As I continued around the park, I saw a group of young ladies walking and chit-chatting with each other.

I wanted to get their take on the park. Why were they walking around it? How often did they do it? 

Slowing, I rolled my window down and proceeded with caution – I didn’t want to come across as a park creep and get sprayed with mace.

“Excuse me,” I said in my friendliest tone – maybe that did sound kind of creepy. “I’m a writer, and was wondering if I could ask you, ladies, a couple of questions?”

“What do you write?” asked one of the women.

“This and that, mainly about traveling to places worth visiting.”

“Sure, ask away,” Silvia said.

“Do you walk through the park often and why?”

Mary replied. “The park is near my house and it so beautiful and clean out here. Makes me feel great each morning as we take this mile walk.”

“I love it here,” Barbara stated. “I’ve been coming to this park since I was a child with my parents.

“It’s a piece of history for Riverside. Look around, it’s green, peaceful, and the rose garden is something no one would get tired of looking at.”

“My husband and I love hanging out in here in the summer. So relaxing,” finished Silvia.

In the summer, how couldn't this be relaxing

In full disclosure, the four women were speaking so quickly and my note-taking was so slow, that I’m not sure I got the correct quotes with the correct person. I don’t think they will mind though, the bottom line was they love Fairmount Park.

In fact, in 2011 the American Planning Association designated the park as a ‘Great Public Space.’ That same year, the City Parks Alliance out of Washington D.C., also designated Fairmount Park as a ‘Frontline Park’ – a jewel in the park system.

As I drove out of the park and headed toward my original destination, I thought back to what Steinbeck had written.

Memories of the past may not be allowed to exist in reality alongside the present, but that doesn’t mean new memories cannot be created.

And isn’t that what traveling is all about? 

Cadiz - it is there

Welcome to Cadiz

I often find myself on the road, which is a good thing, since I write a travel feature each week for the Daily Press.  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.

We think it means you can't drive any further

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.

Route 66 - the Mother Road

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.

Wrong Cadiz - nice looking though

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.

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 of Chambliss - a shame

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.

Once a bustling stop for travelers on Route 66

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.

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.

This car has met Mad Max, and lost

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. 

Nope, not Christmas trees

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.”

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 - - -

A Grand Canyon

 President Theodore Roosevelt first visited northern Arizona in 1903. And what he saw impressed this world traveler, and he’d seen some pretty interesting things in his life. He was looking at the Grand Canyon, and marveled at this long curving geologic wonder. The canyon wounds its way 277 miles through the high desert of Arizona, reaching sometimes a width of 18 miles, and nearly one mile deep in some spots.

Truly an awesome sight to behold.

“Humph, that is one grand canyon,” the President stated.

A guide nodded, “Mr. President, it is known as the Grand Canyon, after all.”

“Bully – simply bully.”

The president was so impressed at what he was seeing, he declared the area a national game preserve on November 28, 1906. But that declaration turned out not going far enough to protect all the wildlife that resided in the canyon. On January 11, 1908, Roosevelt declared the Grand Canyon a U.S. National Monument. 

According to the National Parks Conservation Association, ‘national monuments are nationally significant lands and waters set aside for permanent protection’.

The rough riding president surely loved the outdoors, and with the creation of the Antiquities Act in 1906, he was busy setting aside federal lands right and left and left to right. The 26th President created 18 such U.S. National Monuments.

From the Devils Tower National Monument in Wyoming in 1906 – made ever so famous in the film, Close Encounters of Third Kind, to his last one in 1908, a portion of the Rio Grande National Forest in Colorado – also made more famous by the beautiful outdoor scenes in the film, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

But, the Grand Canyon is GRAND! It’s rugged, raw, romantic, scenic, and just plain cool to experience. Anyone who will see the Grand Canyon for the first time is apt to state the following – “That can’t be real. It must be a painting or photograph. I think I’ll just walk out into midair and prove it’s not real.” 

The Grand Canyon - no place to take a step off a cliff

On one trip to the Grand Canyon, I purchased the book, Over the Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon, by Michael P. Ghiglieri. In it are lots of stories of people doing dumb and risky things near the edge of the canyon.

Unfortunately, most end in tragedy. A person taking a selfie and forgetting that one too many steps backwards will be their last selfie. People ignoring safety fences along the edge of the canyon – and their last words are, “Precaution signs are for wimps, yiiiiiikkkkkeeeesssss!”

No, the canyon is indescribably majestic, but it is a place that respect to Mother Nature must be in the forefront for any visitor.

So, when Laureen and I boarded our train ride to the south rim of the Grand Canyon from Williams, Arizona, we listened to our PSA – Passenger Service Attendant. 

“Welcome aboard, I’m your PSA for the trip to and from the Grand Canyon,” stated Dee, our PSA.

Sounds so snobby. 

We were in the Luxury Dome car – the two story one, with the plushy roomy seats and large rounded glass windows, so we wouldn’t miss anything outside passing by. Below us was the lounge car, with even roomier and plushier seats. 

Actually, any seat on the train has awesome views

Anyway, Dee, was telling us about what was open for eating, shopping and all the other things to do once we reached the south rim of the Grand Canyon. “Pretty much everything is open, but if you want a lunch at the Tovar Hotel in the Grand Canyon Village, the wait may be long.”

We didn’t care about lunch, we came prepared with enough snacks and sandwiches that we could have gotten lost in the canyon itself for two months and never missed a meal.

Laureen’s motto – why pack light when heavier is better. Of course, I was the designated Sherpa for the trip.

“We’re not spending a week in the wild you know,” I stated, just before clambering aboard our train car. I could only clamber, since I had a satchel the size of Montana hanging across my shoulders.

“Oh, it’s not that heavy,” Laureen said, as she bounded up the steps of the train. I’ll leave it at that.

One of the things stressed is safety at all times while visiting the Grand Canyon. Especially, at the time of year we visited. It had snowed the previous evening, and through the night in Williams and the sidewalks were icy. I could just imagine what the trails around the south rim would be like when we arrived about mid-morning.

“The trails may be icy and caution must be taken. One slip, and it’s a long way down to the bottom,” Dee warned us.

The canyon was created, per the geologists, by the Colorado River, and its tributaries, eroding away at the ground for the past five or six million years. Through those eons, the erosion has ended up painting a geologic timeline for the earth.

One walkway, along the rim, is referred to as the Trail of Time. Every yard or so, is a marker depicting a certain time during the earths creation. 

Every few steps is a geologic history lesson

According to the National Park Service, ‘The Trail of Time is an interpretive walking timeline that focuses on Grand Canyon vistas and rocks and invites visitors to ponder, explore, and understand the magnitude of geologic time and the stories encoded by Grand Canyon rock layers and landscapes.’

In layman’s terms – you can learn a lot walking that path and reading the descriptions of what has been uncovered during the millions of years that it took to create the Grand Canyon. The age of the various strata in the canyon can range anywhere from 200 million to 2 billion years in age.

That’s a lot of eons.

Taking a train is a very leisurely thing to do. No driving, no worrying about directions, and no unnecessary distractions. Sit back, relax, and take the time to look out the windows and enjoy the natural wonders slipping by.

Elk, deer, porcupines were just some of the wildlife we saw on the trip.

Dee made sure that we had an early morning snack, actually a breakfast, and if one so desired – a grown up beverage could be purchased.

“Yeah, all I need is a Bloody Mary, and then I’ll be slipping and sliding down the canyon with this anchor around my neck.”

“It’s not that heavy,” Laureen stated. 

Another thing about taking the train is that you meet interesting people. We met a couple of fellow travelers, Craig and Jenn from San Diego. They were out and about, and made the trip to the Grand Canyon on a just a whim.

“We had some time off, and thought we would visit Williams and then the canyon,” Jenn stated.

“Traveling, we just really enjoy the adventure and meeting new people,” Craig replied.

I could not have agreed more.

Craig, was nice enough to shoot this for us

Dee was accurate when we reached the south rim. Freshly fallen snow from the previous night had left really slick and icy walkways.

Wearing hiking boots, I knew there would be no slipping or sliding with this guy. Oh, how wrong one can be.

Walking from the train depot at the south rim, I felt like a poor try-out for an Olympic ice skating team. My left foot went right and my right foot went left.

“You okay?” Laureen asked.

“Dandy, just practicing some moves I saw on YouTube the other day.”

The sky was clear and blue. The weather, a bit chilly as we wandered the village with the ever present gorgeous view of the canyon to the east. 

Weather was cold, but the views outstanding

We did some short hikes and wanted to utilize the Bright Angel trail, but after seeing a few people fall and slide down the non-roped path, we decided to ‘just say no’.

“That guy nearly went airborne,” I stated, after seeing a woman grab onto a man, stopping him from flying into the canyon.

“He’s wearing flip-flops,” Laureen replied.

Wonder what chapter he’ll be in Ghiglieri’s next book?

Be careful on the trail during winter - it's mighty slippery

The best time to visit the Grand Canyon? Anytime, is what I would say, but according to Bill, who works the train ticket office in Williams, “I’d say fall, less people and the changing of the colors are beautiful. Winter, the least traveled time due to the weather. Yeah, fall would be my choice. But, every season here is worth seeing.”

Bill could not have said it better, and it surely is a Grand Canyon.

Spend some time and visit the unique buildings on the rim