| Halloween Tour 2004 with La Jolla Group |
 |  |
HALLOWEEN 2004:
A PALMS TO PINES TOUR AND FUNNY CLOTHES PARTY
Traditionally SoCal and La Jolla regions congregate for two days of touring and a Halloween costume party
with hosting responsibilities, including venue selection, alternating from year to year.
Last year SoCal hosted the Halloween event at Palm Springs with temps in the 90s. The previous two or
three years were in the mountains at Idyllwild the last one of which was so cold that we were happy to huddle
against warm radiators at the tour stops.
This year was La Jolla's turn again, and they selected Anza-Borrego Park in the desert with tour
headquarters at the Palm Canyon Resort in Borrego Springs. The heavy, unusually early rains came the
weekend before the event causing some concern about weather conditions and whether or not it would turn
out to be a Suburban tour rather than a horseless carriage tour. It did'nt.
Friday, Oct. 22, Janis and I packed for warm desert temperatures but also included the big winter coats we
bought on the last Idyllwild tour and slung everything in the Bristing rig. Again. (Janis says someone is gonna
get wise to me one day and put the spark plug wire, or whatever that dangly thing is, back where it belongs.)
Rolling along the East 10, we could see the snowcapped mountains to the north. The sky was a clear blue
with great puffy white clouds, a sign that the rain was over. Frank elected an I-10 /Highway 86 route which
would bring us into Borrego Springs from the east, it was about 30 miles longer than other routes but was all
flat country rather than the steep down grades and sharp curves of the westerly approach.
After finishing registration and tossing our gear on the bed, It was party time, and Anne Ottemann of the La
Jolla group was already setting up the hospitality area with tables of food and drinks for the evening get
together under the resort's picnic area lanai. From the lanai we could watch later arrivals come straight off
the steep, curvy S-22 with smoking brakes and tense moment tales.
Several Halloweens ago, Gail Garrison had cautioned us not to consider going out to dinner after the
hospitality party as there would be more than an adequate quantity of food, and that has pretty well
described subsequent Halloweens including this one. Some folks did leave for dinner this time, but everyone
was back at the lanai for car talk later and into the night.
Saturday, Oct 23: The tour flyer listed a Palms to Pines Tour to Julian for
Saturday morning which dawned clear and warming with no sign of rain. Almost all systems were go.
However, a couple horseless carriages balked at giddyup time and stayed back in the corral. There was
nothing
wrong with the stay behinds that was'nt unraveled and put right later in the day and before the sun went
down.
The day’s tour began by a drive around Borrego Springs sort of to get up momentum while viewing high-end
country club class homes before the climb up the mountain road to Julian. Julian was about 30 miles away
and the road was mostly up but not enough to cause any reported problems.
The road flattened out at about 4200 feet making an easy run on into Julian for a preliminary drive through
en route to a local winery outside of town for lunch. (Note to editor: call them for an ad. Then we'll put their
name in the story.) The lunch, as well as Fridays hospitality party and the Saturday night dinner, were all
included in the $38 tour cost. The winery was on the site of an orchard and the owners announced we could
pick what we wanted.
After lunch and with apples and pears bulging out pockets and bags, we were off for a longer visit to Julian
with many groups planning to observe the Julian custom of buying a Julian apple pie. The town was so
crowded it resembled an ant colony. With parking near the epicentral Mom's Pie Co nearly impossible to find,
and knowing there was an establishment called Julian Pie Co at the bottom of the grade in Santa Isabel on
the tour's return leg, Commander Zero's Kisseleers, and later others, decided to continue on along the return
course and stop in Santa Isabel where the 78 and 79 join--or divide depending on your half full or half empty
philosophy.
Pies were put aft in the basket before we departed Santa Isabel lest Appy should get improper thoughts.
Then we were off through high cattle country and, departing the highway, even passed an Indian pow wow en
route to a loop of steep, mountain road which brought us out onto the 79 again. A northerly course drew us
to the S-22. Yeah, the same S-22 famed for smoking brakes on tow rigs the previous evening.
The S-22 commands a long, dramatic view both down into and out over the desert below and on to the
mountains far beyond. The down part of this leg of the tour became tenuous as brakes seemed to heat even
with the best efforts to save them for some serious occasion further down, but there were no runaways or
awful, passenger shrieking e-rides reported when we were back at the resort.
One can drive old cars just about anytime where we live, and a tour can be had just about anytime by making
a few calls, but a good costume party is hard to come by making the high point of the Halloween weekend
tour, of course, the costume party banquet. In years past, a male who showed up without a costume was
issued the Snow White dress and wig for the next year. This year for some reason, an uncommonly large
number of people were without costume. Of all the times I've done these Halloween tours, my personal best
in the costume judging was only a second place in my Yugo salesman's outfit. Hence, I begin planning my
costume for the next year as soon as I get home from the current weekend in hopes of achieving the elusive
first place. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm wanes during the year, and I come down to the line clutching at any
old costume. This year I had planned, once again, to come as a chia pet but misplaced the green shag rug
that was to have made up the core of the costume. I ended up getting out a jonquil costume from 20 years
ago; unfortunately my pedals have drooped in storage and the effect was not the thing of great beauty it
should have been.
There was no costume prizes this year but hazd there been, my choice for best costume/theme would have
gone to Frank; he stuffed bags of corn/potato chips in the belt of a Franciscan monk's robe and billed himself
as a chipmunk. I mean he would have got my vote even if I was'nt riding in his car and tow rig.
Sunday was another beautiful day for the fairly short tour we made out onto a couple of highways and then
down a dirt road to an aircraft salvage yard in the approximate center of nowhere.
Coming across the stripped, windowless fuselage of a B-25 was a sad sight like finding a desiccated, eyeless
body in the desert.
There was a B-29 cut in the middle with the two halves side by side and left to decay. Two of these flew over
4,000 miles each to deliver the atomic fury that would cause the descendant of the God of the Sun to end
WWII rather than have his people fight to the last person as their code of honor dictated.
Right in the middle of this boneyard was a herd of maybe 40 or so apparently dead Corvairs; it's a lot easier
to tell dead cows from dead Corvairs as Corvairs don't have feet to stick up in the air signifying demisity. I
heard it said, but did'nt follow up on the statement, that the entire collection could be had. (I don't know how
my word processor does the things it does and I was specially mystified how it decided that I should have
typed Corsairs instead of Corsairs just now. It was a struggle, but I wrested control back from the computer
and restored Corsairs to their proper names.)
Before climbing back into the back seat of the Kissel, I ran my hand along the flush riveted surface of a
multiple amputatee F-86. This wasn’t one of the planes I was involved with; it obsoleteted those and most of
the world's other fighter planes.
Departure from the resort in the desert was like one of the old western movies, the Three Mesquiteers, in
which the three compadres put a left feet in stirrups, swung up onto cayuses and headed off in a different
direction vowing to come together again when occasion demanded it. Like them, drivers stepped up and into
the Subscursions and supersized pickups attached to trailers bearing cars of an age that virtually
4
no one else would expect to find there. With a farewell wave and maybe a rapped pipe, we slowly gained
speed and watched the oasis shrink in the mirror. Maybe a mesquiteer costume next time.
I just received the ballot for next years board and find my name on it; if elected I'll be proposing a bylaw for
future Halloween weekends that fotos of the applicant, in costume, must be submitted with payment in order
to qualify.
A PALMS TO PINES TOUR AND FUNNY CLOTHES PARTY
Traditionally SoCal and La Jolla regions congregate for two days of touring and a Halloween costume party
with hosting responsibilities, including venue selection, alternating from year to year.
Last year SoCal hosted the Halloween event at Palm Springs with temps in the 90s. The previous two or
three years were in the mountains at Idyllwild the last one of which was so cold that we were happy to huddle
against warm radiators at the tour stops.
This year was La Jolla's turn again, and they selected Anza-Borrego Park in the desert with tour
headquarters at the Palm Canyon Resort in Borrego Springs. The heavy, unusually early rains came the
weekend before the event causing some concern about weather conditions and whether or not it would turn
out to be a Suburban tour rather than a horseless carriage tour. It did'nt.
Friday, Oct. 22, Janis and I packed for warm desert temperatures but also included the big winter coats we
bought on the last Idyllwild tour and slung everything in the Bristing rig. Again. (Janis says someone is gonna
get wise to me one day and put the spark plug wire, or whatever that dangly thing is, back where it belongs.)
Rolling along the East 10, we could see the snowcapped mountains to the north. The sky was a clear blue
with great puffy white clouds, a sign that the rain was over. Frank elected an I-10 /Highway 86 route which
would bring us into Borrego Springs from the east, it was about 30 miles longer than other routes but was all
flat country rather than the steep down grades and sharp curves of the westerly approach.
After finishing registration and tossing our gear on the bed, It was party time, and Anne Ottemann of the La
Jolla group was already setting up the hospitality area with tables of food and drinks for the evening get
together under the resort's picnic area lanai. From the lanai we could watch later arrivals come straight off
the steep, curvy S-22 with smoking brakes and tense moment tales.
Several Halloweens ago, Gail Garrison had cautioned us not to consider going out to dinner after the
hospitality party as there would be more than an adequate quantity of food, and that has pretty well
described subsequent Halloweens including this one. Some folks did leave for dinner this time, but everyone
was back at the lanai for car talk later and into the night.
Saturday, Oct 23: The tour flyer listed a Palms to Pines Tour to Julian for
Saturday morning which dawned clear and warming with no sign of rain. Almost all systems were go.
However, a couple horseless carriages balked at giddyup time and stayed back in the corral. There was
nothing
wrong with the stay behinds that was'nt unraveled and put right later in the day and before the sun went
down.
The day’s tour began by a drive around Borrego Springs sort of to get up momentum while viewing high-end
country club class homes before the climb up the mountain road to Julian. Julian was about 30 miles away
and the road was mostly up but not enough to cause any reported problems.
The road flattened out at about 4200 feet making an easy run on into Julian for a preliminary drive through
en route to a local winery outside of town for lunch. (Note to editor: call them for an ad. Then we'll put their
name in the story.) The lunch, as well as Fridays hospitality party and the Saturday night dinner, were all
included in the $38 tour cost. The winery was on the site of an orchard and the owners announced we could
pick what we wanted.
After lunch and with apples and pears bulging out pockets and bags, we were off for a longer visit to Julian
with many groups planning to observe the Julian custom of buying a Julian apple pie. The town was so
crowded it resembled an ant colony. With parking near the epicentral Mom's Pie Co nearly impossible to find,
and knowing there was an establishment called Julian Pie Co at the bottom of the grade in Santa Isabel on
the tour's return leg, Commander Zero's Kisseleers, and later others, decided to continue on along the return
course and stop in Santa Isabel where the 78 and 79 join--or divide depending on your half full or half empty
philosophy.
Pies were put aft in the basket before we departed Santa Isabel lest Appy should get improper thoughts.
Then we were off through high cattle country and, departing the highway, even passed an Indian pow wow en
route to a loop of steep, mountain road which brought us out onto the 79 again. A northerly course drew us
to the S-22. Yeah, the same S-22 famed for smoking brakes on tow rigs the previous evening.
The S-22 commands a long, dramatic view both down into and out over the desert below and on to the
mountains far beyond. The down part of this leg of the tour became tenuous as brakes seemed to heat even
with the best efforts to save them for some serious occasion further down, but there were no runaways or
awful, passenger shrieking e-rides reported when we were back at the resort.
One can drive old cars just about anytime where we live, and a tour can be had just about anytime by making
a few calls, but a good costume party is hard to come by making the high point of the Halloween weekend
tour, of course, the costume party banquet. In years past, a male who showed up without a costume was
issued the Snow White dress and wig for the next year. This year for some reason, an uncommonly large
number of people were without costume. Of all the times I've done these Halloween tours, my personal best
in the costume judging was only a second place in my Yugo salesman's outfit. Hence, I begin planning my
costume for the next year as soon as I get home from the current weekend in hopes of achieving the elusive
first place. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm wanes during the year, and I come down to the line clutching at any
old costume. This year I had planned, once again, to come as a chia pet but misplaced the green shag rug
that was to have made up the core of the costume. I ended up getting out a jonquil costume from 20 years
ago; unfortunately my pedals have drooped in storage and the effect was not the thing of great beauty it
should have been.
There was no costume prizes this year but hazd there been, my choice for best costume/theme would have
gone to Frank; he stuffed bags of corn/potato chips in the belt of a Franciscan monk's robe and billed himself
as a chipmunk. I mean he would have got my vote even if I was'nt riding in his car and tow rig.
Sunday was another beautiful day for the fairly short tour we made out onto a couple of highways and then
down a dirt road to an aircraft salvage yard in the approximate center of nowhere.
Coming across the stripped, windowless fuselage of a B-25 was a sad sight like finding a desiccated, eyeless
body in the desert.
There was a B-29 cut in the middle with the two halves side by side and left to decay. Two of these flew over
4,000 miles each to deliver the atomic fury that would cause the descendant of the God of the Sun to end
WWII rather than have his people fight to the last person as their code of honor dictated.
Right in the middle of this boneyard was a herd of maybe 40 or so apparently dead Corvairs; it's a lot easier
to tell dead cows from dead Corvairs as Corvairs don't have feet to stick up in the air signifying demisity. I
heard it said, but did'nt follow up on the statement, that the entire collection could be had. (I don't know how
my word processor does the things it does and I was specially mystified how it decided that I should have
typed Corsairs instead of Corsairs just now. It was a struggle, but I wrested control back from the computer
and restored Corsairs to their proper names.)
Before climbing back into the back seat of the Kissel, I ran my hand along the flush riveted surface of a
multiple amputatee F-86. This wasn’t one of the planes I was involved with; it obsoleteted those and most of
the world's other fighter planes.
Departure from the resort in the desert was like one of the old western movies, the Three Mesquiteers, in
which the three compadres put a left feet in stirrups, swung up onto cayuses and headed off in a different
direction vowing to come together again when occasion demanded it. Like them, drivers stepped up and into
the Subscursions and supersized pickups attached to trailers bearing cars of an age that virtually
4
no one else would expect to find there. With a farewell wave and maybe a rapped pipe, we slowly gained
speed and watched the oasis shrink in the mirror. Maybe a mesquiteer costume next time.
I just received the ballot for next years board and find my name on it; if elected I'll be proposing a bylaw for
future Halloween weekends that fotos of the applicant, in costume, must be submitted with payment in order
to qualify.
