I could humorously state that I have not journaled for some time due to the fact that the travelers on the 10 Passageway kept our band immobile for days. But, in truth, we found our way out of Los Angeles within several hours.
Little Pomp, perched to see out of Jeep's windows, tested his English reading skills upon the marker signs as we passed. Most of the settlements had Spanish names as would be expected. El Monte, San Fernando, San Gabriel, and then San Dimas. Jean Baptise was especially interested in San Dimas as we approached. He asked of Clark if we might stop in that township. All of us hungry, the decision was unanimous.
With our coyote meat long since eaten, Clark eyed an eatery called "Denny's." I have always enjoyed restaurants named for their proprietors. I have noted they serve the best and freshest of local food.
As we entered the eatery, Little Pomp was immediately drawn to a glass booth with toys inside. He smudged the pane with his nose as he searched around for some way to open the device. Sacagawea pulled him away from the booth as the boy pouted. At this moment, a lovely young lady with brunette hair pulled back from her face offered to seat us. Her cordial greeting was a sure sign she must be Denny's daughter.
We were seated in a long, soft bench and handed large, colorful menus. Clark snarled he was unhappy with the brightness of the eatery, being used to eating with the natural light of the sun for so long. As we all mulled over the menu, we realized we were not familiar with most of the local foods. Pancake Puppies, French Fries (of which Jean Baptise insisted were not from France) and their specialty, something called a "Grand Slam." Indeed, they offered so many different dishes of the "Slam" that I felt inclined to request it.
A slender boy with unkempt hair and metal faceted to his teeth (obviously Denny's son) approached us and asked if we wanted to "start with drinks." When his attention had fully fallen upon us, Son of Denny's eyes widened and a grin crossed his face. I will quote the boy as best I can for I cannot fully decipher his tongue. "Dude, Bill and Ted, right? Party On!" He then began imitating what was, perhaps, a banjo? The boy was greatly amused by us as we looked quizzically upon his antics. He called over a dark skinned boy who joined in the laughter. He also imitated the banjo, which made more sense to me as the banjo's origins were from Africa. The two stated they were enamored by our costumes (as if we were theatre performers?) and welcomed us to San Dimas. The Son of Denny (who wore the name "Jeff" upon his chest) took our orders and departed.
Allowing ourselves to shake off the earlier incident, Sacagawea inquired of her husband the reason for his insistence on stopping in the township of San Dimas. His eyes grew with excitement. A fellow explorer, Juan Bautista De Anza founded this village upon his sanctioned travel through the Spanish Territory. Not unlike our enlistment to do so at the request of President Jefferson through the Louisiana Territory. Jean Baptise had spent some time with Juan Bautista some years passed and wished to see if he could locate his friend once more. As our plates with King Henry the VIII sized proportions arrived, we pondered the course of which we might follow to find the Spanish explorer.
Until Later, My Friends
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
1 August - The 10 Passageway
Enduring a lengthy ordeal to obtain Jeep from the Impound Lot, our band decided to sleep the night and begin our journey at dawn the next morn. We would continue our travels through the 10 Passageway out of the Los Angeles settlement of the Spanish Territory. This was to be an unanticipated misstep.
With Clark at the wheel, our band began on our way. I sat beside him while Jean Baptise and family occupied the rear seating. Little Pomp, with the bright eyes only a five year-old can muster, leaned across his mother to watch the quickness of the land as we passed by. Unfortunately, I was ineptly prepared for such travel and found myself ill.
We followed an upward trail with signage guiding us to the 10 Passageway East. It was here my nausea was halted, as were the other horseless wagons about us. Indeed, it appeared no carriage was advancing forward at all. Little Pomp pouted as Clark's anger began to rise. But what were we to do? None of our group had ever experienced a trail with so many other travelers. Sacagawea suggested the Spanish citizens were fleeing the Territory. Although we had seen prosperity, mayhaps a war brewed within the hearts of the Spanish. Regardless, our band was unwittingly in the middle of the refugees' exodus. Sacagawea then suggested we should proceed to breakfast. We had intended to do so after subsequent distance were gained between ourselves and the Los Angeles township, but now appeared to be an opportune moment.
Our band dismounted Jeep and Sacagawea laid out a blanket between ourselves and the nearby horseless wagon, ironically named for the wild horse, Mustang. The individual inside was a well dressed, clean shaven man who watched us with wonderment as we sat and began our meal. After some time, he opened the door and stood beside us. He said we had the "right idea" as this "SIG alert" (we did not know his terminology, but he carried on before we could ask for an English translation). Randall, as he introduced himself, said the "SIG Alert" was not appearing to allow any vehicles through. Sacagawea invited the Randall to join us. He reached into his Mustang and pulled out a cup and a small pastry, promptly seating himself directly beside Little Pomp, who quickly sat upon Randall's lap. We enjoyed pleasant conversation and learned the man worked for "Paramount." I had never heard the word used as a noun, but clearly Randall worked at a place of great importance.
Soon the horseless wagons about us began to crawl forward. Randall thanked us for our hospitality and offered Clark a small piece of paper with Randall's information typeset upon it. He reached one last time into Mustang and gave Little Pomp a medal on a ring with the word "Paramount" upon it, surrounded by an image of a mountain. Finally the name made sense! He was a mountain climber! This endeared Randall to Clark immediately.
Our band returned to the interior of Jeep and joined the other wagons as we all began slowly moving forward. All of us pondering if the "SIG alert" had to do with refugees or no.
Until Later, My Friends
With Clark at the wheel, our band began on our way. I sat beside him while Jean Baptise and family occupied the rear seating. Little Pomp, with the bright eyes only a five year-old can muster, leaned across his mother to watch the quickness of the land as we passed by. Unfortunately, I was ineptly prepared for such travel and found myself ill.
We followed an upward trail with signage guiding us to the 10 Passageway East. It was here my nausea was halted, as were the other horseless wagons about us. Indeed, it appeared no carriage was advancing forward at all. Little Pomp pouted as Clark's anger began to rise. But what were we to do? None of our group had ever experienced a trail with so many other travelers. Sacagawea suggested the Spanish citizens were fleeing the Territory. Although we had seen prosperity, mayhaps a war brewed within the hearts of the Spanish. Regardless, our band was unwittingly in the middle of the refugees' exodus. Sacagawea then suggested we should proceed to breakfast. We had intended to do so after subsequent distance were gained between ourselves and the Los Angeles township, but now appeared to be an opportune moment.
Our band dismounted Jeep and Sacagawea laid out a blanket between ourselves and the nearby horseless wagon, ironically named for the wild horse, Mustang. The individual inside was a well dressed, clean shaven man who watched us with wonderment as we sat and began our meal. After some time, he opened the door and stood beside us. He said we had the "right idea" as this "SIG alert" (we did not know his terminology, but he carried on before we could ask for an English translation). Randall, as he introduced himself, said the "SIG Alert" was not appearing to allow any vehicles through. Sacagawea invited the Randall to join us. He reached into his Mustang and pulled out a cup and a small pastry, promptly seating himself directly beside Little Pomp, who quickly sat upon Randall's lap. We enjoyed pleasant conversation and learned the man worked for "Paramount." I had never heard the word used as a noun, but clearly Randall worked at a place of great importance.
Soon the horseless wagons about us began to crawl forward. Randall thanked us for our hospitality and offered Clark a small piece of paper with Randall's information typeset upon it. He reached one last time into Mustang and gave Little Pomp a medal on a ring with the word "Paramount" upon it, surrounded by an image of a mountain. Finally the name made sense! He was a mountain climber! This endeared Randall to Clark immediately.
Our band returned to the interior of Jeep and joined the other wagons as we all began slowly moving forward. All of us pondering if the "SIG alert" had to do with refugees or no.
Until Later, My Friends
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