Redefining an "extreme" vacation

Single Rider Tour 2008 — part five in a series

Well, maybe calling it a "vacation of extremes" would be more accurate. For the past three days I've been surrounded, more or less, by crowds of theme park-goers, riding thrill ride after thrill ride, and generally looking for mass marketed entertainment. While I did find a couple opportunities to flex my artistic side by way of photography, I wouldn't fully embrace the arts until today, and with that take a complete departure from the entire vacation so far.

The day started on a good note. And while I missed hanging out with The Writer before he left for work, Betty's breakfast recommendation made up for it. The place: Patrick's Roadhouse. The vibe: beyond eclectic. The food: deliciously comforting. The service: refreshingly personal and friendly. I'll eventually have some photos to post, once I'm back home (I'm writing this at LAX sans internet). I'm not really a big breakfast guy — unless it's breakfast for dinner — but I went to town on my food. Thanks for the recommendation, Betty! You've created another fan for this friendly and funky place.

I finished eating sooner than I had thought I would and with my admission time to the Getty Villa still more than an hour away I elected to take a drive north up the Pacific Coast Highway and threw on the soundtrack to the movie Grove to provide the score to my mini-roadtrip within my vacation.

It was a beautiful drive. Fortunately the speed limit was slow enough that I wasn't just blasting by the views without being able to appreciate what I saw. The ocean looked stunning as the clouds danced on the horizon and the waves entertained the surfers. I made it all the way through Malibu to Zuma Beach where a film crew was setting up. I looked at the time and realized it was time to make a u-turn and head toward my original destination. Oh how I wish I could have spent a little more time at the beach. The beach has always been a grounding force for me. Something about walking barefoot on the cold, damp sand helps me feel more connected to the world I live in and reset perspectives. Not to mention all the hot surfer boys changing into and out of their wetsuits in the parking lot. That 300mm zoom lens would have been quite handy for stalking six-packs. But alas, the boys of L.A. is a topic for a future post.

Pulling up to the main gate of the Getty Villa was breathtaking. The landscaping was amazing. Little did I know that I hadn't seen anything yet. The use of stone, tile, and cement was stunning throughout the pathway leading to the museum entrance. Not really sure where to start, I hopped into an orientation tour that was about to head out. That proved to be a wise decision because while the grounds aren't overwhelming expansive, within 30 minutes I knew where everything was and had mapped out in my mind what might be photo worthy.

There were a lot of wonderful sights to behold, and aromas to delight in. Yes, I said aromas. The herb garden, while not in full bloom, provided subtle yet soothing aroma therapy as I sat on a bench soaking in the sun, feeling the tension from the previous day's strenuous activities slowly start to ease. The collection of Roman artifacts and statues were impressive and I was thrilled to learn that non-flash photography was allowed (for personal use only, of course). Keep watching as I'll have a flickr album posted soon highlighting my visit to the Villa.

Before I knew it, it was time to head back toward LAX, with a quick side trip to The Writer's office to drop off something he had forgotten to take with him that morning. Personally I think it was just an excuse to see me before I headed back to San Francisco, but either way it was just nice to be able to see him again. It had been too long since our last face-to-face visit. Hopefully our next in-person visit won't be too far away. Before I climbed back in my car he extended his hand for a farewell shake. Upon clasping hands, he went in for a hug too. That was nice. I'm a big hugger. But for some reason most of my close friends aren't. Never have been, now that I think about it. Not to bring up the past, but Carlos hated hugging. Well, mostly I think he just hated hugging me, because he seemed to have no problem hanging off people he had just met. Anyway, my point…hold on a sec, they're making an announcement about my flight.

DELAYED! By at least an hour and a half due to weather issues at SFO. Lovely.

Now where was I? Oh yes. Hugs. So I was little surprised that he offered a hug. I never thought of our relationship of being one that would include a hug. But maybe after a certain number of years, six for us so far, one reaches hug eligibility status. My point is, and I do have one, that the hug was nice and a great way to end my visit to L.A. and my visit with a distance-separated friend.

Well, without photos to post, and not wanting to go off on another odd tangent (admit it, that hug part was a bit weird, right?) I think I'm going to save this to my local drafts folder in MarsEdit — thank heavens for MarsEdit! — and go in search of some hydration. I'm parched and not capable of surviving an hour-plus long flight with all that dry, recirculated air.