About A Stepdad

Just as Jim the guide took me into the hangar proper, a family arrived, 5 kids, 2 adults.  If you think I stressed him out with questions like how many types of planes did they put the Pratt & Whitney R-2800 radial engine in, the kids wanted to know things like, could they see the warplanes fly?  Where are the machine guns?  And my person favourite, ‘what’s that for?’ (which is a pretty good question the 1^st 200 times it’s asked but not such a great question after that.)

Adding to Old Jim’s stress was the fact the father (or grandfather, I’m really not sure) would wander off to see stuff on his own.  Jim did not like this.  Nor did Jim like anyone to touch anything.  Nor did Jim really like people to ask questions.

Yet, when he was on his script, he seemed happiest.  Most of the museum was his creation and I could totally see the ‘don’t touch shit’ policy and I have to say, he probably grew up in a time where children did not interrupt the adults when they were talking.

While he was busy answering questions and looking like he might swat one of the kids if that kid touched ONE MORE THING, I took pictures of all sorts of writerie things.  Rusty rivits.  Holes in the roof.  Old wrenches.  Paint peeling off of the concrete blocks.  Had the kids not distracted him, I doubt I would have been able to take these cool shots.

However, for me, the highlight was a C-119, called the flying boxcar which may be Lou’s plane.  Ugly as sin but it has a TON of room.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get inside it.  Nice as I was to Old Jim, he wasn’t letting me in (could be because I didn’t know what a the X32 was at first.)

At the very end of the tour, though, he did let me wander around his planes outside.  I guess he knew I wouldn’t touch anything.

Free breakfast and not just a croissant or a donut but a buffet!  I ate a breakfast burrito, caught up on my posts and drank enough coffee to keep me awake.  I had a lot to do today.

First up, the visit to an open air museum.  Now, they did a good job of hiding it.  It was fenced off and every road I took to it didn’t actually get to it.  However, I found an access road off of the main airport and that lead to my location.

As soon as I marched towards the hangars, someone popped out of a trailer parked next to them.  An older guy.  Not sure what else to do, I waved and he kept coming towards me, not waving back.  Hmmm, I wondered, am I where I’m not supposed to be.

But I was.  Turned out this was the tour guide.  His name was Jim.  He was engineer/mechanic, USAF, retired.  He told me he usually took people on a tour and I thought, ah what the hell, let’s see what he has to say.

Now old Jim knew his shit, no question but compared to crew chief Tom back in Palm Springs, this guy wasn’t all that friendly, which kinda begs the question, why would he think being a tourguide was a good idea.

He took me into the small add-on to the hangar and showed me all the news clippings of planes he’d worked on, showed me photos of all the planes he’d worked on and showed me all the models he’d built.  The highlight of his career was working on the X-32 JSF by Boeing.

But it became clear that he was like a taped tour, he just didn’t go off script and when I’d bug him about something, he would blink a few times then it was 50/50 if he would answer the question or just continue with his monologue.  Unlike Tom, when I told him my dad was a mechanic with the RAF, old Jim didn’t give a shit.

However, I’m fine with someone like that so I let him talk, asked a few questions here and there and we were fine.

Then, sadly for poor old Jim, a family with kids showed up.

The sheriff’s dept didn’t phone back.

Watched one of my favourite movies, the 5^th Element while lying on a surprisingly comfy bed and soaked in the cold AC.    There was free water, free Wifi, free little mints, free local calls… a way better deal than the resort that hit me up for every little thing.  😦

Then went out to have some food, 680 calories worth of fresh veggies, pot roast and mashed potatoes.  All the menus here have the calorie count.  I’ve chosen to ignore them most of the time, mostly because when I get over 6000 for the day, it’s just depressing.

Went back to my room, somehow managed to miss the happy hour in the motel (I even had a free drink coupon but I was not in the most social of moods, with a huge sleepy crease across my face and the bar filled with loud – no really loud – folks who seemed to be tying one on.)

So back to my room to download my pix, post my bloggies and make a list of anyone who has not yet commented on my writing (and delete them as friends!)

Tomorrow, another plane museum, a drive out to a small airport, a longer drive to Ma’s airport (which may be fenced off) and a little shopping trip.)

When Is A Cheap Motel Not A Cheap Motel?

Answer, when the service is awesome!

When I got to the motel, there were 3 people behind the counter.  Not one, not two but all three said, hi.  Not at once, mind you, but each looked up in turn.  Then while one clerk figured out my room, another told me that she loved my sunglasses.  We talked about sunglasses and the pain-in-the-ass of contacts, while they tried to find my reservation.

You know what?  It’s official.  I have the BEST sunglasses ever!

Unfortunately, however, my room was not ready.

So what did they do?  They asked if I wanted to wait or come back and when I said wait, they brought me bottled water, got me hooked up on their internet and, after I had put on my other glasses, the lovely clerk said that I looked great in those glasses as well.  I think I blushed.

Oh how I love flattery. I care not if it is true.  Flatter away.

While someone cleaned my room, I researched the hell out of the C-46 and checked on an airfield I wanted to visit and looked up where the aircraft graveyards were and somehow managed to load up a page of porn (which I was totally NOT trying to load up in the middle of the motel lobby!  I swear!)

Funny thing, though, when I asked the nice ladies at the front desk if they had a map, they said no and looked at me like I’d asked them to see an airplane schedule or something.  When I asked if there as a tourist info, they all said, no, they didn’t think so but it was with a tone that said, good lord, a tourist center here?  Why?  Who comes here for tourism?

Hey, even Duncan has a tourist center!

But this is another one of those towns that seems to be on the way to somewhere else.

When I got into my room, I found out that I couldn’t see the c-46.  L  I then phoned the police.  NO, not about that , though that IS a crime, but to see if I could set up an appointment to talk to them.  Now, if I was a better man, I would have done this earlier but whatever, I did it now.

Told them I was researching a novel and was there someone I could talk to about police operations in Lancaster.  Got put through, I think, to community relations.  No one there.  Had to leave a message.  I was very cool and collected.

However, my real message was taped.  Here it is…

“Errr.  Ah.  Hi.  I’m, ah, calling about, you know, phoning about learning me some more about the police operations in Lancaster, cause I’m sort of writing a story and I need like some research information so if you could call me back, at, oh, wait, hold on, let me get my cell, yeah, hmmm, 555-555-5555, which is my cell or you can call me at the hotel, I mean, motel, the Oxford Inn, at 555-555-5554, which is where I’m staying, you know, so I can do my research… for my novel… did I tell you that already?  Well, I hope to hear from you.  Thanks.  Sean Sommerville here.”

Honestly, I don’t think I need any more of a dose of reality at this point so if they don’t phone back, I’ll be fine with that.

Pretty tired from the drive and all the new information (and doing all that research) so it was, yes boys and girls, nap time.

There it was.  The Sheriff station.  Just as I imagined it.  A lovely white building.  Green grass in front.  Stupid rocks put in the middle of the green grass.  But wait…

It’s right downtown.  Not on the edge of town, right, freaking downtown.  How did I fail to realize this when I google-walked the city?

However, the F4 phantom was there, right where it was supposed to be, and right beside that, train tracks.  Hmmm.  Busy train tracks.  Something I hadn’t realized.

But the real problem was where I had originally placed my building, Parkmen Technologies was about 3 min from the police station.

GACK!

Oh, it’s something I can move and, frankly, to make the story work, I’ll need to move a bank as well but my image of Lancaster’s main street was just so wrong.

It had trees, for one, and plenty of parking, and all manner of stores that seemed to be doing quite well, thank you very much. It reminded me of Sidney (on the island) or White Rock (on the mainland.)  Err, without the water.  But, you know, that kind of neat little town.

Music drifted from little, green light displays.  Overhead, Hometown hero banners hung.  Down the street from the sheriff station was a beautiful library and an historic hotel and a post office and on some of the walls, murals to former heroes like Chuck Yaeger and Curtis LeMay.

Oh boy, did I ever get this wrong but I soaked up everything so that I could get it right and, what’s really cool, right is better than what’s in my mind.

This is a military town.  Makes sense since it’s so close to Edward’s AFB but the local medical outreach has flags in the windows, the US flag and the armed forces flags.  There are soldiers in the faded green computer generated camo wandering around.

I ended up parking and driving and driving and parking.  I still need to talk a few more pictures but it was great to see this part of Lancaster in person.

On the way back down the otherside, I got caught up in an accident.  It was about 3 cars in front of me and suddenly the guy in front of me, in an old, beat-up 1930’s ford, stopped in the middle of the road and all the people inside, the driver and his two sons, got out.

I thought, what the fuck?

But they ran to the intersection and there, just off to the side, one small car had been hit by one large truck.  The truck had glass on its bumper.  The car has its front smashed in.

How clueless am I that I didn’t see this earlier?  I was all focused on the buildings to my left and right.  But how cool is it that the guy in the old car and his sons rushed to help?  Seriously, that’s cool.

Both drivers were fine, or at least I couldn’t see any injuries and traffic was stalled until the sheriff’s deputies came.  Which, incidentally, took longer than it should have since it occurred to me that the patrol vehicles might not actually be at the station but on, you know, patrol.

I eventually got going again, and did one more tour of the main street, Lancaster Blvd in case anyone is interested, and parked near the sheriff station.  I got out and went inside.  It was cool inside, AC iceberg cool and the inside did not match the outside.  Outside was new, bright, gleaming.  Inside was dull, wore-looking and filled with a HUGE line-up of people who seemed to be in a very pissed off mood.

I stood in line for about 5 min and realized that no one was at the counter.  I thought someone would be coming back at some point but nope, it must have been someone’s lunchbreak.

Geeeez, no wonder everyone was grumpy.

So I left and went to my hotel to see if I could find out a way to see that C-46 and phone the police to see if I could make an appointment.

I had a number of things I wanted to see in Lancaster/Palmdale but I hadn’t yet figured out where they actually were.  I thought I’d do that at the hotel.

But fate had other ideas.

I took a quick turn off the highway in Palmdale to check out the houses, both in the suburbs and out on the fringe.  Pretty much as I expected though I did pick up some good details for future stories.  But I had plugged Palmdale  into my GPS and so I followed it to where it led me.

It didn’t actually lead me to Palmdale but it lead me to the airport. No idea why.  Maybe there isn’t any ‘downtown’ Palmdale or maybe, the GPS knew something.

When I reached the GPS destination, there was an open air plane museum.  Cool in and of itself so I stopped and got out.  The first part had Blackbird aircraft, those ultra-nifty-looking spy planes.  I wandered around a bit then saw there were even more planes just a little walk away.

So I walked and there, sitting nice and pretty, was MY PLANE.  At least I think it might be.  It’s big enough, it’s old enough and my character, Lou Rains, would love it.

Only problem, there wasn’t any sign.  Nothing.  It was easily the biggest plane there but there was nothing that told me what it was.  So, I took a ton of pictures, got all bouncy and excited, and raced to the information trailer to ask, what the hell is it?

Turns out it’s a C-46.   Slightly more fat-bellied than the c-47 or dc-3.

I asked, rather foolishly, if it was a WW2 era aircraft or later?  The old feller, short, thin, a lean face and way too bushy eyebrows, said, probably WW2.

Probably?

Was it a combat transport? I asked.

He shrugged.

Could get inside it? I asked.

Nope.

But there’s a stairway going up to it, I told him.

He shrugged again.

GACK!!!!!!!

To be so close and yet so far.  Was it big enough?  I’d know if I could get inside.  It looked huge.  It looked right.

Excited at the find, I drove off towards Lancaster.

Unlike the GPS Palmdale, GPS Lancaster put me in the heart of the downtown area.

But oh momma, did I get some things wrong in my story.

Long drive to Palmdale and Lancaster, mostly along a 55mph highway.  70 on the freeways is awesome.  55 seems like I’m crawling along.  Did, however, see another cool location to be used.  The massive wind farms.

Told Angelina to put on Reacher and she did.  If there’s one thing Lee Child does so well with his Reacher books it’s start them off brilliantly.  First serial killer POV.  Short.  Creepy.  Then Reacher in a bar and before I can tell Angelina to lower the temperature, he’s beaten up some bad guys and is taken by the FBI.

A perfect audio novel for the car (and a good kick-in-the-pants) to keep things interesting (to quote my favourite writer, “Never bore and never confuse.”

Lots of truck traffic and a good bit of low cloud cover or smog or something that obscured the mountains.  Still, a lovely day, blue sky above and all manner of hills and desert and amazingly cool rock formations.

Hey, rock formations can be cool.

Or at least different from what I’m used to seeing.

But about half way to my destination, I saw a sign.

The Devil’s Punchbowl.

Oh, that’s something I had to see, I decided, and peeled off the main road. Turned out to be quite a drive, up and up and around this bend and around that bend.  Not that Angelina minded, I think she liked taking curves that said 30, at 60.  I certainly did.

Sadly, though the punchbowl was pretty undevilish, in my opinion. I stopped, got out and had the pleasure of seeing another roadrunner race from underneath the scrubby brush.  Oh, I like those little guys!

Wandered around to see if I could see any bears or rattlesnakes (since there was a sign that said, beware of bears and rattlesnakes) but I didn’t see (or hear) either.  So, I got back into Angelina and sped off.

Next stop, the big city.  Lancaster.

Another day.  Bright and sunny.

I had a good sleep.  I woke up naturally.  No alarm.  Nice rain-like shower and now my hair smells like rosemary.

Time to say goodbye to Palm Springs.  Didn’t do nearly enough here but I think I may be back.  Some neat tours to go on, some more exploring is needed and my writing friend, Paula recommended some places that I didn’t get a chance to see (or eat at.)

Posted my writing and had a coffee, all leisurely like.  No need to rush.  But it’s time to pack up and head to Lancaster.

I’m not sure what to expect.  In my mind, it’s a good-sized town, a little run down, a little more likely to have a seedy side.  Lots to see here, not touristie stuff but writing stuff.  I’ll fire up my senses, keep an eye out for those great, little details and hopefully have some fun.

Wish me luck.

I’d burned through my audio book and needed more.  I tell you, this is the way to read.  No reading.  Just listening.

So I googled a Barnes and Noble store and drove out there.  Easy drive, 50mph speed limit, almost no traffic.

Found two great audio books and then spent another hour looking.  Ended up buying a serial killer whisperer book.  I mean, how cool is that title?

But driving back, I had an attack of loneliness.  It happens.  Today, when I saw the roadrunner, there wasn’t anyone to turn to and say, hey, look, a road runner!  On the long drives, there wasn’t anyone to talk to about whatever, life, the universe, the nature of man, Breaking Bad, the HUGE plates of food they serve down here, story ideas…

It’s been great that people have responded to my posts, it makes it a little less lonely but the truth is, I still miss Margot a lot.  Every day.

I’ve adapted to eating alone, I bring a book or my computer.  I’ve adapted to seeing a movie alone.  I’ve adapted to sleeping alone, though, for some reason, when I get up in the middle of the night, I still do so very quietly so as not to wake anyone.

But travelling alone, that’s something that’s not so easy.  If I keep busy, if I keep my mind occupied, it’s doable but I can’t keep racing around and sooner or later, while having a coffee or lying in bed or looking out at a vista, it catches up with me.

It’s an ache that starts in the back of my eyes.  I’m used to that ache now.  Sometimes it brings tears.  Sometimes just a huge hollowness in my chest, a small, black hole.

After 2 ½ years, you’d think the pain might go away.  But maybe it shouldn’t.  I mean, Margot was my everything for 30 years.  Losing her was, without a doubt, the hardest thing in my life and that pain, oh boy, it always seems to be lurking there, just behind my eyes, deep in my heart, my bones, my soul.  Maybe I need to feel this pain on some level.  Maybe it’s what love is about.

She always said that the tragedy of death was not found in the person who died but in those who remained behind.  She was talking about how to make my writing better, how to make death of a character matter but it’s a truth I think.  One I would have rather never really discovered for myself.

Time for bed, I think.

Tomorrow is another day.  Lancaster.

So what is it like?

It’s not like Barstow, the Bastogne of the desert, for one thing.  It’s a town (or clump of towns, from Desert Hot Springs slightly to the north, to Cathedral City, to Palm Desert to La Quinta to Indio,) that clearly has money in it.

Whereas Barstow has motels, fast food outlets and one 4 lane road through it, Palm springs has walled off communities, massive resort complexes and freaking palm trees lining the main roads.  Barstow, people drive through, maybe stop for a snack or to sleep overnight but it’s not a destination city.

Palm Springs is.

It’s really quite beautiful.  Sure there aren’t any lost bits of Americana or rusted out cars in people’s front yards but there are acres of new car lots, some a large as entire blocks, there are huge shopping malls and IMAX theaters.

It’s definitely a car town (I don’t think I saw one person biking around,) and if you want to get from point A to point B, it usually quite a distance.

It’s the type of town that has streets named Bob Hope Blvd, Frank Sinatra street, and Philis Diller Dr.  It’s a town of shiny SUVs, tinted-window Mercedes and town cars driven by little old men who do not exceed 15mph.

I can see why people retire to this area.  It’s quiet, peaceful, surprisingly lush and friendly.  Yesterday, a nice old fella lifted his walker to say hi.  Today, a woman about my age actually talked to me in an elevator.  For no reason (though I was wearing my cool sunglasses.)

There always seems to be something going on as well.  Not far from my hotel, they had closed off a street and set up a little market.   This screwed up my nav system something fierce but it was nice to see.  If I wasn’t on a quest for another Barnes and Noble, I would have stopped and checked it out.

But hey, for anyone looking for a place to relax, especially in the winter when it’s raining like hell and the temperature is just hovering above freezing, this wouldn’t be a bad choice.