We left home before sunrise, driving our Budget “Grandpa’s Boat” of a Chrysler rental south through the brilliant green rice fields to Sacramento. After dropping the car it took us like ten minutes to clear security and walk waaayyyy out to our gate. This is the advantage of flying out of a smaller airport.
We are flying from SMF this year because we are starting our trip with a stop in Cleveland, Ohio to see my mom for her 90th birthday.
Emphasis on the tan, not the green.
I could tell we must be almost directly over Highway 50, the “Lonliest Road in America,” a route I have driven many times. I tried to pick out landmarks, but it was all bumpy brown, white and grey, so I just sat back and enjoyed the Google Maps Satellite View out my window.
As we hit the snow capped peaks of the basin and range country we dipped slightly north and I enjoyed munching on my complimentary snack bag of “Pretzel twists.” High class living, this. Not plain unsalted pretzel sticks, no, these were little miniatures in the traditional shape, slightly salted and crunchy, best enjoyed with a complimentary Dasani Lime at 39,000 feet.
Across the yellow-red canyon and Mesa country of Utah, the rim rock looking like zippers on the burn-scar canyonlands. The tan-green is totally gone, replaced by a rainbow of yellow to orange to red to brown hues; the only green on two thin strips along the banks of the muddy brown Colorado River, corkscrew twisting and turning impossibly below. We passed directly over an isolated island of snow covered peaks, and I guessed they were the La Salles or Henrys, which means we are right up on the Colorado border. The rock became redder, and there was once again the greenish tinge of scrub: pinyon and junipers, some actual trees.
Yup, there it is, the deep Black Canyon of the Gunnison, green river foaming deep in the scar. Then we started bouncing on the winds pushed up over snow covered mountains, single peaks then whole groups ridged together.
We dropped into Denver, now a mile higher than we started out a few hours ago.
A strong jet stream reduced our 2:16 by thirty minutes, so we landed right in time for lunch with a little extra time to find a bite to eat.
Instead, we found the New Belgium Brewing pub and had good eats (a great spicy chicken sandwich and fries) and beer.
Back in the air I napped and watched Women’s World Cup Soccer highlights. Looking down one time over Iowa, I saw the flooding that has been making the news, but mostly it was that semi-flat mix of green and brown squares, towns laid out here and there. Just before Chicago the sky closed with clouds and that was the end of the view until we popped up into Canada for the south drop into Cleveland across Lake Erie.
8:30 in the airport and all the bars and restaurants are closed. On a Saturday night? Sheesh. So we picked up our rental car and headed into town. Fortunately we found a nice Italian place open, Rosa Italian Kitchen. Good fried ravioli, pasta with basil sauce, and margarita pizza. A nice light Pinot noir wine and coffee. Not perfect but better than I expected.
We got to my moms place and stayed up late talking.
We spent the next day having a potluck gathering with some of the family: my sister Lynne's family minus one, Aunt Bev (my mom’s sister) and cousin Brenda, my age, who also loves to travel, my dad’s brother Jerry and Aunt Alice, and my cousin Linda and her family (they also love to travel). We ate and caught up and laughed the day away.
This was the highlight of the visit.
We drove down to the Erie Lake front to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We didn’t go into it since our son let us know that, in his opinion, the stuff displayed in any Hard Rock Cafe is as good or better. The exterior of the museum is pretty impressive.
Behind it in Voinovich Park there is a “Cleveland" script sign, perfectly framing a view of the downtown core.
We drove down to The Flats, an up and coming area tucked around a U-bend of the Cuyahoga River, the Irishtown Bend. (See the photos below.)
There are many impressive bridges; a bright blue metal span, old black raised bridges standing abandoned, one-lane drawbridges, and a white concrete span with nice facade. There are colorful murals on the walls, and graffiti is painted here and there.
Jimmy Buffet even has a Margaritaville Restaurant out on the east end of the flats!?!?!
A typical “Sunny Ohio Day,” the rains started as we left and drove across town through the Cultural Gardens, which all looked about the same: big green trees and green grass, with some sort of statue or fountain representing that particular country. (Shout-out for Croatia!)
We ended in the Little Italy area for lunch. “Little” should be changed to “Microscopic Italy” since the whole thing is like one block of one street. It is no North Beach in San Francisco. We ate at Guarinos, a restaurant started in 1918 by a real Italian from Sicily. Somewhere along the way the “Authentic Italian food” has become very Americanized. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. It was simply forgettable.
Somewhere along the way there was an earthquake, just offshore in the lake. We didn't feel it, but the whole city was abuzz with the event.
It's all they talked about on the radio and TV news.
My sister and cousins are convinced that I brought it with me from California.
Perhaps I did...
We took time to drive through my hometown in the suburbs, staring at the changes, seeing the "Historic Center" where the bandstand has been shifted and the road widened, trying to remember (and failing) what business was where and the names of people I once knew.
You truly cannot go home again.
Tomorrow we fly out to Germany. I am ready.
I am reminded of the quote:
Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away. -Marcus Aurelius
Where does the time go? How is it that I am suddenly 60, mom is suddenly 90?