2007: USA – Kentucky to California

The trip we took in 2007 saw us more or less drive across the US. We were 11 hours shy of driving that distance, because this was no coast to coast adventure. Instead, we flew into Chicago. It was a short hop from there to Cincinatti, where I picked up our hire car and drove an hour south to our friend’s farm near Versailles, KY.

I have fond memories of the short hop to Cincinnati; John, my father-in-law, had nightmares. He was sitting at the back of the plane with my mother-in-law, Val. When the plane took off – and it felt like it was near-vertical, I must say – I could just make him out in the corner of my eye, head bowed, hanging on for dear life. As the plane rose, it banked sharply before levelling off and shortly thereafter the seat belt signs were extinguished. Looking out the window we could see why; we were surrounded by dark clouds on all sides, not just dark clouds, lightning clouds.

We arrived in Cincinnati soon after, none the worse for wear, picked up our hire car – a people carrier – and headed off to Versailles KY for a stay with our friend.

After spending a few days on our friend’s farm, we set off on our adventure – driving across the US. Final destination: San Luis Obispo in California.

A head for heights

Our first stop was in St Louis MO, just five hours away. There was no rush. We had a whole week to complete the journey to California.

We booked in for a stay at the Radisson Hotel in central St Louis… on the 29th floor. Now, to say I don’t like heights would be wrong. What I don’t like is being in or on anything man-made that stretches to the sky, tall buildings included. And, for good measure, the pool was above us, not below. I ventured up there once to check on my daughter, before leaving her in my wife’s care, and heading to the ground floor for a much-needed smoke. I had a headache.

The remainder of our overnight stay in St Louis included going to see its skyline-dominating Arch and trying, unsuccessfully, to book onto a Missouri river cruise to get something to eat. In the end we grabbed something to eat on the way back to our hotel where we got our heads down. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep. Next morning I trod gingerly over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in our room and laid my head against them. It was eerie. The street below would be visible one minute then nowhere to be seen the next, as the building swayed gently in the breeze. I’d had enough. I packed my bags and headed to the car to wait for the others to arrive.

St Louis was a planned stop so I’d booked ahead. Our next stop was in a hotel/motel by the side of the road in Salina KS. I’m sure many of the people who live in Kansas love it, but there was nothing to see, especially around I70. Apart from the sunrises, I’ll give them that. Just one field folded into another and another till some seven hours later, low and behold, the Rockies loomed. Colarado didn’t seem so far away now, but it was getting dark.

The Rockies

We eventually wound our way up to the magnificent Stanley Hotel, in Estes Park CO for a two-night stopover and a chance to relax. Over the next couple of days, we drove into town, where we did some go-karting – as if my father-in-law and I hadn’t done enough driving – and drove along what was billed as the ‘highest road’ in the US. At 11,000 feet I can testify it was high up there, but whether it was the highest road in the US remains in doubt. There are a number of such claims. While we were staying at the Stanley Hotel we heard on the news that Salina KS, which we’d just passed through, was under so many feet of water. I didn’t discover till years later that this is a regular occurrence.

Things started to get interesting from here on. Our drive through the Rockies took us through Denver, Aspen and a number of other resorts I have since forgotten. It was nice to be back in the mountains again, and the scenery was gobsmackingly amazing. It felt like nothing, though, compared to what lay ahead.

As we emerged from the mountains, we were greeted by what I can only describe as ‘cowboy lands’, the kind I recalled from watching old westerns as a kid. Miles in the distance, on both sides, we were surrounded by flat-topped mesas, some with their own little storm systems going off. The countryside leading up to them was desert.

Soon after, with the tank reading dropping below the halfway point, we came across a sign that said ‘No gas for 160 miles’. Suddenly we were on the hunt for gas. Eventually we came across a sign that pointed us in the right direction. As it was nearing lunchtime we headed off I70, down a road that led to ‘nowheresville’, but it had food and gas, and that’s all that mattered.

I filled up and we headed for the restaurant, stretching our legs as we went. Waling in was like entering yesteryear. Instead of a modern feeding station, it was like a scene from a black and white movie. In fact, there were black and white prints on the walls of the devastation caused by a tornado passing through in the Sixties. It was reasonably packed for such an out-of-the-way venue. A couple of families, a lot of mean-looking local rednecks and the town sheriff thrown in for good measure, his police cruiser parked outside. It looked like we could get beat up here and the sheriff would turn a blind eye to proceedings. That didn’t happen, though.

We found an empty booth, slid in and ordered our food. When we were about to leave everyone in our party decided they needed to use the bathroom. So, while me and my wife paid the grubby handed short-order cook, my in-laws took my daughter and went to the restrooms. Soon after I heard her say (the whole restaurant did in fact), “It’s filthy in here,” in her loud, slightly posh English accent. As you can imagine, we left quicker than we had arrived.

The city of Green River UT (population: 847) was our next stop. Americans have this quirk that labels a place a city regardless of its size; in the UK, it would count for little more than a village. Our stopover in Green River wasn’t planned; it just happened to be the wrong place at the right time.

We only discovered it was a ‘dry county’ we had stopped in, while having a meal that evening. So it was a case of root beers all round. You can buy beer at a petrol station, but there is nowhere in the county, as far as I am aware, to buy ‘hard liquor’. So, you can get as fat as you like, and drunk as hell on beer, but no one will serve you a whisky, even as a nightcap. There was no wine and not a chance in hell of getting a vodka martini.

Las Vegas, honey

At our lunch stop the next day, we got down to working out where our next stay would be. We discovered that Las Vegas was only three hours’ drive away. That was totally unexpected. When we arrived, we looked out what seemed like the most obvious choice to me, the Luxor. That great pyramid of a hotel stuck in the middle of the Mojave desert, Nevada, the driest place on earth, according to some. It’s all a facade: luxurious looking on the outside, cheap on the inside. And grubby, it has to be said.

The rooms were nothing to write home about, there were discarded crisp packets and pillows – I kid you not – on the concrete supporting struts high above the casino floor. The whole place had touch of dirtiness about it, touched by many. Of money lost and found, but mostly lost.

When we went outside that evening, it was like walking into a sauna with moon boots on. We walked along the strip for half-an-hour before coming back to the hotel. We went to bed, determined to get up early and get out of town. Viva Las Vegas.

After driving through the desert for most of the remainder of the day we headed towards Yosemite National Park. I engaged my audience of four with stories of people dying out here and how hot it got in the desert.

We needed somewhere to stay at Yosemite so I got on the phone and eventually came up with The Hounds Tooth Inn in Oakhurst, right on the edge of the park. It has a tag as being independent and was labelled a ‘Small Luxury Hotel of the World’. While our room in the main building had luxurious stamped all over it that was as nothing compared to my in-laws’ ground floor garden room, which came complete with a hot tub. We only had plans to stay the night, but wish it had been longer.

Next morning, we were up for breakfast and on the road to the park. We paid the entrance fee. Warnings were posted along the road as we drove in – ‘Don’t become a Teddy Bear’s Picnic’ and the like – as we wound our way through endless trees. Upwards and upwards. Till eventually, El Capitan hove into sight. What a sight. We pulled over the get a look and take some pictures (main image). It was magnificent, El Capitan looming on the left of a valley that seemed to go on forever.

We got back in the car and drove down to the park’s amenities. Satisfied, we got back in the car and drove out, headed for our almost final destination of San Luis Obispo.

California coast

We had a planned stopover of six days. It was a much of a holiday respite for daughter, as it was for us to have time to contemplate our feat of driving across America. We’d already booked in at the Holiday Inn Express Grover Beach before leaving the UK, attracted by the pool and the hotel rooms with views of the Pacific Ocean. We also felt reassured that we were staying with a brand that we had encountered in countless travels.

But when we checked into our rooms, we were disappointed. They were dark and grubby and looked out on a parking lot. We decided to stay the night while we thought things over. The pool was also a turn-off, caked, as a quarter of it was, in pelican shit. John and I were up early the next day and set off down the road. It wasn’t long before we came across the Pismo Lighthouse Suites. It was like a different world. We paid our money for the remaining five days, went back to the Holiday Inn and checked out. They gave me a complete refund, which returned some of my respect for the Holiday Inn group. It’s horses for courses. The Holiday Inn Express model is for over nighters, not groups in holiday mode.

The Pismo Lighthouse Suites was like a breath of fresh Pacific air. A bedroom, a living/dining/kitchen area, and a separate bathroom. Plus there was a balcony overlooking the Pacific, and a clean pool with a view. We went out that night to celebrate our luck, and the next. But the rich food was starting to weigh on me as well as my wallet, so the following evening I left my in-laws to it and headed along the beach to San Luis Obispo. Once there, we found a rib joint, and settled in for the evening with a tray of sticky ribs, a bowl of fries and some sweetcorn. My wife, being a vegetarian, had to do without the ribs.

Over the next few days, we found ourselves whale watching, playing table tennis with my daughter, and in the pool. One of the days we popped out to go dune-riding in an original Hummer. It was a scary, being strapped into the back while the Hummer raced up and down the dunes. But it was also pleasing to note that while our Hummer dealt with everything the dunes could throw at it, other holidaymakers in their H2s were stuck in the sand waiting to be pulled out.

Half Moon Bay was our next stop. All I can remember is the beach, which dipped sharply into the Pacific. It’s about 25 miles south of San Francisco and suited our aversion for big cities.

But we were due to fly back from San Francisco to the UK the next day, so we were up early, and seeing the sights of San Fran by 9am. We drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, took some snaps, headed down to Fisherman’s Wharf to see the population of sea lions, and took pictures of trams racing up and down the city’s famously steep streets. Then, before you know it, it was time to go to the airport.