ARIZONA/NORCAL RUN 2024

We left Phoenix as the sun was setting. Had to break out the sunglasses, but then had to switch back to our regulars before we hit Jack-In-The-Box for on-the-run chicken sandwiches.

Was intergalactic pitch black by the time we stopped to pee in Wickenburg.

It was after ten when we reached Kingman, Timothy McVeigh’s hideout. 

Gas was $3.30 a gallon, and a computer glitch was screwing up the gas pumps at a Love’s. An old guy from Tennessee was trying over and over to make one work, cussing nonstop, between bursts of “I can do this all night!”

The next morning we got coffee at a Human Bean that also sold Electric Dragon (lime brigh energy base w/dragon fruit syrup) and Dragonade (black tea w/dragon fruit lemonade). There was also a big billboard for MEDUSA FARMS CANNABIS. Would McVeigh still feel safe here?

The road out of Kingman was a funk shui Mars colony with improvised dwellings nestled into the wind-carved hills. It was studded with signs: GHOST CANYON ROAD . . . HARMONY VILLAGE, JUST BE . . . OLD TRAILS ROAD . . .

Gas prices shot up as we made our way to California. $5.89 a gallon in Needles.

We arrived too late for bear claws at Frosty’s Donut Shop in Barstow, so we had fritters instead. They had an impressive Halloween tableau, the work of the young Asian guy behind the counter. He told us that Halloween was his favorite holiday–he even comes to work in makeup–even though his mom disapproved after converting from Buddhism to Christianity. Another immigrant making his own American Dream.

Then Emily found out about the second assassination attempt on Trump. We have all kinds of dreams and dreamers in America.

Passed through Santa Paula, where my grandparents used to live. It was totally unrecognizable in this century. The high school team is now the Mayans. It reminded me of New Mexico, probably why Grandpa Hogan liked it.

It started to feel chilly. After months of a record-breaking inferno in Phoenix, it felt good.

Then it was north on the Chumash Highway. A sign warned HILL BLOCKS VIEW.

And Vandenberg is now a Space Force Base. Sci-fi enough for you?

Next day it was like waking up on another planet . . . Vandenberg, Vandenberg, do you read? Here we are in Arroyo Grande/Pismo Beach. It’s almost cold; not breaking out my neglected jacket yet–it feels good. We’re trudging along in what Mike called “stop and stop traffic” through crowded, upscale beach communities encrusting the nooks and crannies of jagged mountains. 

A donut shop in San Luis Obispo had bear claws.

Then inland where we cruised King City on our way to Pinnacles National Park.

It was tarantula mating season, so we had to watch out. 

The pinnacles were spectacular. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few transdimensional portals were pinched between those mossy rocks.

It was raining when we hit Salinas. 

We found some magnificent murals. 

The Mesoamerican influence is running wild in NorCal.

A peculiar vehicle was in the parking lot of our motel in Monterey. Adventurers are exploring the mutating world in Frankentech machines.

The motel office didn’t open until eight. Getting up early seemed to have died with Covid. Went searching for coffee. We passed a Pie Ranch. I had visions of cowboys wrangling and branding ornery pies. Too bad it was “SHUT,” as the hand-lettered sign put it.

Bean Hollow Beach turned out to be an alien landscape with weather-sculpted rocks,

graffiti, 

structures that looked like glyphs, 

tidepools, 

and birds hanging out.

At a pit-stop I found Salsitas, my favorite chips. They actually taste like tacos. A miracle of our age.

While approaching San Francisco we passed Gorilla Barbeque. At first I thought it said “Godzilla.” That would make for one hell of a barbeque.

Condors flew overhead as we drove through the forest. There’s something about being in a forest, even if you're zooming along in a motor vehicle. The highway kept taking us through areas without cell service–I recommend it as a cure for the contemporary predicament.

The next morning in Fort Bragg, we got scones and mochas at Headlands Coffee House. They have a staff cartoonist, which is a good addition for any business. Some of their customers looked like aging hippies, but they drank their barista-crafted coffees like they were whiskey, and their expressions indicated that they’d rather be listening to some apocalyptic, bluesy, country western tune.

Next to the Inglenook Cemetery was the mysterious Grange Building that looked both abandoned and cared for.

Then forest, 

redwoods, the Avenue of the Giants,

the part of NorCal that gets more Middle Earth than Wild West, the gateways to the Pacific Northwest, or as I like to call it, Sasquatchlandia.

There was even an elephant at the side of the road.

We got deli sandwiches in Soctia, an upscale company town dominated by a mill. Across a bridge was Rio Dell, that seemed to be where the workers lived.

Chapman’s Gem and Mineral Shop (and Museum) had raptors out front, more dino sculptures inside, and interesting geological, archaeological, and even political artifacts.

Under the marine layer, we found Eureka, a charming, arty town with murals, inspired graffiti, and fantastic shops where we all bought stuff.

Soon we were crossing the border into Oregon.

CHICANONAUTICA FORESHADOWS A RE-ENTRY

Chicanonautica looks for forward to coming back, at La Bloga.

I’m expecting to be shaken up:

Re-entry is hot stuff:

Like a Chicanonaut:

Getting high on future shock:

GHOSTS OF ROAD TRIPS PAST

I’m on a road trip with my wife Emily Devenport and her brother Michael Thiele.

These trips started as a tradition with their mother Margaret L. Davenport, so she could visit her beloved New Mexico.

In the last one, Mike joined us, and was inspired to take her (and us) on another trip.

He is a master of zigzag, zen traveling, and doesn’t mind changing direction and stopping if something interesting comes into view.

After Margaret went traveling in time and space, as she put it, we kept tripping in her honor.

It’s always inspiring. And a great way to investigate whither these here United States of America goest.

We always discover strange new worlds of different kinds.

I take along my sketchbook for notes and doodles.

And assembling them into travelogues that I post both on Mondo Ernesto and in Chicanonautica at La  Bloga.

 

It’s become more than a hobby.

Kinda a raison d'être.

And it’s a helluvalota fun.

CHICANONAUTICA GETS INTO AN ARIZONA BATTLEGROUND STATE OF MIND

Chicanonautica heats up over at La Bloga.

What record are we breaking now?

Who is allowed to vote?

Who’s eating what?

I just hope Project 2025 is too many fuehrers and not enough stormtroopers:

NALO’S NEW CONCOCTIONS

 

“They,” the people who run the publishing business, keep saying that no one cares about single author short story collections. I disagree. I love them. Guess I’m nobody.

 

I kinda understand when a degenerate like me does one and it gets ignored, but you’d think the world would stop and take notice when a SFWA grandmaster has one come out. Come on, folks, where’s the social media buzz? The cultural groundswell of excitement? The dancing in the streets?

We’ve still got some time before the release, so let me tell you about Jamaica Ginger and Other Concoctions by Nalo Hopkinson and how wonderful it is.

The fifteen stories—one co-written by Nisi Shawl—were all originally published in the 21st century and are prime examples of what is, and is becoming. And if you haven’t noticed, there’s been a whole lot of becoming going on. None of the usual cornball sci-fi is here. Nalo can’t help but be different, original. This book just had to be diverse. 

She’s Caribbean-Canadian, outside of the usual boundaries of traditional English-language science fiction that are centered around New York, and sometimes goes on field expeditions to far-off London. Both the fantastic worlds she imagined and real-world elements she uses are richly textured.

Rising sea levels creates a new world with, among other things, cyborg pigs. An alien life form crossed the line between living and dead. Stereotypes become real in an unexpected way. A cruise ship is hacked into a tool for decolonization. Queer love and relationships abound. No sign of the all-white future I grew up reading about.

She’s hip to what’s happening on the cutting edges of science and technology, but delivers far more than the usual hard-science take on things. The human element is always present. Sometimes things other than human. There is anger, but also optimism.

This volatile mix often steps out of the restrictions of the science fiction genre and becomes other kinds of storytelling. Some of these are more like folklore and fables, the literature you are more likely to overhear being told into a smart phone on public transportation and in performance art than in a book. Genres are just marketing gimmicks–we need to set our imaginations free to soar beyond the temporary, artificial cultural borders.

She is a true grandmaster. This collection of marvelous, delicious concoctions is a joy to read.

Those dopes who don’t like story collections don’t know what they’re missing.

 

CHICANONAUTICA CATCHES ERNESTO IN LATINOPIA, AGAIN

 

Ernesto is on Latinopia again, and you can see it via Chicanonautica, at La Bloga.

Thanks to Jesús Salvador Treviño:

Founder of Latinopia and much more:

Listen to me stutter:

All because I saw Forbidden Planet at an East L.A. drive-in:

AN ASTOUNDING AUGUST INTERLUDE

The bureaucracy gods granted us a day off together. It started raining as we pulled out of Kiss the Cook. It had clouded over in the night. Wasn’t quite as hot in Phoenix . . . yet.

It was significantly cooler up toward Flagstaff. At first, I was doubtful about Emily’s suggestion that I wear a long-sleeved shirt, but she was right. And I was soon rolling down those sleeves.

It was still raining when we got to Walnut Canyon. The trail down to the cliff dwellings was wet and slippery, but doable. We weren’t the only people there. It seemed light-years from superheated Phoenix.

The forest smelled great. There was no need to run the car’s air-conditioner.

Lots of datura bloomed at the roadsides.

We headed down to Sedona and had the world-class Cowboy Up Burgers at the Cowboy Club.

While walking around, we passed an enlightened ape with a peeling gold paint-job in front of a “wellness cafe.” What is a wellness cafe? Did the proprietors think the whole thing was as funny as I did?

As we left Sedona, an indigenous angel with floppy wings and a horned buffalo cap blessed us.

We visited the Highway 89 elephant on the way home.

We got into a couple of traffic jams, and Phoenix was blazing, but we were feeling great.

CHICANONAUTICA UPDATES A WEIRDO SUMMER

It’s in one weird place, heading for another in Chicanonatica, over at La Bloga.

How weird is it?

Heading for education:

And judgment:

In a brave, new world:

SLICES OF A SUMMER

My wife just said: "Holy crap, the black widow got a lizard!"

The final scene of my dream was a dystopia in clay animation.

The concrete islands in the asphalt desert next to the ruins are being colonized.

Do androids run with electric bulls?

Bats and dragonflies flit about as the sun sets.

Still free to have tacos on the 4^th of July.

“Here’s some duct tape if you need some,” she said before leaving for work.

The smoke came from a parked car, its hood up, and flames leaping from the engine.

Sometimes you have to stop and smell the sunset.