Virginia - Day 2 - Founding Fathers

7/23/17, “Founding Fathers”

Scarsdale, New York

At dozens, or perhaps hundreds, of local and national historic sites across the country, printed on signs and brochures or spoken by staffers are four simple words: “George Washington Slept Here.”  All the random homes and farm sites where General Washington spent a night during the Revolutionary War, each one of them can parlay that claim into a status as a historic site.

I have been to a lot of those sites, but today I took it one step further and went to the place he was born.  I also visited Thomas Jefferson’s iconic home of Monticello.  The signifance of these sites cannot be diminished, and it is hard to express what I felt standing in the spot where Washington was born or staying at what I consider to be the most significant piece of architecture in the country.

After I closed last night, I headed over to the cigar store, and I immediately knew I was in my element.  They had a nice selection, and the owner was friendly to me.  I noticed that I was the only white person in the whole shop, and, excluding the last customer of the night, that applied even when considering all the customers that came in and out.  It was a good crowd, and I was soon given a beer.  I lit up a Padron and good times were had by all.  I was in my element, and it was the first chance I had to relax in quite some time.

After they closed, I took a Lyft back to the hotel and finished my cigar.  I then went to bed, or tried to, but I was kept up for twenty precious minutes while Pablo washed and combed his hair.  That twenty minutes was the difference between getting four full REM cycles and coming up short.  We woke up at 6:30 AM and were now pressed for time, as I wanted to get to Monticello when they opened at 8:30 AM.  We got breakfast at the executive lounge, which consisted of a bagel with sausage and egg, fruit, and coffee for me.

We were on the road just before 7:30 AM, and I lit up a Graycliff for the road.  When we got there, it turned out I had to pay a steep admission to get up the mountain, pun intended.  When I was at the top, I looped around to find the spot of the inscription photo, lit up a Partagas, took my ceremonial picture, and it hit me.  This building was the most significant cultural historic site in our country.  The Classical Greek architecture represented Jefferson’s vision for a renaissance of the governments found in Classical Greece and Rome.  This was the shining city on the hill.  That’s what Jefferson wanted for America, and it was well represented here.

I made my way back down, got some souvenirs, and asked a staffer to take my picture with the new Plaque.  I held my folder of brochures, and he asked me if I had been to a lot of World Heritage Sites.  I smiled coyly.  Other than the ones in Hawaii, the brochures from every WHS in the country were in that folder.  From there it was a straight shot to George Washington Birthplace National Monument, which is self-explanatory.  I lit up a Prensado for the drive.

When we got there, it was short walk to what is believed to be the birth spot, and I lit up a PDR.  This was something special.  George Washington was born here.  It was a little past noon, and I needed to be back in Scarsdale in time for Game of Thrones at 9 PM.  Easy, right?  Wrong.

We first stopped so that I could get lunch at Five Guys, a Virginia original fast food chain.  I got a burger and fries, which were really good, but no better than they are in New York.  I then put Westchester Airport into my navigation, where I needed to return my car, it said I would arrive at 7:30 PM.  I thought that was ambitious.  It started pouring, and the traffic was brutal.  I thought I would be lucky to be in Scarsdale by 9 PM.

I lit up an Undercrown, followed by a Perdomo.  Eventually, the rain stopped and the traffic let up, but my navigation was now showing an 8:15 PM arrival.  That would be tight, and I expected more traffic.  The traffic actually let up a bit, Iand I was soon greeted by the familiar site of the Manhattan skyline.  Not long after that we were crossing the George Washington Bridge.

I dropped Pablo off at an exit in Manhattan, continued to the airport, arriving at 8:15 PM, where my mother was waiting with a menu from Chop Stix.  It was a bit of a process to return the car, and I knew the timing would be tight.  I ordered sweet and sour chicken, and we raced to the restaurant to pick it up, arriving at 8:45 PM.  We got the food and were home at 8:45 PM.

We finished eating just as the opening credits began.  I lit up a Davidoff, and we watched the episode, which was really good, as the action is heating up.  After the episode, I went out to the porch, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish before I head to the train station.

Virginia - Day 1 - Civil War (Or: A Jam-Packed Day)

7/22/17, “Civil War” (Or: “A Jam-Packed Day”) Richmond, Virginia

In my travels, I have come to realize that it is the most random things that mean the most to me.  For all the days like this one, racing from site to site to get my Stamps and Plaques, every once in a while, there comes a moment when it hits me hard, “History happened here.”  There comes that moment when I close my eyes and see Generals Grant and Lee shaking hands at the very spot I am standing.  There comes the moment when I realize the significance of the fact that I have visited 38 State Capitol buildings (enough to ratify a constitutional amendment).

That was what I felt today at Appomattox Court House and here in Richmond.  It is something I never felt at the Taj Mahal or the Great Wall.  It is something I have felt at random places, such as the bridge in Sarajevo where Archduke Ferdinand was shot, beginning World War I, or at Sir George Mallory’s birthplace, knowing that I would be staring at Mount Everest in just two short days.

On the natural side of the things, the equivalent would be when I find some secluded spot that gives me a marvelous vista to myself.  That was not something I felt when I first did see Everest, but it was something I felt all over Greenland.  I always get asked what’s the most interesting places I’ve been to, or my favorite, or some variation of that question.  People are shocked when I reply with northern Canada and Greenland, rather than Japan or the Caribbean.  No one thinks of sitting on a rock behind a hotel in Yellowknife to be some memorable experience, but that spot is one of my most vivid travel memories.  Qassiarsuk is hardly a tourist hotspot, but I will never forget sitting on Erik the Red’s farm.

I design my trips around Stamps and Plaques, but it is these random moments and memories that make it all worthwhile.  It is the cigar shops in Columbia, South Carolina and pubs in Nottingham that make it fun.  Sure, saying, “I’ve seen all the Wonders of the World,” is a talking point, but Everest or the Taj Mahal are not what I want to talk about when people ask me about my travels.  It’s places like Greenland and Nottingham and state capitals that really keep me going.

After I closed last night, I headed back to my hotel, hoping to be able to get two full REM cycles.  I did not.  It was 6:30 AM by the time we got on the road, and we would not return for thirteen hours, the vast majority of which would be spent driving.  I was seriously concerned about my ability to do that with less than two full REM cycles.  I got a coffee for the road and lit up a Fuente.

To my shock, the cigar lasted the entire three-hour drive to Booker T. Washington National Monument.  This was where he was born and freed, and they reconstructed the farm.  I knew we would be in a mad rush the entire day, almost non-stop.  We would literally need to spend the bare minimum of time possible at each site.  Stamp, pin, cigar, ceremonial picture, back in the car with the cigar, and off to the next site.  That was the routine.  I lit up an Aging Room, and we found the spot of the brochure photo here, the only time we did it today.

Our next site was the one I was most looking forward to: Appomattox Court House.  I stopped for gas, coffee, and two breakfast biscuits, one of each of us.  Mine was country-fried steak, egg, and cheese.  It was good, cheap, and filling.  I did not want to stop to eat again until dinner.

When we got to Appomattox, it hit me.  History happened here.  Maybe the single biggest event in 19^th Century American history occurred here.  It was over 100 degrees out, so time wasn’t the only reason we were now trying to minimize our time outdoors.  I lit up a PDR, and we went to the McLean House to take our ceremonial picture.  In case my reader isn’t brushed up on American history, this was where General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant, effectively ending the Civil War.

From there we went back in time, to the spot of the battle that led to Grant’s victory at Appomattox: Petersburg.  Grant laid siege to the forces at Petersburg, driving them back to Appomattox.  With the Confederate capital of Richmond in sight, Grant then scored his final victory.  I lit up a Graycliff, and we took our ceremonial picture by the earthworks.  Now we were in full rush mode.  Time was running out.  There were three things left to do.  Since my last trip to Virginia, Fort Monroe had been newly designated as a National Monument.  I also recently learned that my brochure from Colonial National Historical Park was unstamped and that I didn’t have any good pictures at Monticello.

Fort Monroe NM closed at 4:30 PM, Yorktown Battlefield VC (part of Colonial NHP) at 5 PM, and Monticello at 7:30 PM.  I would not be able to do all three if I wanted to get dinner at the state’s “most iconic restaurant” in Williamsburg.  I would be lucky if I could get to two of them.  I chose Fort Monroe NM and Colonial NHP, saving Monticello for tomorrow.

We raced to Fort Monroe NM, but, being a newly designated NM, it did not have NPS facilities.  However, there was a museum inside the fort with brochures and Stamps.  We lost about ten precious minutes working through this confusion.  It was 39 minutes to the Yorktown Battlefield VC.  They closed at 5:00 PM.  I wanted to leave Fort Monroe at 4:16 PM.  It would be very tight.  We raced through the museum, I lit up a Perdomo, and we took some ceremonial pictures, but they didn’t come out right.  Fuck.  We needed to retake them, wasting 2 precious minutes.

We got in the car, and my GPS showed a 4:59 PM arrival at the Yorktown Battlefield VC.  I did not see how a 4:59 PM soft arrival could translate into a 5 PM hard arrival, so I had to count on the VC being open a few minutes late.  We made up a few minutes on the road and we somehow got to the parking lot at 4:57 PM.  Two-minute drill.  We were inside the VC at 4:59 PM.  We made it.  Then I learned that they did not have the old brochures, only separate brochures for Jamestown and Yorktown.  I didn’t care.  I just needed any brochure to get stamped, but I wished I had brought my old brochure.  I got my pin just as they announced the VC was closing.

The battlefield itself was open until dark, and I still had plenty of Perdomo left.  We could now relax.  We headed to the battlefield to take a ceremonial picture.  That’s when we heard the thunder.  Back to rushing to avoid getting caught in the storm.  We took our ceremonial picture and raced to the car when we saw lightning.  The skies opened up not so much as a minute after we got in the car.

From there it was Williamsburg, not to see the colonial town, but rather to get BBQ at the state’s “most iconic restaurant,” Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que.  I have now been to half of them.  I expected it to be like the one in Texas, the Salt Lick, but it was actually more like Arthur Bryant’s In Kansas.  The cashier recommended their JC combo, which was a pulled pork sandwich, fries, and a soda.  Perfect.  It was delicious, and the sauce was excellent.  After dinner, we got in the car, I lit up an Aganorsa Leaf cigar, a new cigar by Casa Fernandez that I had gotten at Smoklahoma.  It was surprisingly good.

We were soon back at our hotel in Richmond.  We resituated ourselves and headed out to the State Capitol.  I retrieved my cigar, and we first went to the Executive Mansion, which was adjacent.  I tried to recall the name of the governor.  Then it hit me.  Terry McAuliffe.  I looked it up to cofirm that I was right.  I was.

We continued around to the State Capitol and took a picture from the same spot first of the US Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit, then, after I ditched my cigar, of the State Capitol.  Pablo then went to McDonald’s, and I went to a bench, where I sat down, lit up my trusty Ardor, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and head to the local cigar shop.  Tomorrow will be another early day, one focused on our Founding Fathers, rather than the Civil War.

Virginia - Day 0 - A Busy Summer

“Virginia”

7/21/17, “A Busy Summer”

Richmond, Virginia

I suppose this dateline is not as glamorous as some of the other datelines I have entered into this Travelogue.  I suppose this building is not as impressive as some of the other establishing shots that have begun entries around the world, but not every trip can be to the Great Wall or the Taj Mahal.  For starters, there are only seven Wonders of the World, and I’ve already been to all seven.  There are 417 units of the National Park Service.  I want to see them all.  This trip will bring my count over 300.

There are fifty state capitols, five territorial capitols, and an administrative building in the District of Columbia, along with the national Capitol.  I want to see them all.  This building marks number 38, and it is a special one, as it served as the Confederate Capitol during the Civil War.  That count will soon be up to 40, after I have been to Annapolis and Honolulu, along with having visited all five territorial capitol buildings and the administrative building in DC.

That is what this summer has become.  A series of brute force domestic road trips.  Including this weekend, I be visiting, I think, over twenty new NPS units before I leave for Hawaii, maybe closer to 30.  When I last wrote from SFO, I was talking about how open my summer was.  Not so anymore.  It has become busy.  These trips, along with the NHL run in Westchester and NRHP run in Scarsdale will utilize each weekend before I leave for Hawaii.

It will be a draining summer, to be sure, and I wonder if I overburdened myself.  It will all culminate with my trip to American Oceania, which will, at last, enable me to say, “US Complete.”  That does not mean all 417 NPS units and all 50 State Capitols.  Sure, I will be 80% of the way to both of those goals, but completion of those goals will have to wait for my 30s, and they were not among the goals that I set for myself to achieve by the time I turn 30.

Okay, so I don’t have much to write about Day 0, and I actually suppose I have more to say about Night -1.  As usual, it was another dinner and movie night with the K-Man, a WWII-themed edition.  We would go to a German beer hall and see Dunkirk.  We had planned to allow two full hours at the beer hall and a cigar before the movie, but he was late from the airport, so we only had an hour at the beer hall and note enough time for a full cigar.  That did not lessen the amount of food or alcohol we intended to consume, but trying to consume two hours’ worth of food and alcohol in one hour was a major tactical error.

We each ordered a “boot” of beer, which is two liters, just shy of a six-pack.  Forget the amount of alcohol, trying to consume two liters of a carbonated beverage in an hour, with food, is a fool’s errand.  We also got a basket of pretzels with dips and a platter of sausages.  In two hours, we would have had no problem consuming it all.  In an hour, we failed, miserably.  The K-Man, true to form, consumed about half of his portion, eating half of a pretzel and a quarter of the platter of sausage and drinking half of his boot of beer.

In a decision I would soon come to regret, I pointed to the door and announced that I would be ashamed to walk out that door without finishing my boot.  I also had to pick up the slack on the sausages, and I ate a whole pretzel.  That’s what’s called a contributing factor to what would later occur.  I struggled with the boot, again, more because of the volume of liquid than anything else, but I managed to finish it.  I took one pretzel and one sausage link to go, and we were off.

I would say that we walked from the beer hall to the theatre, but I think using the term “walked” gives to fluidity of my motion too much credit.  We each smoked a Prensado on the “walk.”  The theatre was on Third Avenue and 59^th Street.  I was good until I got to 57^th Street, which was when I came to regret finishing the boot.  I will leave the details to my reader’s imagination.  The movie was certainly well-done, and it was very interesting, but it had no real dialogue and almost no acting.  It was more an experience than anything else.  I wound up forgetting my food at the theatre.  After the movie, we took a cab back to my place, and said our goodbyes.  I finished my cigar and packed for my trip.

I had a productive day at work, but it was broken up by having to go uptown for some radiography, but I was told that I needed an appointment, in sharp contrast to what I had been told by my doctor’s office.  I got sesame chicken from the Chinese restaurant across the street and biked back to the office with the rest of the Graycliff I had lit up for the ride up.  I finished what I needed to do at work and then headed to the car rental place.

It was a bit of a process to get the car, and we were not out of the garage until 6 PM.  The place was at Eighth Avenue and 44^th Street, but it still took close to an hour to get to the Lincoln Tunnel.  After that, it was an easy enough drive, and I didn’t even need GPS until I got to Richmond, as it was just a straight shot on I-95.  I started with my traditional Davidoff Yamasa Toro, and I put on “Red” once we got on the highway.

We stopped at one of New Jersey’s iconic rest stops for dinner and gas.  I got a burger, onion rings, and a milkshake, followed by a coffee, which I knew would easily last me until lunch tomorrow.  I then lit up an LFD.  We soon saw the Delaware Memorial Bridge, and we drove without stopping.  My next cigar was a Perdomo.  About half past midnight, we were in Richmond, and our hotel was about two minutes off of the highway, in the heart of downtown Richmond.

We went to the room to drop off our bags, and I didn’t even change, a decision I now regret, it being 80 degrees at night, and my long pants causing me much misery.  We then walked towards the State Capitol, and Pablo continued on to the McDonald’s.  I was shocked to find the plaza around the State Capitol closed overnight.  That was a first.

I looped around to find a place to sit in view of the Capitol.  Fortunately, the US Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit was right across the street.  It had a nice view and, being federal property, was not subject to the rules of the State of Virginia.  I sat down on the wall, lit up an Ardor, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get back to my hotel to get to sleep.  We have to be on the road at 6 AM, and I will be thrilled if I can get two full REM cycles.

The City by the Bay - Day 2 - The Waterfront (Or: "A Long Day's Journey Into Night")

7/9/17, “The Waterfront” (Or: “A Long Day’s Journey Into Night”)
San Francisco International Airport, California (SFO)

While yesterday was spent honoring the contributions made on the home front, today was spent on a different front: the waterfront.  However, perhaps a different title for this entry would be more apropos, especially in light of the bizarre string of racing around I did that ended up at the house of the playwright who wrote that play and in light of the fact that I am flying home tonight.

It has been a long day, and it is a day that allowed me to experience more the San Francisco that I remembered from my childhood, as opposed to the NPS units I visited yesterday in Contra Costa.  I visited three NPS units today, two on the waterfront and the third the home of a famous playwright, a very famous playwright.  It was a nice way to round out the trip, but I am glad to be getting home.

After I closed last night, I crashed almost as soon as I got back to my room.  I was asleep before 9 PM, and I got six full REM cycles, waking up a little before 6 AM.  I caught another full REM cycle (seven total, now) and headed down for breakfast, taking with me everything I would need to walk to the waterfront and claim my first NPS unit.  This time there was no wait to be seated.  The buffet was identical to yesterday, but, the advantage of having the same buffet two mornings in a row is that, rather than trying everything, you can just pick your favs.

I got two mini bagels with lox and cheese, along with a piece of sweet bread.  Then, for my hot food, I got two waffles with eggs, potatoes, sausage, and bacon (which was ready but running low), the same as last time, plus a sticky bun.  After breakfast, I lit up a Nat Sherman’s and walked to the waterfront.

It was a nice walk, a little over a mile, but, when I got there, I realized that I had made some serious tactical errors.  Very serious.  I was running on a tight schedule, and I had hoped to be at the next site with an absolute latest hard arrival of 11:30 AM, as the shuttle to Eugene O’Neill NHS was at 1:50 PM.  When I got to Hyde Pier, which was part of San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park, I realized the extent of the errors.

It was just after 9 AM, but the VC did not open until 9:30 AM.  The only place to get the brochure was inside the VC, but the gift shop, which was already open, actually had a stamp.  I had a brochure in Scarsdale, but I had not brought it.  That was tactical error number two.  The third error was the most egregious.  I had thought that parking would be so hard that it would be quicker to walk to Hyde Pier and back to my hotel than to try and find parking.  Not so.  I could have found parking right by the VC.

In fact, I could have packed my stuff, gotten my car, and driven to the VC for a hard 9:30 AM arrival.  As it was now, I would be lucky to be this close to my next site in my car by 10:30 AM.  That hour, that precious hour, was a very painful loss.  I got some souvenirs at the shop, then went to a more generic shop next door, where I got some Ghirardelli chocolate and a keychain that reminded me of the one I got when I came here as a kid.  When the VC opened, I got my brochure and stamp, along with another stamp at the shop.

I then took a ceremonial picture and got a taxi back to my hotel, not having a moment to spare.  My cigar was going out, and I held it out the window.  The driver asked where I was from, and I told him New York.  He said that he heard that New York was expensive, and, laughing, I told him that it was much cheaper than San Francisco.  We compared a few prices, and he was shocked how much cheaper things were in NYC than SF.  I got to my hotel, requested my car, got my stuff, and headed back down.

My car was actually already there, but it took me a few minutes to learn that.  From there, it was a straight shot to Point Reyes National Seashore.  My reader will recall that I was shooting for a hard 11:30 AM arrival.  It was through San Fran’s iconic hilly streets, over the iconic Golden Gate Bridge, covered by equally iconic fog, and then to the VC. I hit the hard 11:30 AM arrival almost on the nose, but then I realized another tactical error.

The VC was actually pretty far inland, and I could not claim a National Seashore without taking a ceremonial picture from, well, the seashore.  I asked where the nearest place I could see the water was, and I was told it would be a twenty minute drive.  Reader, I had only allocated forty-five minutes to visit the whole site, including the VC, my ceremonial picture, and a walk.

The drive was closer to fifteen minutes, and I lit up an H. Upmann to get started on it.  I knew it would be tight.  I figured, if I wanted to make the tour at 1:50 PM, I needed a hard 12:05 PM departure from the seashore, at the absolute latest.  I think it was about 11:55 AM when I got to the parking lot.  How the hell was I going to make a hard 12:05 PM departure?!?  It was also a fair amount of walking to the beach.  I got out, and I started walking.  It was a few minutes after noon when I got to the beach.  I took a ceremonial picture and turned right around.  I didn’t get a hard 12:05 PM departure.

It was 12:10 PM, and I knew there would be traffic.  One wrong turn, one glitch with parking, and I would miss the shuttle, and the day would be ruined.  After I finished my H. Upmann, I lit up an LFD, and I drove as fast as was reasonable and prudent.  I was looking at a 1:52 PM arrival at the address.  That’s a soft 1:52 PM arrival.  I did not think I could make shuttle.  There was a parking lot right next to the museum that served as the shuttle stop, and I found a spot.  I was outside the museum at 1:54 PM.

The shuttle pulled up a minute later, and he apologized for running late.  If he was on-time, I would have missed it.  We left just a few minutes later.  We got to Eugene O’Neill’s Tao House a few minutes after 2 PM, and the ranger spent an hour giving us a tour of the house.  I just wanted to get my stamp, light up my cigar, and take my ceremonial picture.

The house was very nice, and we learned some interesting things that I did not know, about how he changed the theatre, that he was Charlie Chaplain’s father-in-law, and that “A Long Day’s Journey Into Night” was not published until after his death, due to its sensitive autobiographical nature.  The ranger, along with the rest of the group, was very impressed to learn that this was my 297^th NPS unit.

After the tour, I got my stamp, lit up an Oliva, and took my ceremonial picture.  We soon headed back, arriving back to our cars slightly before 4 PM.  I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I decided I would head straight to dinner, but I wanted some chocolate.  Well, in the 100-degree heat, it had melted in the trunk.  Like yesterday, the temperature changed tens of degrees every few miles.  It was crazy and ranged from the 60s to the 100s over the span of ten miles.  I found a couple of pieces that were merely soft and ate them.

I then drove to The Old Clam House, California’s “most iconic restaurant.”  There was parking across the street, and a gas station, too.  Perfect.  They had plenty of seating when I got there, and they immediately brought me, upon request, some of their most iconic items: MIlwauke Steam Beer, clam juice, and kettle bread, which was basically a loaf of kettle-cooked sourdough bread.  It was delicious.

Then came the main course, their iconic clams cioppino.  It was easily enough to feed two.  I struggled to finish it.  It was delicious, but I just couldn’t do it.  I got through maybe 80%.  I was glad to have another meal at a state’s “most iconic restaurant,” and this was one of the better ones.  I then gassed up and, improving upon my method from St. John’s, found a way to modestly change from my casual clothes to my suit in my car.

I then headed straight to the airport.  I dropped off my car and took the monorail to the terminal.  I got my ticket and headed out the smoking area, where I sat down, lit up an Avo, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.  I am actually going to set a new precedent by allowing myself to close out this trip outside of the terminal, rather than waiting to get to the gate.  Next stop: actually, I have no idea, but maybe Maryland in August with Raymond and Elaine.

The City by the Bay - Day 1 - The Home Front

7/8/17, “The Home Front”

San Francisco, California

I could sit here forever.  I have a great view of the San Francisco skyline, am sitting in a comfortable chair, and am smoking my favorite pipe.  When people think of World War II, the Bay Area is probably the last place that comes to mind, yet it played a key role in the war efforts on the home front.  That is what today was about, visiting the sites that memorialized the home front.  As I learned today, this was an effort predominantly carried by blacks and women.

While white men were fighting the enemy over there, the home front was how blacks and women were allowed to contribute to the war effort, in contrast to the integration we have now.  Whether it was black men loading munitions at Port Chicago or women working at factories and shipyards in Richmond, the effort they put in on the home front was no less noble, nor any less dangerous, than the work that white men were allowed to do in Europe and the Pacific.

There were many fronts in World War II, and my time in American Oceania later this summer will visit many such sites, from Pearl Harbor to Guam to Saipan, but we cannot forget the war that was fought on the home front.

After I closed last night, I fell asleep almost as soon as I got back to my room, and I managed to get two full REM cycles before I headed down for breakfast.  I then experienced something that I may have never experienced at a hotel before: a wait for a breakfast table.  I was starving, so this annoyed me.  The hotel was at capacity, and it was not equipped to handle its full capacity.  Soon enough, I was seated, and it was more of a wait to get coffee, which I knew I would need before I would get my first plate, as the last thing I wanted was to have a plate of food with no coffee.  When the coffee came, I headed to the buffet to get my cold plate.  The highlight was a mini bagel with cream cheese and lox.  I also got a slice of bread with various meats and cheeses.  I felt like I was back in Scandinavia.

I then went back for my hot food.  I got two mini waffles, two fried eggs, potatoes, and sausage, but, they were out of bacon.  How?  HOWHOWHOWHOWHOW?!?  How could a buffet be out of bacon?  They weren’t even on top of it.  The next batch was still cooking, when they should have had the batch ready before the current batch ran out.  The quality of the food earned the buffet a B+, but the service brought it down to a B-.  My hot food was getting cold while I waited for the bacon.  On the plus side, though, they had small jars of real maple syrup, and I got one jar for my plate of food and two more to take with me.  Finally, the bacon came out, and I filled the rest of my plate with bacon.  The plate was delicious, and I was outraged that a 15% service charge (on top of the expensive charge for the meal).  “For what?” I asked myself.

I then headed up to my room to resituate myself and head out.  The main event for the day was to go to Port Chicago Naval Magazine National Memorial, which was actually the whole reason for the trip.  I had to be at John Muir National Historic Site (not Muir Woods National Monument, which I had previously visited) at 12:45 PM for the shuttle to the memorial, so I would actually be getting two sites in one.  I had hoped to stop at Eugene O’Neil National Historic Site on the way in and Rosie the Riveter/WWII Home Front National Historical Park on the way back.

I calculated I would need to leave my hotel at 10:15 AM, a hard 10:30 AM departure, if I wanted to stop at Eugene O’Neil NHS on the way.  It was 10:30 AM by the time I got to the valet station, and it was another fifteen minutes before I had my car.  I was now very annoyed that I would not be able to stop at Eugene O’Neil NHS.  I was about twenty minutes short, and I knew that the delays in being seated, the coffee, the bacon, and the time spent waiting for the car were the difference between making it and missing it.  I would have to go straight to John Muir NHS.  I lit up a Fuente and drove to the NHS.

It was in the 60s when I left SF, and the drive was less than an hour.  Before long, I noticed that the air coming into the car was oddly warm.  I then looked at the dashboard and saw that the outdoor temperature was 95 degrees.  My phone confirmed that these temperatures were, in fact, that disparate.  Separated by less than 30 miles, the temperatures were 30 degrees apart.  Soon enough, I was at the VC for John Muir NHS, and it was scorching out.  The time was now 11:45 AM.  It was a dry heat, but, still, it was in the high 90s.

I went inside to the VC, got my brochure and stamps, for both this site and Port Chicago Naval Magazine NMem, and got two pins (both for John Muir NHS).  I then retrieved my cigar and walked around the homestead.  I do not need to tell my reader who John Muir was, but, unbeknownst to me, he took up a life as a fruit rancher, and this was his home.  There were plenty of fruit trees on the grounds, along with his house.  I finished my Fuente as I walked around and then took a look inside the house before returning to the VC.

I then saw that they had a third pin and that one of the pins was also made the same design in a keychain.  I knew that I would have buyer’s remorse if I didn’t get those, so I asked if I could swap the pins and also buy the keychain.  The ranger said I could, and we worked it out.  At 12:45 PM, we began the program for the NMem.  It started with a lecture on the accident, the deadliest accident on the home front.  320 deaths as a result of a munitions explosion, due in no small part to not following proper safety procedures.  The workers were all black, and the officers were all white.  The blacks were undertrained, a point that they constantly made, even asking for a training manual.  They were not given a training manual because, in the infinite wisdom of their white superiors, the black workers were too stupid to know how to read a training manual.

The ranger talked about how the survivors were traumatized and refused to return to work after the accident, many of them court martialed and jailed for continuing to refuse, while others did wind up going back to work.  He talked about how we fortunately now have better ways to deal with PTSD.  A member of the group asked about the difference between “shell shock” and PTSD, wondering if his understanding was correct that shell shock refers more to a flaw in the person, while PTSD is more environmental factors.  The ranger asked if anyone could answer the question, as he could not.  This was my chance.

Using what I learned in Intro to Psych last semester and improvising a little, I raised my hand.  I explained that PTSD is a broader term and a more clinical one, that PTSD could refer to many things beyond loud noises, such as a dog bite or the death of someone close.  I explained that there were many ways to get PTSD in the context of a war beyond just gun fire and artillery explosions.  I also explained that PTSD was a term that was more clinically defined, so that it is just a better term to use in a modern context, while “shell shock” is outdated.  The ranger (and tour group) was clearly impressed with my answer, and he thanked me, saying that he does not like to “guess out loud.”  I have no such qualms.

We soon left for the memorial, which is on active base.  It was actually the second least-visited unit of the NPS second only to a site in the Aleutian Islands, due to the onerous access restrictions.  You have to register in advance and pass a background check to be allowed on-base.  It was a bit of process to get to the memorial, passing through an PASS and ID office, but we were soon there.  We were allowed to wonder on our own, up and down an area much smaller than a football field, maybe more like the size of an Olympic swimming pool.  I separated from the group so that I could light up my Romeo y Julieta.  It was over 100 degrees now.  I took my ceremonial picture and maintained my distance from the group, close enough to hear the ranger, far enough that no one complained about my cigar.

There was an older couple that was doing their own thing, and the man had a Labrador shirt.  The area in Canada, not the dog.  We talked about our trips there, and, soon enough, it was time to go back.  I was in my car at 3:15 PM.  My reader will note that that was three-and-a-half hours after I parked my car.  I knew that I would not have enough time for both Eugene O’Neil NHS and Rosie the Riveter NHP.  While I was on the bus back, I checked the times for Eugene O’Neil NHS, and I learned that it was only available by timed tours, and I realized that it would have been impossible to visit this morning.  In fact, if I had been on schedule this morning, I wouldn’t have even checked, and I would have learned, with great disappointment, that I had gone there for nought.

I would get a late lunch at In-N-Out Burger, the state’s most iconic fast food restaurant, and then continue to Rosie the Riveter NHP.  I made a reservation to do a tour at Eugene O’Neil NHS tomorrow.  I got the In-N-Out and order a simple meal from their simple menu: a double cheeseburger, animal fries, and a chocolate shake.  I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  The food was cheaper than McDonald’s and much better.  It took time, since they cook it fresh, but it was good, so good.

I was done a little after 4 PM, and, as I was about to leave the parking lot, I got a call from Eugene O’Neil NHS.  When I picked up the phone, I asked, “Is this Eugene O’Neil?”  I half expected him to say either, “No, this is [Joe Schmoe],” or, “Eugene O’Neil is long dead, but this is the National Historic Site.”  He merely said that it was.  He confirmed my reservation for 2 PM, which was perfect timing and would allow me to visit San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park and Point Reyes National Seashore before the tour.  Then, after the tour, I could go straight to the Old Clam House for dinner before my flight back home.  If it goes well, I will, at last, be able to say, “Bay Area Complete,” tomorrow.

I headed to Rosie the Riveter NHP, and there was a bit of a confusion with the GPS.  I wound up stopping at a turn, putting on my flashers, and confirming the directions on my phone.  As I was doing this, a cop car pulled up and slowed down.  I thought for sure he would pull me over.  He did not.  Remembering everything I learned today, I wondered if my skin color saved me a ticket.  Sandra Bland was pulled over for much less.  I concluded in the affirmative that it very well may have.

I cleared up the confusion and continued to the NHP.  It was a bit of more confusion to find the VC, and I got there fifteen minutes before it closed.  It was at a repurposed Ford Assembly plant, next some shipyards.  This was great place to memorialize the contribution women made on the home front.  The temperature was now in the 60s with a brisk wind.  I was actually cold.  I had lit up an Aroma de Cuba after lunch, but the wind put it out as I walking to the VC, so I was able to bring it inside with me.  After doing my business at the VC and walking around the museum, I went back outside, relit my cigar, and took my ceremonial picture.

I then headed back to the car and drove back to my hotel, hitting some brutal traffic before I went over the Bay Bridge.  It was almost 6:30 PM, which put me way behind schedule for the evening.  Further, I was not hungry, having had such a large and late lunch.  I went to my room, resituated myself, and headed up to the roof, where I sat down in view of the SF skyline, sat down, lit up my trusty Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish.  I was supposed to go to Chinatown for dinner, but now I’m not sure.  I have no appetite.  I might just crash when I get back to my room.

Oh, one more fun thing.  There is a cigar shop in the hotel, and I stopped there on the way to the roof.  They had ridiculously expensive pre-embargo Cubans, which were the same price for one stick as I would pay for a box at duty-free.  He tried to sell me those, pretty aggressively.  He then showed me the Dominican and Nicaraguan cigars, which were also drastically overpriced, just like the rest of the city.  He sneered at me, dressed in my cargo shorts, sandals, and t-shirts, as if I couldn’t afford them.  That was not the issue.  I just know how much cigars should cost, and they should not cost that much.  It was not worth the premium to sit in his cramped lounge, which was due to close in less than thirty minutes, anyway.  I just said that it was more than I wanted to spend and walked out to the roof.