Whale of a Deal!

We’ll….it was about time Ol’ Ran and Miss Connie got out of Dodge for a few days for some R&R (or, more accurately this time, S&E, sleeping and eating). It had been quite awhile since we had flown the coop (and were still associating with a few turkeys) so I decided to just ditch the rancho and go to the coast. Farm livin’; that’s the life for me, to be sure. But, I knew that the air is nice and clean at Morro Bay. Besides, we really did need a break from the Valley and our work load. We had so much on our plate that we were getting gravy on the floor.

Not only that, besides having dirty air to breathe, a rancho (at least this one) just doesn’t have any whales to watch! Guess what? Morro Bay just happens to have whale watching tours this time of year! Zowie!

It has been about 25 years or so since I’ve been on a boat and out in the Pacific Ocean to watch gray whales migrate along the coast. Connie had yet to have the experience so I wanted her to have the chance to do so. I was about to call it a “pleasure” but “experience” is a bit closer to reality this time around. We ran into some real life hindrances almost from the git go.

Our usual protocol is to have everything ready the night before. Then, in the morning, after milking the cows, feeding the chickens, and bucking the hay (you ain’t buyin’ into this part are you?), we load the hoopie and head out for whatever part of a map is still stuck in the 1982 "Rand McNalley Road Atlas".  

Actually, we know the way to Morro Bay. It isn’t all that far at about 188 miles. That’s “just around the corner” in California terms. Anyway, we loaded up the dump-van (slight smaller than a dump truck but used for much the same purposes) and forged ahead.

The problem is that we started out entirely too tired and taxed to attempt this gig. Despite our high hopes, we started with a “low battery” which simply drained more from there.

After almost four hours of abusing our sweet cheeks, we arrived in Morro Bay. It was Thursday about 6PM  which means that it was later than planned due to unforeseen obstacles. There was jsut no way to break away any earlier. So, we cashed in our reservation at the “Travelodge” motel (so we could wake up and smell the curry) and took up camp. In almost no time, I was “un-laxed” and in bed catching up on a bit of the “History Channel” (we only watch TV when traveling or when at someone else’s house). At about 8PM, our tummies began to let us know that the last of our “Taco Bell” lunch was gone and that we had forgotten to eat din din.

“Oh, man! Back to street clothes again?”, I asked Connie. “Can I just go in my jammies?”, I asked with my lip hanging down so low that I could suck a marble out of a gopher hole. “Not today!”, she declared tersely. “We don’t need the pastor of our church getting bailed out of jail for being goofy and stupid”.

“Well, I guess you’re right but I don’t get arrested for being goofy and stupid when I have my street clothes on so what’s the diff? Besides, every other person I see in Wal-Mart has their jammies on”, I argued as plaintively as I could.

She looked at me right straight into my pretty brown eyes and, with all wifely authority (which is usually employed to keep husbands from making fools of themselves), “You’re not in Wal-Mart and you are not a Wal-Martian so get dressed”. I did get dressed but it didn’t make my dinner taste any better.

Near the motel is a super nice restaurant called, “Dutchman’s” (a different sign outside says, "Flying Dutchman"). Though only six blocks away, we drove there. Talk about “tired”. Sheese.

They had cioppino (Italian seafood stew in a tomato soup base) on the menu so, since I hadn’t had a cioppino since 1985, I opted for that. Connie dug into their primo fish and chips. My opinion is that their fish and chips excels all others in Morro Bay and Pismo (25 miles farther south). The only place that I can think of that was as good was in Pismo and its no longer in business. I found out later from a friend that we could have gone to "Jocko's" in Nipomo but it was a bit late for that.

Having taken care of alimentary enhancement, we promptly retired for the night. We hadn’t done anything but drive and eat and were bushed. Lights were out at about 10 PM.

The next morning saw me heading across the parking lot for the coffee pot in the motel office (seems I overlooked the one they provided in the room in the dressing alcove. Swell). Lo and behold, the office was not open for their continental breakfast though half the day was gone. Actually, it was 6:30 AM but the day was well started and most motel's offices are open at 6 AM or so. A peek at the fine print on the office door advised that they would open up at about 7:30 AM. Great. That must save them a lot of money on breakfasts since most people are usually gone by 7 AM.

With eyes only partially pried open I trudged across the street to “Carla’s Country Kitchen” where it only took five minutes to be waited on though the place was far from busy. It looked like it could be a long day in Morro Bay. I didn’t know how right I was. Anyway, the service was lousy but at least the coffee was nasty. The stuff was akin to tractor crankcase oil. John Deere would be proud.  

You would think that I would learn from such experiences. Nope. After Connie rounded up her ducks and, after loading up the van, we drove the few feet across the street to “Carla’s” (I am not lazy. But, I am convenience oriented).

You know, doesn’t it make sense to think that, in a tourist town, a café or restaurant needs to be something special and that it should stand out from the average greasy spoon that can be found in every modest sized city in America? I’ve been to “Carla’s” twice now and this will be my last time. The chow was middling but I didn’t come almost 200 miles for merely OK food.

This brings us to a “Randy Rant”: for one thing, biscuits are to be baking powder biscuits and not yeast biscuits. You cannot, I repeat, cannot, call yourself a “country kitchen” when you serve city biscuits. I would give the place a pass if they had called themselves “Carla’s City Kitchen”.

And, for another, gravy is supposed to have a taste. I maintain that, even if it tastes like it was made in the bottom of one of my grandfather's waders, it should have a taste. Paste has no taste. The only place I've found whose gravy was worse was a small diner across from Lake Cocolalla, ID (between Couer D' Alene and Sandpoint). Theirs tasted like wallpaper glue.

It is also my perception that food (especially hash brown potatoes) should be served at least warm enough to make one think that they were cooked the same day. I was disappointed enough to just leave the stuff on the plate but I was also Scotch enough to finish my plate and not waste the food. Sorry, Carla. You won’t be seeing Ol’ Ran again. Because the service was (barely) reasonable and the food arrived in a timely manner (unlike the previous time), I give them "2 Stars".

Our tour boat, christened “Dos Osos” (Spanish for “two bears”…huh?), was provided by “Sub Sea Tours” of Morro Bay. I couldn't help but giggle to myself about the name of the place. I guess I was envisioning watching whales from under the ocean. The departure was scheduled at around 9 AM. We thought to arrive early lest there be any surprises (old people hate surprises).

The day was bright and sunny with a light offshore breeze. It was a bit of shock that we didn’t have the marine cloud layer that is so typical of the coast. We later learned that whale watching had been cancelled for the previous week or so due to high winds.

The craft, powered by a pair of 25 hp Honda engines, was a nice 33’ barge of sorts that was capable of seating about 22 people. Given that dynamic, I was pretty certain that we weren’t going very far and weren’t going to get there very fast. You just can’t beat the laws of physics when there’s that much parasitic drag at your disposal.

Though a sunny day, and though the seas presented only minor chop, it was rather cool, to say the least. We had dressed appropriately in anticipation of the cold but we should have been more prepared. Connie wasn’t able to enjoy the event due to focusing most of her energy on maintaining enough body heat to stay alive. This will likely be her first and last time to brave the ocean blue on an open barge. 

After heading north up the coast from Morro Bay for about an hour, we spotted a whale! “Thar she blows! Eleven o'clock!”, bellowed the captain  as he pointed off the port bow at the spout of a gray whale. I think he derives great joy in yelling that knowing that his passengers will be giving great reports of their exciting whaling adventure with Captain Ahab. I quickly glanced about for a flensing knife but didn't see one.  

The captain wasn’t at all a crusty old sea salt as one might imagine. Rather, he was an affable and quite humorous middle-aged fellow with a quick wit (sharpened no doubt by years of practice before a captive audience). It was difficult to hear him due to the ambient wind and motor noises but he did try to clue us rubberneckers in on whale migration and such. He was quick to point out that floatation devices were available and that, should trouble arise, he and the first mate would quickly don them and swim to shore to get help for us. What a hoot!

After bobbing around about 1.5 miles directly offshore from Cayucos (home of dear friend and professional musician, Alen “Jackson” Wallen), we fell into the “deal of the day” when a juvenile gray whale began breaching not far from us. After the rash of picture taking,  the first mate/deck hand/tour guide advised that it was probably the first trip north for this whale and that he was breaching to get his bearings. For whatever reason the whale was doing his thing, it was quite spectacular and worth the hardship to see this marvelous creature cavorting in the ocean.

The timing was rather perfect as it was soon time to head back to the harbor. The captain pointed our little wave masher south while we all gabbed about how fortunate we were to have seen the whales. All-in-all, I really can’t complain as we did get what we paid for and a bag of cold wind. We did a lot in only 3.5 hours and it only cost us about what most couples would spend for two trips to a theater to watch a movie and buy a bag of popcorn (we have been to one move in two years and experienced “sicker shock” even at the matinee price).

 

Speaking of popcorn, as an aside: a large bag of popcorn is now $8.50! You can get a "deal" by purchasing a large popcorn and soda for a mere.....$13.50! None for me, thanks.

Now, get this; we debarked and strolled the one block to the parking lot. We got in to the van, looked at each other, and said, “Is it nap time yet?”, and promptly took a nap for an hour. There wasn’t enough energy between us to even get out of the parking lot.

Our hope was to head north to Cayucos and see “Jackson” and his wife. It has been a couple of years since we had the opportunity to hug their necks. Also, when at the coast, we usually track down a yard sale or two and then knock over a couple of thrift stores while we’re at it. That didn’t happen. With only a quick stop to refill my Diet Pepsi jug, we headed straight home without even stopping for lunch.

When we arrived back at the ranch, we had hoped to just settle in and recover from the trip. That didn’t happen either. Business and what all kept us hopping (I hate to hop) until 11 PM at which time we simply collapsed into the rack. It took a week to recover.

My guess is that there may be no elective long distance trips for awhile. We did have to go to Harbor City/Torrance for grandson, Kuyper’s, birthday party the next day (Saturday) but we just took it easy.  Two long trips in just a few days is too much fun for the non-dynamic non-daring duo from Springville.

Stay tuned for the next event(s) coming from “Rancho Relaxo”. It could be …..interesting what with the garden blooming wildly and all.