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December 23, 2014

Photo Essay: Greyhound's Vintage Bus Fleet, Upon Its Centennial

I spent a lot of time on Greyhound busses in my teens and 20s, traveling back and forth between Syracuse and New York City, waiting in line at Port Authority with my boots and bags, hoping for the trip to be over, though I knew I had another six hours to go.

I always got stuck next to someone licking food off their fingers, or nursing a child on their lap, or, in worst times, both.

As soon as I made enough money in my first job in the music industry, I splurged on two luxuries: cab rides home to Brooklyn after late nights in Manhattan, and train rides to Syracuse for the holidays.

But these Greyhound experiences (and the occasional Short Line, Peter Pan, Adirondack Trailways, Fung Wa, Bolt Bus and MegaBus) are woven into the fabric of my memory, my experiences, my formation as an intrepid traveler. I feel a bit wistful for those times when those I wanted to visit were only a bus ride away. When I could scrape together at least that much money, and suffer through a few hours cramped in my seat that refused to recline, smelling the stale French fries and grease-soaked bags that littered the floor, the waft of bathroom spray (or, worse yet, just bathroom) coming from the back of the bus.

In celebration of their centennial, Greyhound has embarked on a national tour of a mobile museum, accompanied by some restored historic busses from their vintage fleet, and made their final stop in Valencia, about an hour north of LA.



By the looks of their 1937 Supercoach, its streamline sexiness courtesy of famed industrial designer Raymond Loewy...



...people riding the Greyhound used to travel in style...



...cruising along on the open road...



...ever moving forward...



...never looking back.



By the 1940s, the Greyhound design began to appear more functional...



...as with the 1948 ACF Brill...



...which focused on the comfort of the passengers, with powerful A/C and heat, and ergonomic seating.



The introduction of the 1968 Sceniccruiser marked the beginning of the 40-foot bus length...



...which became the industry standard...



...marking bus travel as a volume business...



...and probably the demise of a sense of luxury.



Eventually, bus travel became more about the destination...



...than how you got there.



By the time I started riding the bus in the early 1990s, when the Americruiser (like this one from 1984) was still in production...



...the bus had become all about economy. Intercity travel was possible if not pleasant. But that was something. It got you where you needed to go.

Who takes the Greyhound bus these days? The experience appears to have changed dramatically over the last 5-10 years, with their fleet now wi-fi enabled and equipped with power outlets and entertainment systems. But taking the bus will never offer the same romance as the train, or speed as flying, or freedom to explore as driving.

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I Won't Be Home for Christmas

December 21, 2014

The Longest Night

Tonight, the night of the winter solstice, is the longest night of the year.

The sun will start to shine just a little bit more every day, starting tomorrow.

Things will be just a little bit brighter, starting tomorrow.

The dark won't seem like it will last forever, starting tomorrow.

We just have to get through this night, this one night, this one, very long night.

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Photo Essay: Lighting Up the Streets for Christmas

I remember the year my father vowed to never light the house for Christmas again. He'd caught one too many teenagers standing on our front porch with light bulbs clutched in their mittened hands, those big bulbs painted in a rainbow of colors that would get so hot to touch. Disillusioned with kids these days, he refused to light up the corner of Plymouth Drive and Sunnycrest ever again – at least from the outside.

My sister and I were heartbroken because we always loved those lights, and the big plastic snowman and nativity scene that used to glow from inside the attic windows.

At least we still had the tree, though our mother threatened to take it away from us year after year, phobic of the mess it made and what creatures might've stowed away in its branches.

It's funny how, even at 39 years old, I'm still trying to make up for these childhood losses.

Until I have a house of my own, I must satisfy myself with the Christmas lights in the suburban sprawl of LA, like at Norton's Winter Wonderland in Burbank. Wowee. This is not my father's light display.









You can find lovely decorations sporadically in other adjacent cities like Pasadena, but there are two districts that are notorious for their Christmas light displays: Sleepy Hollow in Torrance, and Candy Cane Lane in Woodland Hills.

Sleepy Hollow is the larger and more impressive of the two, incorporating several intersecting, winding streets that are somewhat uniformly decorated with lights strung from the trees, though each house finds their own way to stand out.

























Candy Cane Lane, on the other hand, is basically one stretch of road, and many of its houses decorate their lawns with painted wooden set pieces rather than glorious light displays. There are a few highlights, but it just can't compare to Sleepy Hollow, or to Dyker Heights in Brooklyn. I know, I've been spoiled.



















I don't know what motivates these homeowners to put so much time, effort and money in for the enjoyment of others (it's like you have to sign a contract agreeing to decorate in order to live there), but I sure do admire their work, and appreciate getting some Christmas spirit while I'm out here on my own, at times with nothing to do but look at some Christmas lights.

And it's not just one house, but a whole bunch of houses – and some feeling of community and togetherness, even if it's only once a year...

For more Christmas lights and celebrations around LA, click here.

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In the mood...

December 19, 2014

I Won't Be Home for Christmas

Believe it or not, every single year of my life thus far, I've spent Christmas in Syracuse, New York.

We never traveled as a family.

When my parents kicked me out of their house, I found friends to take me in, and when my friends' families kicked me out of their houses – or I fell out of favor with my friends – I found other friends to take me in.

My senior year in college, I had nowhere to go and thought I might stay on campus, despite the fact that the small, rural town would likely be buried in snow, and that the dining halls and most student facilities would be closed. I would need to find a way to eat, and I would need to find people to hang out with. I was prepared to be alone, until my friend Chrissy took me in.

After graduating, I never spent a Christmas Day in New York City. It was close enough to Syracuse, and even at my lowest income level, I could usually afford at least a Greyhound bus ticket back. Even though I was estranged from my family, I would still see them at least once, and even exchange gifts with them – though I was no longer welcome to sleep in their house (and nor would I want to).

In years when all of my friend invitations dried up and I was making a bit more money, I stayed in cheap motels by Carrier Circle. Walked through the mall by myself. Called upon ex-lovers. Went to the movies.

I always found a way back, by bus or train or plane or rental car.

Around 10 years ago or so, I found my place at Christmas with the family I now consider my own, though I was not born unto them.  I've spent Christmas morning on their living room carpet emptying my own stocking and opening gifts from Santa. I've snacked on rye boat dip way too early in the day, buttered toast for everyone's to-order egg breakfasts, and eaten way too many Buckeyes for dessert. After years of practice and training, I've learned to recognize love when I see it now. I'm still learning to receive love from them.

The best part is, all of us – now in our 30s and 40s – are still the kids, for now, until one of us procreates. So, in the meantime, at my advanced age, I'm making up for lost time by getting the Christmas experiences I never got as a kid, when holidays were fraught with guilt and jealousy and disappointment and contempt.

Except I can't do that this year.

This is the first year ever that I can't go home for Christmas.

It's not that I don't have a home to go to. I just can't get there.

Nearly four years ago, I moved so far away from everyone I loved in order to try to build a new life and, for once, find happiness. I've doubted that decision many times since. I wonder what I've done to myself. I may be better than I was in New York, but I'm still not so happy. I'm not sure what it will take. But then again, it's been a rough year.

So now, in this holiday season, I'm on the opposite coast, with no airline points or miles left for redeeming, barely any credit left for charging, no cash for spending and no income for saving. I just can't swing it.

And I wonder what it will be like to spend Christmas alone, no tree, no cookies, no kisses. No jingling bells or wrapping presents or braving the mall or playing games or staying up all night talking while A Christmas Story plays for 24 hours on the TV. No one will force me to watch Star Wars – again – and no doggies will lick my face.

What will I do?

A package arrived from back home yesterday, so I know I'll have something to open Christmas morning. But I don't need gifts. I need that feeling of walking into a room, and everybody being really genuinely happy to see me. And walking out, knowing they're really truly sad to see me go.

I know I'm not alone in LA, per se. There are a lot of what we call "orphans" around the holidays – people just like me whose loved ones are just far enough to be out of reach. So many of us give up everything to come out here, and then we have nothing left to get ourselves back.

Apparently, this is living the dream.

Maybe things will improve enough for me to go back home in May. Or maybe next Christmas. I have to tell myself that nothing is forever, and that one Christmas away from home does not equal "never again."

But the first time is always the hardest.

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December 18, 2014

Photo Essay: Combing the Beach For the Royal Palms Country Club

[Last updated 6/29/23 11:23 AM PT—Video embed added at bottom]
[Updated 7/12/20 3:41 PM PT—updated with info about the beachcombing Hedley family]

Royal Palms State Beach is considered one of the hidden gems of LA County – a family-friendly picnic spot "where Western Avenue meets the sea," with an active surf, and pools wriggling with life at low tide.



But not many know about the beach's namesake, the Royal Palms Country Club, built in 1927.

December 16, 2014

Photo Essay: The Light at Angel's Gate

I first spotted the Angel's Gate Lighthouse – officially known as "Los Angeles Harbor Light" – from atop the Point Fermin Lighthouse. I couldn't help but notice the huge Pacific Ocean waves crashing against the breakwater that curved and stretched out for two miles from the shore to a tiny black and white striped lighthouse.



We heard stories of people trying to hike the rock wall to reach the solar powered lighthouse – where a keeper became unnecessary upon automation in the 1970s – but the sea is too volatile out there, making it too dangerous of a trek, and forbidden.



Fortunately, you can take a U.S. Water Taxi from the Port of Los Angeles.



Boat trip tickets are sold as a fundraiser for the upkeep of the lighthouse...



...which was restored by the Cabrillo Beach Boosters in 2012...



...just in time for its centennial.



If you can get a minimum of ten people together, you can take the boat ride out to Angel's Gate...



...see it up close...



...walk out on the breakwater yourself...



...and say hello to a sea creature or a pelican flying by.



The lighthouse is built on a huge concrete block, which was once the foundation of a private residence that got washed away by a tsunami.



The lighthouse itself was constructed of steel-reinforced concrete, the first and only of its kind.



The structure has proved resilient to the waves, but recently, its front gate wasn't so lucky.



Waves tore it off its hinges and tossed it off the side onto the rocks. Half of the gate is still missing.



The lighthouse exterior was originally white, but its signature black vertical stripes were added for increased visibility during fog conditions.



Before the restoration a couple years ago, windows were broken, and everything – inside and out –was covered in rust...



...but all the walls have since been sandblasted...



...and painted and covered with an extra coat of zinc for protection.



Although the lighthouse feels a bit abandoned...



...it is just unoccupied.



It is fully operational...



...with battery cells powered by solar panels...



...although when it first opened, unlike its candlelit peers...



...it was powered by electricity.



Angel's Gate Lighthouse is four stories high...



...with spiral staircases winding up through the tower...



...reaching an exterior platform along the way...



...and through various rooms that used to be used for radio transmissions, etc.



It leans a little to the South.



The lighthouse is in a critical position in the Port of Los Angeles, still an active shipping harbor with plenty of deep sea vessels trying to navigate the rough waters. A foghorn still blasts.



And after a narrow ladder climb up to the top...



...you reach the characteristic (now solar-powered) green light...



...though not the original 4th-order Fresnel lens (made in Paris by Barbier, Bernard, and Turenne and on display at the Maritime Museum)...



...and soon to be upgraded.



It's a beacon essential to preventing shipwrecks, and flashes every 15 seconds...



...operated by remote control by the Coast Guard.



Not only can you see it from afar...



...but, on a clear day, from its uppermost catwalk, you can practically see forever.

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