Offering brewery tours, and the brewery started to take off (157Cong.Rec.S3537)

Sometimes I hate my own suggestions. TJ had mentioned that he wanted to do one more race before we left the area, but he figured that there wouldn't be many in December and January. So then I come across this 50-miler, and I actually send him a link to the online registration. Thankfully, he decided he wouldn't be able to train properly for the long run, so he signed up for the San Diego Trail Marathon instead. Ever humble, he hoped to finish within 5 hours. As you can see from the photo (left), he trampled that prediction and ended up coming in ninth in his age/gender category and 24th overall. For his "sub-par" effort, he received a clever medal that was also a key chain-can opener combo (right).

The prize was fitting because after the race, I planned to help him re-hydrate with a few visits to some local craft breweries. In the last month, I had exchanged what felt like 26.2 miles of e-mails with a limo company to arrange a brew tour I had purchased through LivingSocial. We finally managed to schedule it for a Saturday in November, right before our vouchers expired, but the night before the tour, the company canceled because one of its drivers -- ours, I presume -- had a heart attack. With the holidays coming up and then us leaving shortly thereafter, we knew we wouldn't have time to re-schedule. I tried to get a refund, to no avail, but dang it, I was still going to have me a brew tour.

I compiled a list of seven breweries that were relatively on our way home from the race. TJ picked Iron Fist Brewing as his first choice after trying its Spice of Life, a spiced pale ale, during our San Diego Restaurant Week dinner at Brooklyn Girl Eatery. TJ obviously knows his brewing like he knows his running because its tasting room, in an industrial zone in Vista, was packed (left). We bought a set of tasters for $6 that included Renegade Blonde, a blonde ale; Hired Hand, a farmhouse ale; Dubbel Fisted, a Belgian dubbel; and Spice Rack, an imperial stout (right). About halfway through, TJ realized he should have more sustenance than salt tablets, energy shots, and hops with malt, so we shared a delicious, and inventive, lamb torta from Epic Eatz, a food truck that was parked right outside the warehouse.

 

From there, we headed to Aztec Brewing, mainly because it was right down the road, tucked farther in another business park than the more tribally offensive Indian Joe Brewing. We were happy to stop by because the microbrewery has a past steeped in Mexico. Cervercería Azteca started in Mexicali in 1921 during Prohibition, then moved to Barrio Logan in San Diego as Aztec Brewing Company, or ABC, after alcohol regulation ended in the United States. In the 1950s it was bought by a competitor basically to be put out of business, until the name was resurrected by a family of brewers in 2008.

In fact, within the tasting room was an old ABC advertisement that depicted a bottle of beer nearly the size of Torre de Agua Caliente, the distinctive replica of the casino tower in the Plaza Club de Leones at the Fundadores intersection in Tijuana (left). I don't know if the brewery truly speaks beer, but its beers certainly spoke to us. Not only did we have two pints -- a $4 amber ale for me and a $5 Sacrifice, an American red ale, for TJ -- but we also tried a flight of tasters for $6: El Dorado, a blonde ale; Agave Wheat; Doomsday, a barley wine; and Cacao Chocolate Porter (right). Sadly, the establishment's free Taco Takeover events were thwarted by an anonymous complaint to the health department, but we didn't mind paying for a trio of tacos from La Casa de los Alambres, although as TJ will tell you, the burrito would've been a better deal.

 

TJ's final choice was Hess Brewing, in another industrial area near Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, because he wanted to see a nanobrewery, no doubt to envision how his own dreams could become reality. Indeed, this tasting room had a much more work-in-progress feel -- the bathroom was right next to the sanitizing sinks, for example -- although it, too, had a food truck parked outside its garage door. We might've been tempted for yet another snack, but Underdogs Gastro Truck was sold out of sauerkraut poutine already.

Here, the blackboard-broadcast tasting menu cost $12, but it included a pint glass and a set of five 4-ouncers: Claritas, a Kolsch; Grazias, a Vienna cream ale; Helicon, an American pale ale; Deceptio, an American India pale ale; and Brunus Robustus, an American porter (left). TJ then took up the on-tap special: a half-pint of Receptio Wee Heavy for $6. To be honest, it was hard to tell which he found more satisfying: the under-5-hour marathon finish or the more-than-5-ounce spot of Scotch ale (right).

Lush oases created by rare desert streams (155Cong.Rec.H9844)

If you have one last trip in a country, going to a destination with "oasis" in the name is a pretty good bet. Except when the destination is on the other side of a mountain pass, and the area is experiencing a severe cold snap, and the travel contingent includes quite a few non-campers (including some first-timers). The first indication that I might've chosen poorly is when, the day before the trip, I heard that the mountain pass we needed to cross had been closed because of snow and ice. About an hour before departure, I gained a little confidence when I saw on the highway's Facebook page that the road had re-opened, but since the post was 10 hours old, I was still worried, especially when I saw that it had dropped to 18 degrees overnight. 

With my fingers crossed, our caravan headed out. About an hour into the trip, TJ was dodging slick patches on the road, and I started to see snow in the distant hills of La Rumorosa, at the the top of the mountain. I paced a little as we stopped in the town to stock up on fuel and supplies, at a gas station only about a mile from the entrance to the pass. I finally relaxed when we passed through the open toll booths to the road, despite it being a series of steep, downhill hairpin turns.

After the pass, we spent a short time on the highway before we turned off onto a long, bumpy, and winding dirt road. After more than an hour of desolation, my travel companions began to lose faith. One even pulled up next to our car to see if we were sure we were still going the right direction. According to the GPS coordinates, we were, but I'll admit, I had my doubts, too.

But then finally, the road turned away from the ancient dry lakebed back toward the mountains, and we wound our way into one of their crevices, where I spied the distinctive peak featured on the Guadalupe Canyon Oasis logo and website (left). After everyone set up camp and settled in to the canyon, a group hiked up toward the peak, to a waterfall amid the boulders and a lookout of the Laguna Salada and the United States beyond (right).

 

After internalizing all that stress, I decompressed by viewing the peak from the comfort of one of our campsites' hot tubs (left). The water, only lightly marked with minerals, is piped in from a natural spring that emerges from one side of the canyon (right). The land belongs to the Loya family, whose patriarch left the land split between two sons. Each brother set up a campground on his side of the divide, but there is no fraternal love lost, as the one shares the spring's water with the other.

 

The hot tubs are communal, but only among those campers at a particular site. One or our sites, La Rana,  was quite intimate; the picnic table, fire pit, and tent area were just steps from the tub (left). Our other site, El Indio, was the large-group site, so its bigger pool wasn't quite as private, but it did offer some spectacular spots to pitch a tent (right) -- this one, by the way, is not ours.

 

A major concern for some fellow campers was that the temperatures in the desert would drop below zero at night. I'm not sure if it was because of insulation from all the palm trees (left), but everyone -- and all our water -- made it through the night without freezing. For some, the hot tubs helped them shake off the chill, but no one was brave enough to hibernate in the campground's mud baths.

 

For me, I had to summon the most courage when it was time to leave. Not only was I not looking forward to another ride on those jerky and curvy roads, but that morning's desert sunrise inspired a serenity that was hard to give up.

Recent challenges that the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad has had (H.Hrg.111-162)

A lot of you already know this, but we hadn't officially made the announcement because we knew there would be a lot of questions we wouldn't be able to answer. I can't answer all of them now either, but considering that we are leaving Tijuana in less than a month, I guess it's time to say it: TJ's onward assignment is a posting in Islamabad, Pakistan.

Why Pakistan?

So this is the first and most obvious question, but it's also one of the easiest. I don't know why other people join the Foreign Service, but TJ did because he truly has an interest in global relationships -- political, cultural, economic, etc. ad nauseum -- and none are more fascinating and interesting than those that are the most convoluted and complex. We were lucky to view the Mideast conflict from within Israel and the border situation from within Tijuana, and we have learned much. Pakistan follows our pattern of living in important if volatile regions of the world (please refer to Zero Dark Thirty). Indeed, if any of our destinations is not like the other, it would be non-militarized Costa Rica. Sure, Pakistan doesn't have tropical beaches and rainforest ziplines, but it is exactly the type of adventure we appreciate. But in case you need some other perks: the pay is high, it's only a year, we'll get to do two R&Rs, and it will win TJ some clout for a nicer post afterward.

Are you going with him?

Up until a few days ago, I couldn't answer this, which was making planning for our packout next week rather difficult. But last week, I was offered and accepted a position as English Language Instructor; the embassy wants to start an instructional program for its local staff, and I will be she who plans and implements said program. If I had not gotten a job, I would not have been allowed to go with TJ. Spouses or partners without jobs and children are not allowed at any of the AIP (Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan) posts, so these assignments are definitely hardships for many families. I feel very lucky that I will not have to go through the extended separation that I have seen others bravely endure. It's quite possible that TJ and I will be apart for a while because my visa might not come through in enough time for me to accompany him, but if anything, it will be weeks or months, not a year.

What about Sage?

This is still unanswered. We are allowed to take our dog, but we are still waffling on whether it would be selfish on our part to do so, especially because we are fortunate enough to have family members who would be happy to take him in for a year. The biggest factors, of course, are transportation and housing. Not surprisingly, it's not easy to get a dog into southern Asia. Obviously, it's going to be expensive, but right now, we're just trying to determine if it's even feasible, especially in terms of minimizing stress for Sage in transit. Housing is a problem because although permanent quarters allow pets, the temporary ones do not. So if we are placed in temporary housing (another question we don't know the answer to yet), we will have to find a family to take him in for a while. Usually, families with dogs already are the ones willing to take in a colleague's pet, which isn't ideal considering Sage's recent proclivities toward canine crankiness. This past weekend, however, we went on a camping trip in which he got along fine with a fellow furry traveler, so we have some considerin' to do. 

Aren't you scared?

Well, yeah, but no more scared than some other trips we've taken, which incidentally were without the support of a military deployment. We won't live on a compound, but there is a huge contingent of soldiers assigned to the safety of embassy employees (please do not refer to Argo or recent incidents in Libya). To be honest, as a person who has witnessed loss and tragedy, both foreign and domestic, I am a little ambivalent about perceived threats to security. I'm sure someone smart has done the calculation that people are at greater risk of dying if they live in Islamabad, but it's still a probability, and like most of life, one in which I can't change the odds. Last week, my doctor told me that 1 in 70 women over the age of 50 will get breast cancer. As far as ratios I cannot control go, that one scares me a lot more. That being said, I plan to follow the rules and maintain a heightened sense of awareness. Nothing would shame me more than to die of a stupid decision on my part.

And the decision to go to Pakistan is not a stupid one, I swear. TJ and I generally can find the good in any given situation and almost always can provide what the other needs when things go south. And in those moments we can't make each other happy, we are surrounded by family and friends who sustain us. And so, family and friends who sadly cannot come visit us in Islamabad: Hopefully, you will be knocking down the door to come see us at our next post. 

Just the tip of the iceberg of missed opportunities in this area (150CongRecS11793)

We would never be thought of as perfect travel planners, but for our Christmas vacation we always felt a step behind (as is often the case with our gift buying as well). After we returned home, TJ summed up our cruise down the Pacific Coast Highway best: It was a series of missed opportunities. The first one was because of the email that triggered our trip. Although there had been rumors early in December, the federal government did not announce that we would have the Monday before Christmas off until the Friday morning before. Previously, we had discussed what we would do if we ended up with a four-day weekend, but we had given up hope and not packed, so we didn't get on the road until Saturday, a day later than we would've liked.

TJ had big dreams of making it all the way to the Oregon border, but when he realized how unrealistic that was, he settled on Santa Cruz. That, too, turned out to be unattainable. After being stuck in Los Angeles traffic for about two hours, we decided to divert from I-5 at Highway 46, so we could make it to the coast before dark. Right before the turnoff, we stopped for gas, and BBQ at Willow Ranch (left). A deserted gas station next door was a good spot to walk the dog -- until two local mutts broke through their fence to chase us. Luckily, they left us alone as we ate our pit-beef and tri-tip sandwiches (right).

 

As we headed down Paso Robles Highway, we passed the intersection of Cholame, where James Dean had much worse luck than us. On Sept. 30, 1955, he was stopped for speeding in his Porsche Spyder right before he rammed it into a Ford Tudor, obscured by the twilight sun. Now, the intersection has been officially named James Dean Memorial Junction. Unlike Dean, we actually made it to Paso Robles, where we stumbled on the Firestone Walker Brewing Company. Unfortunately, the tasting room was closing in 10 minutes, so we only had time for one taste apiece. Luckily, its adjacent Taproom was open for dinner. We joined some fellow tourists underneath the fake bottle conveyor belt (left), where we enjoyed an unexpectedly delicious cheese plate (right) served by a bartender who was blown away by the mere mention of the existence of beer cheese soup.

 

By the time we left the bar, the drizzle had turned into an all-out rain, which didn't stop until the middle of the night. Therefore, we were unable to enjoy any of the beer that we bought from the brewery, a six-pack of Pale 31 and a big bottle of Wookey Jack, around a campfire. This was quite a letdown considering the tranquility and beauty of Morro Bay State Park. We were able to set up our soggy site without neighbors, but with some protection from tall pines (left). Nonetheless, we had to spend some time drying out the next morning, and Sage was not impressed (right).

The skies cleared just long enough for us to get our damp gear in the car. By the time we headed into the town of Morro Bay, "Gibraltar of the Pacific" (top left), it was already drizzling, and as we took a walk around Morro Rock State Preserve (top right), the rain started coming down pretty hard. That didn't deter many surfers, who were almost racing to catch the high waves whipped up by the bad weather (bottom).

 

Even though we didn't make it in one day, we still set our sights on the redwoods outside of Santa Cruz, so we headed north up Highway 1. We stopped along the way, hoping for a glimpse of Hearst Castle, but it was decidedly fogged in (top left), so we had to settle for seeing the photos in the visitor center (top right). However, we were able to sample the famous Hearst Ranch beef at the historic Sebastian's Store across the road (bottom left). We both ordered roast-beef sandwiches, mine smothered in avocado and TJ's melted with bleu cheese (bottom right).

 

Further up the coast, at Piedras Blancas, some seals seemed to be bearing the fog more bravely than we. A huddle of harbor seals snuggled together on the sand (left). But there appeared to be some discontent in the grunts issued by elephant seals (right), described by the on-site newsletter as sounding like a motorcycle revving up in a gymnasium.

We preferred the comfort of our car as we ate our sandwiches, but TJ did make one damp dash down the pier at San Simeon State Park (top left). The windshield wipers stayed on full throttle as we drove up the Big Sur Highway (top right), which is renowned for its car-commercial-quality vistas of the ocean cliffs, not that we could verify that fact. We took a wet spin through Monterey, which seemed a little overfabricated, especially Cannery Row (bottom), which was a far cry from the "gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses" detailed by John Steinbeck.

We were shut out of two campgrounds on this rainy night: One was blocked by an overflowing river, and one was closed because of flash-flood warnings. So we ended up in a Santa Cruz motel more reminiscent of the flophouses described fondly by Steinbeck. We got some great use out of the room's hot shower and heater, which were as refreshing as the morning sunshine at Capitola (left). Even on the morning of Christmas Eve, the old shipping village's boardwalk was full of people taking advantage of the break in the weather (right).

 

Walkers, joggers, bikers and hikers were also abundant in Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park (top left), where TJ finally reached his goal of being among the mighty trunks (top right). One of the mightiest was the Fremont Tree (bottom left), whose hull was once used as a honeymoon suite by a mountain resort. The ground was a swamp, so I didn't go in, but the docent assured me that 75 kids had once squeezed into the hollow at one time (bottom right).

Further up the mountain was Big Basin Redwoods State Park, the campground we were barred from reaching the night before (top left). We thought about spending a solitary night in one of its tent cabins, cozied up with a wood stove, but we knew the long ride home the next day would be undoable. We resigned ourselves to a missed night amid the redwoods as we viewed Berry Creek Falls, flush with water from the recent storms (top right). Besides the roaring waters of Waddell Creek, we visited Roaring Camp Railroads (bottom). Once again, we thought about staying for a train ride, but we knew lingering would prevent us from seeing more of the Pacific Coast Highway.

On our third night, we made it back to about the same point we stopped the first night, but a few miles farther south at Pismo Beach State Park, a truly underutilized park in the winter. Its access to the beach more than makes up for its close proximity to the highway and numerous trailer parks (left). We weren't too upset to be somewhat closer to civilization, considering we were able to find an open bar in Grover Beach, Mongo's Saloon, where we could share a Christmas Eve nightcap (left).

 

Before we settled in for our long winter's nap, TJ made a reservation for a hot tub at Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort. The hotel features rooms with private mineral baths, but you can visit the resort's spa by the hour as well. A soak in our private arboreal outpost, "Rendezvous," was the perfect Christmas present to ourselves.

We made our reservation for the morning, so we could stop at more sights along the way home. One unexpected one was Surf Beach, near Lompoc and Vanderberg Air Force Base, where we were able to take Sage for a walk (left), since it wasn't nesting season for the western snowy plover, a threatened species of shorebird. Apparently, humans are threatened at this beach, too. Numerous shark attacks have been reported in the remote waters next to an Amtrak station (right). To wit, a guy who overheard us talking about the nature of some blood on the parking-lot pavement suggested that it was the result of a bite, then proceeded to the bathroom, since his own hand was inexplicably bleeding.

I had my heart set on buying a danish from a bakery in Solvang, a village settled by Danish immigrants in order to form a pastoral school. I don't know if the school succeeded, but "Little Denmark" has positioned itself as a tourist destination with its "authentic" architecture and food. The Disney-style facade made it hard for me to buy into the magic, especially when the streets were full of surrey bicycles overflowing with families, many of obviously non-European descent (top left). And I'm pretty sure palm trees are not the landscaping most fitting for Tudor-style alcoves (top right). The main square almost got it right, with its festively decorated gazebo and tree (bottom), except for the fact that all the picnic tables were taken up by an Indian family clearly not eating herring, cabbage, and roast duck.

We had stocked up on food, suspecting that we wouldn't be able to find a restaurant open on Christmas Day. But just a few miles from Solvang was Andersen's, a long-standing roadside restaurant known for its pea soup (top left), served in bowls marked with its mascots: Hap-Pea and Pea-Wee (top right). From our table, I saw servers scoop out at least a dozen bowls (bottom left). Indeed, the soup was quite filling (there is an all-you-can-eat option), but we still got a full meal; TJ got Danish sausage with onion gravy, and I opted for the Danish meatloaf (bottom right).

The clouds finally broke for good after it was time to speed home after a stop at San Buenaventura State Beach (left), so I could call my family to wish them Merry Christmas. We blew through Santa Barbara and Malibu, but we pulled off the road for a moment at Point Mugu State Park (right). After all the places we visited too late or too wet, we weren't going to miss the one sunset we had a chance to see. And as luck would have it, we got to watch the sun go down all the way to Santa Monica, where we headed east to the interstate and back home, this time with very little L.A. traffic, of course.