Well, not really. One of them in my garage is more than enough…
However, in Nashville there is a place called Cooter’s Garage. It’s named after a character from the old TV series “The Dukes of Hazzard.” They have “imposter” vehicles representing Bo and Luke Duke’s General Lee, Cooter’s tow truck, Sheriff Rosco’s cruiser, and of course, Daisy Duke’s Jeep. This is in addition to the biggest collection of period Dukes toys I’ve ever seen.
Being a loyal fan of the series, I couldn’t resist having a picture taken at the wheel of the General Lee. (It doesn’t move, so I guess it must have finally have run out of gas…something I never saw happen “back in the day.”)
Needless to say, it was simple to tell the car was an imposter – I didn’t have to climb in and out by way of the window!
Mandy
PS: I would have enjoyed having my pic taken in Daisy’s Jeep, particularly if I were barefoot and wearing her trademark “short shorts…” But I wasn’t…
This is part 2 of 3 regarding our 2004 cross-country excursion by train. Part 1 was published several posts ago.
No significant commentary, no personal pictures in this entry. Just lots of interesting scenery from travels we undertook in the past. Some location details are burned into my memory banks and have captions. Others, not so much…perhaps readers can provide the locations.
Once again, Yosemite’s fabulous Ahwahnee Lodge (above – exterior and below – interior)
One of many waterfalls. Memory fails me…the above may be the sunset waterfall (that shows up on TV and the internet on occasion.
We were on a do-it-yourself tour of , but I believe below is El Capitan:
Above is a nighttime skyline view of San Francisco.
“Powell and Market” street cable cars at the end of the line are above.
This wine cellar appeared to be an interesting place, but from the internet recently, it appears it closed. And the replacement business also closed, sometime between 2005 and 2006.
Can’t remember for sure what the above is…anyone know?
And of course, this is self-explanatory! From the access road below the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s definitely an unusual view.
As the private tour operator drove us down Lombard St., the long road between Embarcadero and Presidio Park, which has a short but steep hill sloping 27 degrees (the famous section everybody knows about, he put the song “I left my heart in San Francisco” on the tape machine. To this day, hearing that song still brings nice thoughts, and a slight mist to our eyes!
After a fabulous finish (gender-wise) to 2019, and a wonderful start to 2020, being identified as female by everyone, I knew a break was “past due” and would likely be forthcoming.
With a couple of days close to home, it started yesterday. I had several stops to make. Dressed in blue stirrup pants, flats, and dark blue “untucked” turtleneck blouse, with sweater, my first stop was the grocery store, where no customer interaction took place. I was just another shopper. And at checkout, the 40something male cashier omitted any gender specific forms of address.
At the pharmacy, the clerk used my store card (which is in my wife’s name) and she addressed me by my wife’s name (and as I was leaving, “Ma’am.) But no customer interactions took place.
And finally I stopped at the nail salon, where they address me by my given (nowadays given to girls) name. No Ma’am or Sir.
I can handle that. It’s the normal ebb and flow of everyday life.
When I awoke on the morning of day 14, the train was nearing Chicago.
I shaved, cleaned up and dressed in my capris and a turtleneck as the weather was forecasted to be cold there. One of the female servers (the one who had the discussion the previous day about guys wearing capris) hadn’t worked my table yet…so today was her first time. And I was wearing a capri outfit (like she was discussing yesterday morning.) She seated me at a table with a guy I had lunched with previously. Then she seated a 30something guy and a 70something woman there with us. What to expect – good treatment, or a nasty comment about guys in capris and lipstick?
However, I needn’t have had any concerns. She handled everything “right out of the textbook.” She took our orders “ladies first,” and I was the first lady. (Does that signify she thought I looked OLD!? LOL!) Then she addressed me as “Ma’am” for the rest of the meal. Did I “pass?” Or was she being politically correct? I’ll never know. But in either case, how very affirming and pleasant!
Lunch was served early, and I was seated with 3 other women traveling alone. Everyone was friendly, and for some reason by then I felt much more comfortable in the company of women, than men. But all too soon it was time to go back to the sleeper and prepare for an on-time arrival in Chicago.
During the layover, I knew my “nose needed powdered” so I sought out the family restroom, which the Chicago Metropolitan Lounge so conveniently provided. And as things turned out, I could have worn a skirt on to “my wife’s train” – the car attendant was young and not a regular on that route. And I didn’t know any of the other passengers in the sleeper. But you never know…
Once on “my wife’s train,” dinner was uneventful, two men and one other woman at my table. Very nice…even dressed as I was, they presumed me to be “female.” And for breakfast the next morning, same thing. By now it had become very routine. And I love it…
The very last leg of the trip was a ride on the commuter train, to BWI Airport and my car. I boarded and took two seats – one for me and one for my baggage (these commuter railcars didn’t have luggage racks, but serve an airport, so what do they expect? There were lots of us like that on the train, and at least it wasn’t rush hour.)
So, who came in and sat across from me but people from my old line of work, who were part of an organization I dealt with on occasion. This is a dreaded circumstance in which wearing a skirt and/or having red nails would have presented me with a dilemma. I probably would have just “shut up and said nothing” to them if they didn’t recognize me. But if they did…the skirt would have been rather hard to explain (except if it were Halloween.)
I’m not sure if they presumed “girl” or “boy” when I started chatting with them across the aisle, but I guess I’ll find out in due time if the man ever responds to the email he asked me to send. If it begins “Dear Ms. Sherman:” I’ll know what they thought. (Remember, my given name has been surrendered to the girls – that may also play a part in it.)
My “hindsight” thoughts…on this wonderful experience:
This was a superb trip. Nearly two weeks in skirts and being accepted as a woman 99% of the time, makes it hard to revert back to my normal style of dressing…even though that is not at all masculine. So, if ever presented with another circumstance like this, what would I do differently, or try to change?
1. For a trip of this length, a “different” spare girly outfit would have been desirable. I didn’t wear my spare white skort with the blue floral blouse, to limit laundry complications after the trip. And in any event, since the skirt on the skort is only on the front, and the back looks like shorts, it may not have been feminine enough. After multiple compliments about my long red paisley skirt, it seems like more time in long skirts would have been appropriate. Perhaps if (or when) there is a next time, I’ll pair my 3 long skirts and one knee length denim skirt, with women’s polos and tees – the ones which are part of my normal wardrobe, to ease laundry issues back home. But I would also take an overtly feminine blouse (like the blue floral one) in case of special events.
2. I contemplated having my newly-filled nails painted bright red before catching the train on departure day, to provide almost 2 weeks of an extra feminine cue. But I hesitated for several reasons, not the least of which was “what happens if this turns into a disaster and I have to present as male?”
Completely removing regular polish from filled acrylic nails “neatly” and without tell-tale remains around the edges is not easy without professional help…and gel colors have to be removed by a nail tech. Plus, guys don’t often wear red-polished nails. (But without male clothes, presenting as a guy would be impossible anyway.) Thus, hesitation was definitely the wrong move…as long as I planned some time to get the color removed in Chicago. Other than capris for any colder weather and returning home (and a pair of shorts for emergencies), skirts were the ideal bottoms for traveling. I wish I could wear them more often.
3. I was concerned about my voice becoming an issue. Given the circumstance of complete anonymity (I’ll likely never see any of these folks again), my voice was accepted as part of me. Hoarseness from a slight cough gave me some perceived cover (for anyone who thought about it. But apparently nobody did.) I simply couldn’t maintain the softer tones I use, without my voice cracking after a few sentences. I’m just a girl with a deep voice – until and unless I get some voice coaching. That probably won’t happen…
4. Makeup application: I had my complete makeup kit with me in the suitcase. But I only used it once. The rest of the time I used concealer, foundation, powder, and 12 hour lip color (note: it doesn’t last 12 hours), all of which I carry in my purse. No eyeliner, eye shadow, blush and so on. On the train, and especially while sightseeing, I wore more makeup than the other girls. Most weren’t even wearing lipstick. I seemingly can’t escape wearing at least SOME makeup, to keep my beard shadow under control. But “less is more.”
If I ever transition, I’ll cross the “makeup” bridge for dressy occasions when I come to it.
5. Shoes: Flats worked just fine, and I wore them all the time. Sandals weren’t comfy enough to wear all day, every day, and aren’t permitted (outside of sleeper accommodations) on trains. Too much metal, too many pinch points down low. High heels on the train would have been downright hazardous to remaining upright, probably resulting in falling into some poor passenger’s lap. (And, they’re not much less dangerous on the cracked sidewalks of city streets.) I need to find something comfortable with a 1 or 1-1/2” heel, and sling or closed back, for dressier days and evenings. In retrospect, I should have taken my clogs. They at least have heels, and even without back straps to hold them on, I noticed several girls wearing them on the train. Next time!
6. Earrings: My ears aren’t pierced, so I have no choice but to wear clip earrings. And I wore them almost constantly, until I got home. (Yes, my ears ached quite a bit. Long live aspirin. And I moved the clips around a bit – which helped.) On this vacation, one of my cute little pearl earrings disappeared at the Santa Monica Pier, and I didn’t notice it was gone until it was too late. 😦 But I had the foresight to bring another pair – from Mom, much more dangly and sparkly. So I started to wear these instead:
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I like them – their movement can definitely be felt with every movement of my head. If one drops off (only happened once), that should be noticed right away. Plus, during this two-week travel period, my ears seemed to adjust quite a bit to pressure from the clips. After all, until about 10 years ago Mom wore clip earrings all day, every day, and managed to reach 93 years of age without pierced ears… I simply can’t foresee getting mine pierced, at least in the near future. But I “never say never.”
Naturally, I’m wondering when (or even IF) I’ll be able to try a “vacation” like this again…from looking at our calendars, it definitely won’t be this year! And if long distance Amtrak trains end up being de-funded by the new administration…there will never be a repeat! So I’m thankful I took the opportunity when it presented itself. (And from the weather reports I see, it appears my timing was excellent….)
That’s all for now…
Mandy
PS: When I got home, I accidentally arrived wearing both my necklace and bracelet. I’ve always wear the necklace, but it’s a first for the bracelet. Nothing was said. One more envelope pushed successfully! (And I wore it every day the next week as well, with no comment. Yay!) I’m just glad I remembered to take off the earrings!
It was once again up early, because it was time to start the trek home. In a skirt and top today, of course. And it was with mixed emotions, because even after such a wonderful trip, it was time to get home to my wife and my familiar surroundings.
First order of business: I stepped ashore, to get some pictures of the steamboat in the morning light. A Sacramento Sunrise!!
Then…I had breakfast in the Delta King’s dining room again…delicious as usual, but with a different female server. I was not identified as a woman, nor were any male or female greetings/comments made. She just did her job. That’s ok with me.
Below is a picture of the outfit I wore to begin my trip home, taken on the Delta King’s balcony, just off the dining room. At that hour of the morning, there wasn’t much activity, even though the staterooms were sold out.
My cab to the station arrived on time, and I got there quickly. No gender-specific greetings. I think the driver might have been a Grinch-in-training. Nothing was said, but it’s just a feeling I got. Oh well…his problem, not mine. I’ll never see him again.
At the station, while I was waiting for a Redcap, two separate large groups of inbound kids on school tours arrived, going to various city sites. They sat (and stood) all around me. I was expecting issues or comments, but none of them gave me so much as a second glance. Apparently they were more interested in their friends and their tour than the TG woman in their midst.
I’m just glad I wasn’t in the multi-stall girls’ room when 25 young girls crowded in, all at once…lol!
When the Redcap finally arrived, he interpreted me as female, and spoke accordingly as we piled into the jitney (a seven-person golf cart with a big trunk platform.) Lots of others were in the jitney, and we exchanged names and car numbers. This was apparently going to be another friendly traveling group.
Since my train was going to cross the Sierra Nevada mountains later in the day, a bunch of us agreed to get together in the lounge car after lunch, to watch the scenery from there. And since the guys all sat together, the women all gathered where I was seated. We had a good time talking and looking around, and took lots of pictures of of the scenery that the Sierras are famous for. Such as:
Yes, there was snow…just not as much as I had expected. In places I’d estimate 2 to 3 feet, much less in others. Mostly the snow was toward the tops of the hills. Our conductor said that warm weather the past couple weeks caused the demise of most of last winter’s record snowfall.
One of the women in our group sat beside me, in a seat for 2. As in, shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh to thigh. She noticed my camera, grabbed it and had me move to the aisle, where she took a couple of pictures of me, then invited me back to the seat. She liked this one best, describing it as a cute picture of a cute girl!
Dinnertime came, and I went to the dining car, where tables of four are filled completely. The staff seated me at an empty table, which was fine. And then a twentysomething woman and her sister (a mommy with a 2-1/2 year old boy) came in. They were seated with me, which was OK – I’m one of the girls. We chatted, cooed over Dean (the baby), and had a good time, even though Dean was in his “terrible twos”. When they finished and left the diner, they said to the baby “lets’ all say good night to the nice lady.” The little boy was a cutie. Don ‘t you just love it…even youngsters weren’t having trouble with my presentation!
Our beds were made up when we got back from dinner…so it was time to retire for the evening.
The next morning, I went to breakfast early, dressed as follows:
Dining car staff seated me at a table, and I waited for some others to join me. This time I I was the only girl at a table with three men. And one of them began our meal together by recognizing me as female…he even referred to me as “she” several times in conversation during the meal. And before long, the others were, too. That carried over to the rest of our time together on this train.
Before wait staff had assigned any one else to my table, I overheard bits and pieces of a discussion between staff members (one 30something girl and two 20something guys.) The discussion seemed to be about one of the guys who admitted to owning a pair of capri pants (complete with the little ties on each leg’s hem slits.) As near as I could tell (my back was to them) the guy confessed to having them, but not wearing them much. The girl thought they were too girly for guys. Then business got brisk in the diner, and the capris discussion tapered off.
I haven’t worn capris (so far) on this trip. Thus, I most likely wasn’t the direct cause of their discussion. My plan was to wear one of the few pairs of capris I brought along, for the last part of this leg as well as in Chicago, so I’m not wearing skirts at Union Station or on to “my wife’s train.”
Two passengers on this train had already complimented my long skirt, which was very pleasant and much appreciated. But after my meal, one of the older female train staffers stopped me as I walked through the diner on the way to the lounge car. “Honey, I really want that skirt.” I laughed and responded with “Thanks, sweetie.” “You look so cute in it – as you sashay down the aisle, it flows so smoothly around you. You look pretty, and I love both the colors and your outfit.” Wow! Me – sashaying? Surely you jest! I haven’t been consciously trying. My femininity must be oozing through.
I told her where I got it. She confessed to buying at thrift shops too. Then she went into why she likes the longer style, to disguise her legs which she thinks aren’t flattering, and is why she only wears skirts no shorter than her knees. I told her that my thighs are heavier than I’d want to show off to the world, which is why I like the longer skirts, but will also wear them knee length. “Well honey, longer is in style now, so buy yourself several like that and wear them every day.” My response was: “I think I need some retail therapy, sweetie! But I’d love to have and wear lots of them.”
We went through Azure Canyon afterwards, and the scenery is majestic:
Dinner was rather uneventful. There were only two of us at the table (quite a rarity) and the guy (in his 70’s) wasn’t at all talkative. In addition, he was (or pretended to be) hard of hearing, making conversation impractical. And the male server referred to us as “guys.” In spite of my earrings, engagement ring, makeup, lipstick, long hair, long skirt, pantyhose, flats and purse. That was quite a letdown after the past few exciting days. But hey, it is what it is…too many fun things happened, to let this little incident be a “downer.” Perhaps he automatically refers to everyone as “guys.” That has happened when my wife and I were out together, and we obviously aren’t “two guys.” (Hmmm, not even one guy??? LOL!)
To bed early: tomorrow Chicago, and a switch to “my wife’s train” for “coming down the home stretch.”
After the many remarkable experiences of being repeatedly interpreted as female while out running errands alone the last few days of 2019, it seems 2020 is under way in a similar fashion – at least so far. On the second day of the year, I had a number of errands to run, some requested by my wife, and others needed for my upcoming excursion to IL and NM. (By train, of course! More on this later.) My outfit was: stirrup pants, a women’s tee shirt with a women’s cardigan on top, black tights and my newest flats, with purse, long nails and long hair plainly visible. Fortunately the stores were under 30 miles from home and not across the bridge…so a lot of travel wasn’t required (though the weather was OK for traveling.)
First stop was the big box store, the same one at which “the greeter I met at the grocery store earlier” works. He was not on duty. 😦 An item for which the store had provided a coupon in their ad, was not stocked on the shelf. The twentysomething male check-out clerk (who addressed me as female) didn’t have an answer as to why. He asked the assistant manager, who also addressed me as female. She went to look for it, but couldn’t find it either. So they got a manager, who explained that sometimes they don’t get all the advertised items…except that I’ve been buying that item there for years. She checked inventory and found that it was in stock, just missing from the shelf.
They said they’d get on this right away and call me. No problem. I paid for the items in my cart and headed down the road, to the “brick and mortar” bank branch office. As I was standing there in line, my phone rang. My wife called to tell me the big box store had left a message for us on our answer machine, and that I should stop by the customer assistance counter to pick up the missing product – they found it. Meanwhile, the bank teller was able to take care of business quickly and efficiently, concluding with a “Thanks for stopping by, Ma’am” as we parted company. This is getting better and better, by the minute.
Next stop was the pharmacy nearby, to pick up several items. Once again, I needed help from the fiftysomething female cashier, and she related to me as female. When she called for assistance from the manager, she referred to me as a “this nice lady.” And she always used “she” to refer to me, when talking about “what she needs”. These issues were resolved quickly, and soon I was heading out the door, package in hand. They all bid me “Have a nice day, Ma’am” – and I reciprocated.
Onward, back to the big box store to pick up the missing item. As I walked in, the manager spotted me coming thru the door, and walked up to me quickly with open arms, for a quick hug. “We apologize for your having to make a second trip to purchase this, Mrs. Sherman! The stock person put the product in the wrong place, and it was not where it should have been!” We chatted for a minute or two as I paid for the item, and parted ways with “Have a good day, Ma’am.” “You too, Mrs. Sherman. See you again soon!” I think I’m now “officially Mrs. Sherman” to that crew!
Last stop (after the gas station, where I had no interactions) was the grocery store a few doors from where I parked at the shopping center. I was “just another woman shopping anonymously” there until checkout, when I officially became Mrs. Sherman again – the barely 21-something female clerk interpreted my given name on the credit card as female. “Happy New Year, Mrs. Sherman.”
I can’t recall any prior days when I have as dependably been interpreted as female by everybody with whom I interacted. Many – maybe a majority of – people, yes. But not “everyone.” It’s surprising, but wonderful. I’m just glad my wife wasn’t with me…though I realize, someday that’s bound to happen. And I don’t know how she will handle it.
Monday morning found me boarding the train in LA, and in a skirt, of course. This was my outfit…but without the sandals. I didn’t wear them at all.
Los Angeles Union Station! The car has been turned in, and Departure awaits…
This was a trip which would include spending some time in the Pacific Parlour cars, specially rebuilt as modern lounge cars from the original old Santa Fe high level lounges, and used only by sleeping car passengers.. I am happy to have been thus privileged, since those cars have now been retired from Amtrak and no longer operate.
After an uneventful boarding, starting with a ride to the train on a motorized cart, the day started with me being seated at a table of women for breakfast in the diner. No problem…the staff is generally nice like that, I enjoy being seated with women, as well as being included in their discussions. There was no indication or evidence that any of them interpreted me as “a man in a dress” – even with my poorly-disguised voice. I did have a slight cough and some raspiness, and that would have helped had anyone commented, (but they didn’t.) Yes, it’s a real pleasure to be included.
For anyone who may not have see the Pacific Ocean from a train, it is gorgeous. Sad to not have been able to see it from the Pacific Coast Highway, but then, one can’t have everything! I was so fortunate to have been able to make this trip, that I wasn’t complaining!
I took lunch in the Pacific Parlour car. Very nice, even though I ended up alone. Most of the others ate in the diner. But I didn’t care for the Parlour’s dinner menu, so I took my evening meal with 3 other women in the diner. Then I scooted back into the luxurious seats in the Pacific Parlour, to watch the sun set.
Arrival in Sacramento was very close to on time, but at a late hour (just after midnight.) And by the time I got settled into the hotel (a floating historic restored river steamboat by the name of “Delta King” – yes, close relative to the “Delta Queen”) and ready for bed, it was 1:30 AM (which was 4:30 AM Eastern time.) It took 3 alarm clocks to get me moving at 7 AM (10AM Eastern.) No wonder my bags are so full!
After getting dressed in my long skirt outfit, I went for breakfast and was given the last table for 2 in the dining room, with a river view. Right after they brought my orange juice, a woman gingerly approached my table and asked if the other seat was occupied. Of course I said no, and she thanked me and sat down.
We’ll call her “Ms. M.” By her accent (and self-admission) she identified herself as from England. She was very interesting to talk with, having spent the last six months on a sabbatical from her employment, traveling all over the far east (translation: Cambodia, Vietnam, and so on.)
Her trip was drawing to a close, and she had a ticket to ride the same train number to Chicago as I will be, but her departure is a day earlier. (From there she goes to Maine, then Boston, then England.) I kept asking her questions and she kept on talking, so I didn’t have to.
I told her that I’m not sure I’d have been able to do what she just did (getting myself a seat at someone’s table), and she said traveling gives you that ability. “You’re drawn to friendly-looking women who speak English, and you don’t let them get away!” OOooKKkk.
We had a great time chatting, and there was no indication that she thought I was anything but a woman. We wished each other well as we parted ways. I hope she has a good trip home, but I’ll never know for sure – nor will she about me. I did not pursue exchanging addresses. For obvious reasons, I don’t need the problems that could generate on the home front. But I made sure that my wife knows Ms. M sought the seat at my table.
During my short stay, I visited the California State Railroad Museum, just a block and a half from my floating hotel, and took in the very authentic “Old Town.” If it weren’t for modern vehicles and paved roads instead of horses and dirt roads, the area could pass for a frontier town.
Mandy at California State Railroad Museum – long live mirrors when you’re alone! Without them, it’s hard to find a safe place to balance a camera, so the self timer can work!
That night, I once again ate in the dining room at my hotel. And further…guess which table (and which chair at that table) the waitstaff gave me? Yes, I missed chatting with Ms. M.) Dinner was tasty, and then came time to pack for the trip home, which started next morning.
for football’s bowl games, parties and New Year’s resolutions. But more importantly, best wishes to all my readers and followers, for a safe and Happy New Year! Be careful out there, and take care of yourself!
Monday I was out and about, running some errands in androgynous mode after getting home from Tennessee. First stop was the nail salon, to make an appointment for next week. No problem there, I’m mostly “Miss Amanda.” Then I was off to the grocery store. While shopping, I heard “Hi” but didn’t look up – I figured it was for someone else in the aisle. And I kept on walking.
After moving into the next aisle, I came face to face with a man I recalled seeing, but couldn’t place where or when. He looked right at me, said “Hi Ma’am. You may not recognize me, but I’m the greeter at (insert name of big box store here) and we see each other often.” I apologized for not speaking earlier, but told the truth about “recalling seeing” him before. We chatted for a few minutes about the grandkids (he had his grandson with him) and then had to move on, as we were blocking the aisle. “See you later, Ma’am.” “Yes, Sir, have a Happy New Year.” “We’ll see each other again soon, I’m sure.” “Yep!”
And with shopping finished, I headed for the check-out lanes. They were all closed but one. So as I stood there waiting in line, a supervisor called out “Ma’am – aisle #1 will take care of you.” “Thanks, Sir.” And when I arrived at aisle #1, the thirtysomething male clerk did a fine job of recognizing me as female. Too bad I wasn’t wearing a skirt…but then, in this case, it apparently didn’t matter!
I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings…and at this rate, can’t wait for the new year!
With the train Arriving in LA only a little past the 5:35 AM schedule, I decided that I (naturally in a skirt outfit) would wait till 9AM to pick up the rental car at the station. Thus, I checked into the first class lounge at the train station. (I hate traffic to begin with, and starting out for Santa Monica at 7 or 7:30 would almost certainly mean an extra long trip, in rush hour traffic.)
There was no issue at the lounge, nor at the car rental counter. My feminine outfit didn’t matter – renting a car wearing a skirt, blouse, makeup and women’s jewelry was not an issue. Obviously they had the info on my driver’s license, which shows the big “M.” The female agent simply omitted any gender specific terms when talking to me. And that was OK – at least I didn’t hear “Sir” – which could have confused adjacent customers. Once I had the keys and the car, it still took me about 45 minutes to drive to Santa Monica. And it’s not very far.
When I arrived at the motel, I was so early that my room wasn’t ready yet (it frequently isn’t. LOL) and they suggested coming back in a couple hours. They were very friendly and sociable, and the gentleman I spoke with on the phone referred to me in the feminine gender. It’s a good thing he didn’t remember referring to me as “Sir” when I made the reservation with him over the phone!
So off I went, to the Museum of Flying at the Santa Monica Airport.
It’s a great little facility, but what immediately catches your eye is the “stuffed and mounted” DC-3, which dominates their front yard. Can’t miss it! And after all these years, I finally found out what the DC stands for in “DC-3.
The planes were made at the Douglas factory here in Santa Monica, and the C stands for Commercial.. Hence: Douglas Commercial – 3. (Yes, Virginia, there was a DC-1 model and DC-2, as well, in addition to 4, 5, 6 and so on.)
They had many other stuffed and mounted planes, artifacts and displays – mostly inside.
When I finished there, it was back to the motel to check in. And my room was ready. And I was once again referred to in feminine terms. I’m really beginning to like this!
After settling in, I took a walk to the beach (a block and a half from the motel) and followed the beachfront walk for a mile or more, hiking all the way to Venice Beach. Weather was beautiful (sunny and low 70’s, with a gentle on-shore breeze), and though the beach was not crowded, there was still enough “cheesecake and beefcake” on the trail (skateboarding, bicycling and hiking) to please anyone.
And the fact that I was out and about, in the presence of kids and adults alike, with no issues whatsoever (yes, I was wearing sunglasses so I could watch when I felt like it) made this another wonderful experience. It could become habit-forming.
I expected to stop in at a certain beachfront place in Venice Beach to sample the atmosphere, but there was a loud band out front, playing contemporary rock music, and I “couldn’t even hear myself think.” Judging from the number of twenty-somethings there, they enjoyed, and that’s what counts. I walked on by.
So, on my hike back to the motel, I stopped for early dinner at a seafood restaurant. No gender-specific greetings there : -( I enjoy being out in public en femme, and going about my routine business. But I’m still not comfortable being in a bar environment as a woman. Alcohol, loudmouthed people and TG’s sometimes don’t mix well. But that restaurant was family-oriented, and – surprise – probably 75 percent of the women were in skirts. Plus, half of the girls in skirts were in some kind of heels. (BTW, no heels for me on this trip. The amount of walking I’ve been doing, and luggage space or lack thereof, precluded bringing them.
😦
Then I hiked back to the motel, “done in” from all the hiking. An early return meant an early bedtime. No problem…at least I didn’t have to drive back to the motel! (Staying in town made parking easy…had I not, it would have been at a premium.) So, everything worked out fine.
Starting out very early the next morning (6AM, to miss traffic), I checked out a decoration I’d noticed on the front of a CVS Pharmacy in Venice Beach as I drove back to the motel from the Museum of Flying. It was unique enough that every tourist walking by (even at that early hour) was grabbing their iPhone or camera. Don’t you agree?
The internet says that the dancer’s legs were originally designed to move, imitating dancing, but the noise it made caused a ruckus with the tenants living in the building, and that caused discontinuance a few years ago.
After finishing up in Venice Beach, I headed for Santa Monica Pier and the “End of Route 66” sign. Everyone had advised against parking on the pier as it was so expensive. But that’s where the signs led me, and in reality, they seemed reasonable since they charged by the hour, not by the day. My visit only cost $6, not too bad. I’ve paid much more in big cities.
At the pier (above)!
The pier from the bluff…(above.)
Remember the Eagles and their song “Hotel California?” There actually is a hotel by that name – very close to the pier. I don’t have any “inside info” about it, or any “inside knowledge” about any connection to the hotel in the song. But it’s very nice, though eclectic, and has a surfing theme, as you can see from the pic. I would have considered staying there – except for the price (twice what I paid per night.)
My view of the song (which I like) is that it’s more about the CA culture of the 60’s and 70’s. Like extravagance, drugs, “party till you die” type of thing. (But your view might be different, and that’s OK.)
Hmmm…they did party pretty late in Santa Monica the first night I was there. The second night was more subdued… While visiting the pier, I walked along the bluff, near the edge of downtown. Very pretty view of the pier, the surf and the coastline.
Not so inviting was the homeless population…(above) – one of whom was tucked away in a corner right in the downtown area. But if one must be homeless…Santa Monica would be a lot better venue than New York City! (Winters are much warmer, with no snow.)
When I finished at the Pier, I decided to drive north on the PCH. (CA route 1, the Pacific Coast Highway.) My wife and I drove the section from San Francisco to Santa Barbara a number of years ago, so this would partially fill in the gap. My objective was the Missile Park at the Naval Air Station at Point Mugu in Ventura County. It is to small US missiles (think Regulus, Poseidon and smaller) what the Museum of Flying was to aviation in general. However, everything is outside, is identified, and there is no attendant, so it’s “walk around and look.” But still very nice – it’s a worthwhile destination.
In my pictures from this trip, you’ll notice that I appear to have only 3 skirt outfits with me. That’s basically correct. I brought a fourth “emergency outfit,” but didn’t wear it on account of laundry issues when returning home. That will be corrected min the future, along with several other things I’ll talk about in my final segment of this travelogue.
On the way back, I stopped at several beaches and overlooks. As expected, the traffic was simply awful. When the two-lane road became four lane as I got closer to Santa Monica, I pulled into the right lane (I only go the speed limit and want folks to be able to pass me.)
A young guy – probably in his daddy’s Ferrari (or some other noisy imported exotic sports car) – crept up beside me. The driver checked me out, and hit the gas hard, squealing his tires and roaring ahead, then slowing down till I caught up again. I was wearing sunglasses so he couldn’t tell I was looking at him as he looked my way, then roared ahead again, and this time kept going. Was he flirting? I suspect so. We both knew there’s no way a Nissan Sentra could outrun a Ferrari – although in this case, it truly would have been a “drag race…” – pun intended.
On the drive back, I noted all the “budget-priced” (yeah right) residences on the hillsides overlooking the ocean…and surrounded by hillsides of grass and brushy vegetation. With all the recent fires, it makes me wonder if they all went up in smoke?
When I eventually got back to the motel and happily was able to park the car for the night (I hate traffic), I decided to walk back to Venice Beach to get takeout at one of the restaurants. On the way back I noticed something new…a “barcycle.” No, not a bicycle – this was a wagon with a bar in the center, with a driver/barkeeper to drive. And pedals at each of the seats around the bar. to power it with alcohol!
I didn’t do much investigation, but it seems you can charter it for events. And with the patrons providing the motive power, it doesn’t use any non-renewable energy! Very curious…. Then it was back to the motel to pack for an early departure back to the train station….heading for my next destination.
Gee, I hate to see that this extravaganza is winding down. That closet door I kicked off its hinges this week was last seen floating away in the Pacific…
Mandy's Miscellany 
