As I'm driving away up the 2 Fwy north I look in my rearview mirror at the bumper to bumper traffic south bound into LA and it makes me happy for my up coming freedom.
You can take the 10 the 60 and a few other freeways but I'm a lover of the 210. New (ish) clean, open and easy traffic I take it all the way until it drops down onto the 10.
When you first get off the freeway at the 243 you enter a strange non town. It has some very new buildings as well as areas that seem a little shack like. The first house I drove by had men in white suits with masks over their mouths climbing all over a house with white plastic covering on the windows and door and caution tape over the front entrance. Hmm...not exactly what I expected but I'm not actually in Idywild yet.
As I head up the mountain I looked down to see what I can only hope was not a maximum security prison as it looks like a high school surrounded by barbed wire. The landscape is pretty (ish.) Definitely more suited to goats than hikers on this part of the mountain. As it winds upwards I see the truck from Jeepers Creepers 1 coming in my direction. It rattles and grinds in a manner that suggests at least three bodies banging around in the back. I hit the gas a little harder and after I'm sure it hasn't done a u-turn I start looking out at the view again. Then on my right I become distracted by an incredible vista which I pull over to see. I guess I'm looking over Riverside to the west but I have no idea what the body of water is out there in the middle, or the smaller one off to the right.
Just as I started to muse I hear rattling and grinding. I spin around to see the Jeepers Creepers truck lumbering it's what towards me. My instinct is to run for my car and lock the door simultaneously revving the engine and speeding away. But as I'm not living a movie and its unlikely a supernatural being is coming to drag me to my death, I stand my ground. To my horror the truck seems to slow but just as I'm about to consider dropping dead like rabbit's do when they get too frightened and decided its better to just die, it lunges past and out of view. I don't give it a chance to turn round and jump back in my car.
I pass a Zen Center, a lake to picnic at
and Nature Center, none of which lure me of my path. As I'm driving into the village I notice a huge bolder which I discover is known as Suicide Rock. Hmm...what exactly is that saying about the place?!
I park in the center of Idyllwild and I guess I shouldn't really be surprised that it isn't...well.. the most exciting place on the planet. I was hoping for something half Tolkienesque and half the Wild West but its neither. I'm sure it looks much better covered in snow with twinkly Christmas lights but then what doesn't.
I wander over to "The Village Lanes" that claims a number of little stores but on further investigation it turns out those stores are only open Friday through Sunday. So I grab lunch hoping the rest of the town will be open.
I pick the "Red Kettle" for lunch as it looks friendly and quaint. The staff greet everyone enthusiastically and a seemed to know every local that came in by name. The enthusiasm however ends there though if you're not a local. The service was OK but slow since I was sitting at the counter in front of them. However the check came shockingly quick.
I was situated next to two old guys sharing colonoscopy stories. The prep and the mess in extensive detail!?! They seemed oblivious to the other patrons close by gaging on their food. Then one of the waitresses share that she'd been given $50 to much change when shopping the other day but as she was already in the car she wasn't about to go all the way back and "besides it was the idiot saleswoman's own fault if she couldn't count."
The food, which claims
would only be famous for being bland and bad. The chicken sandwich was like eating a slipper and "does it have lettuce and tomato on?" "yes it does," means a slab of badly grilled green pepper will be dying on on the top and a piece of limp lettuce will be crawling off the other side of your plate. I ate as much as I could and stared blankly when the waitress said, "It's good right?"
As soon as I started wandering around the little stores two things became clear. First the stores that were open were mainly kitch and tacky, selling weird stuff only desperate for a souvenir tourists would buy.
And second, every other person wandering around was at least thirty years older than me. Maybe it's just people with time on their hands are generally older but it was bit like stepping back in time.
The Antique store reminded me of a jumble sale my great aunt took me to on Sundays back in the south of England, full of musty clothes and fake china. I was hoping there might be a treasure to be found but alas there was not. At that point I decided a cup of tea is in order. The Coffee House is actually very nice and as I haven't been willing to work on the second draft of my book much this year so far, I was happily surprised that this was a great place to sit and write. It has great drinks, free wifi, a number of tables with chairs as well as and a couple of armchairs and a sofa.
Here everyone seemed to know each other, chatting from across the room as though we were all in one big living room, but it was nice rather than off putting. They invited conversation even from visitor. At one point Five for Fighting was playing and one woman lamented to me that fifteen seemed a long time ago. There were a couple of kids working with a tutor and a toddler wandering round quietly inspecting things.
If you an LA writer and need a little writing excursion you could do worse than this little coffee shop. Leave early, spend five or six hours writing (no one seemed to care how long you were seated or how much you drank) and head home before dusk. You'll really want to head home before dusk because the drop offs which aren't railed make you want to cross your legs.
As I sat back to write, the chair gave softly away to fit me, the music became aptly "coffee house" and I felt myself exhale.
So as a place to go....eehh not so much, except perhaps for the film festival and when it's snowy and the christmas lights are up. But as far as my day goes. I'm no longer Grumpy, Sleepy or Sneezy (well a little sneezy.) I got three hours writing done and my feet are satisfactorily itched!
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