Hotel Nevada If you ever have the pleasure of traveling the remnants of the Lincoln Highway in Nevada, be sure to make some time for Ely. Like many other night ramblers, I have been seduced by the glow of the lights of this lively town, where there are plenty of places to take a hot [...]
In 1979, photographer Zigy Kaluzny and I traveled to the Olympic Peninsula in Washington to do a story about the everyday life of loggers who lived in what they commonly called the big woods. It proved to be a memorable assignment. Although we deplored logging techniques that led to wholesale clear-cutting of ancient timber and [...]
Whenever I think of Mexico, certain images come to mind — bullfights, sunsets the color of enchiladas, Pancho Villa, and, always, tequila. Although I gave up on strong drink many years ago, I still respect the historical and cultural significance of this beverage that for so long has quenched the thirsts of so many people.
If I decided to move to Los Angeles, I would live in the Chateau Marmont Hotel. This cultural monument overlooking Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood has provided sanctuary for the famous and the infamous since its doors first opened in 1927.
I was raised on Cardinal baseball. Some of my fondest memories are of listening to a heated game as reported over our trusty radio by the incomparable Harry Carey and later Jack Buck. But even better was when we piled in my Dad’s trusty Plymouth and drove down to Grand Boulevard and Dodier Street to see a game at Sportsman’s Park, a revered site where baseball was played as early as 1867.
We have both lived in St. Louis and when we return we often go downtown to visit familiar sites, including the Gateway Arch. The tallest monument in the United States and a symbol of the city, the stainless-steel Arch soars 630 feet above the Mississippi River.
The single food staple that makes me howl at the moon is the piquant, savory, peerless—and misunderstood—chile. I am not alone. The mere mention of the word—whether chile for the peppers or chili for the meat dish made from them—can bring tears of anguish or bliss to multitudes of people.
Long before the arrival of the Lincoln Highway, nation’s first transcontinental road, Cheyenne, Wyoming, was a good place for railroad workers to winter over while the tracks were being laid in the post-Civil War years.
There are still motels — real motels operated by real people who truly care about their guests and their comfort. Mom and Pop places, as we like to call them. And they really are just that. They become our home away from home.
Michael stands at the crossroads of America. Behind him is the confluence of two of its greatest rivers, the actual spot where the 2,541-mile Missouri River flows into the 2,320-mile Mississippi River just north of St. Louis. This is the place from which the Lewis & Clark Expedition left in 1804 to explore the West and to which they returned in 1806.
We remember Beverly Hills from our westward journeys down Route 66. The venerable Mother Road uses the alias Santa Monica Boulevard in this ritzy neck of the woods as it nears its terminus at the Pacific shore. When we motor past the posh palaces and smart shops of Beverly Hills we are reminded that this mecca for the rich and famous was carved out of an old Spanish land grant covered with sagebrush.
It was in the high desert of Arizona just across the New Mexico border. We were traveling west as far as we could go, all the way to the Pacific shore. Our vehicles of choice for this particular adventure were a blue van filled with ice chests and the songs of Woody Guthrie and the Eagles, and in the lead a ragtop Corvette, as red as spilled blood, that rolled off the assembly line in 1964.