James Burleigh
Well-known member
There is a town in north Ontario,
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind
I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.
Neil Young, "Helpless"
The Palos Verdes peninsula, called PV or the hill, anchors the southwestern corner of the greater Los Angeles basin. Dotted with million-dollar, red-tile-roofed homes overlooking LA and the Pacific Ocean, it juts up out of the flatlands of Torrance and Redondo Beach, rises to its greatest height of 1,500 feet at its crown, then rolls and drops away toward the sea, plummeting finally into the Pacific Ocean down 100-foot cliffs that run along its entire western edge.
...dotted with million-dollar, red-tile-roofed homes overlooking LA and the Pacific Ocean.
plummeting finally into the Pacific Ocean down 100-foot cliffs that run along its entire western edge.
Cradled in my mothers arms in the front passenger seat of pale-yellow 1950 Dodge Coronet, I was hauled up from the Long Beach hospital where I was born in 1955 to the first house my parents owned in PV.
In 1978, 23 years after getting hauled up into our first house in Palos Verdes, six months after graduating from college, I left my home in Palos Verdes, the fourth, for the last time. Since then I have lived in Northern California, 400 miles away to the north.
But Palos Verdes tugs at me. All my changes were there.
I felt that tug powerfully in late June of this year upon discovering myself back in the Bay Area after a weeks vacation on the East Coast, a full 10 days of vacation still ahead of me before I had to go back to work, and a brand-new front tire on my FJR.
I pulled away at about 10 AM on Sunday morning, June 29, planning to run straight down Interstate 5 in time to climb the grapevine just out of Bakersfield and beat the 100 degree heat in the Central Valley. Maybe I would see Fairlaner.
The Sun God had my back as I prepared to leave:
Here are some pics....
I stayed four nights at the Palos Verdes Inn in Redondo Beach:
I checked in by about 3PM, borrowed one of the motel's bikes, and headed straight to the beach just a few blocks away. That's Palos Verdes in the distance.
I cruised several miles down the strand, to way past the factory seen in the distance....
I got all the way to the Sea Sprite Motel, which is right on the sand. This is the motel we stayed in back in 1964 when we returned to Los Angeles from four years in Colombia, SA. I recall that while we were staying there a kid walked through one of the plate glass doors.
You can't really swim in the ocean in Northern California: the water is far away and cold. But I love swimming in the ocean. So when I got back to Redondo Beach I jumped in the water. I grew up lying on that beach and swimming in that water. There's something salubrious, or primordial, about swimming in the ocean: it makes you feel young and healthy like those old folks in the movie Cocoon.
On the way back to the motel I grabbed an early dinner. Nothing like a beer after a MC ride and a dip in the ocean.
The next morning I got hold of Fairlaner and shot over to see him. It was World Cup time and he was binging on it. He invited me to join him and a friend for dinner that night. I accepted and left to visit some old haunts on the hill.
First stop was Harbor Community ("Junior") College, just up the road from Fairlaner. I'd gone there for a year or so after graduating from Palos Verdes High School and before moving up to northern California. I used to wear a black swallow-tale frock coat to class and play hearts between classes.
When I got to the house in San Pedro on Paseo del Mar, I met the current renter, and he let me walk all around. I had not been inside or in the back yard in decades.
Here I am parked in front of the house. I've super-imposed an old photo of my little sister (now in her mid-50s) standing in the front yard. You can see in the photo of mom above the unique chimney and window. It hasn't change in 60 years. My grandparents were Norwegian, and we used to go there for holiday dinners.
The bomb shelter.
Moving on from San Pedro back to Palos Verdes, I went by the second house my folks owned, which they bought with the game show winnings. That's me running toward the camera.
Dinner one night:
PVHS. Just a block from the cliffs. At lunch I would walk down and eat my lunch with my feet dangling over the cliffs.
So yeah, I went out to dinner one night with Fairlaner and his friend, and we shot some pool. But the real fun was when Fairlaner suggested we ride together as I head back home, since he had to shoot up the coast to Camarillo on Hwy 101 to check out the status of some crash guards that were being manufactured.
So we got on the 405 freeway north right in the thick of morning rush hour, to catch the 10 west to Santa Monica then up Hwy 1. Following Fairlaner on the 405 during the morning rush was not for the faint of heart--more like a master's class in lane sharing. A blast!
From the factory I hopped on the 101 and headed home, my current home, in the Bay Area. The temps varied from over 100 to the 50s as the highway turned in toward the coast near Salinas.
Here I pulled off to get a respite from the 100-degree heat and shed clothes, only to regret it an hour later as the temps dropped.
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind
I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.
Neil Young, "Helpless"
The Palos Verdes peninsula, called PV or the hill, anchors the southwestern corner of the greater Los Angeles basin. Dotted with million-dollar, red-tile-roofed homes overlooking LA and the Pacific Ocean, it juts up out of the flatlands of Torrance and Redondo Beach, rises to its greatest height of 1,500 feet at its crown, then rolls and drops away toward the sea, plummeting finally into the Pacific Ocean down 100-foot cliffs that run along its entire western edge.
...dotted with million-dollar, red-tile-roofed homes overlooking LA and the Pacific Ocean.
plummeting finally into the Pacific Ocean down 100-foot cliffs that run along its entire western edge.
Cradled in my mothers arms in the front passenger seat of pale-yellow 1950 Dodge Coronet, I was hauled up from the Long Beach hospital where I was born in 1955 to the first house my parents owned in PV.
In 1978, 23 years after getting hauled up into our first house in Palos Verdes, six months after graduating from college, I left my home in Palos Verdes, the fourth, for the last time. Since then I have lived in Northern California, 400 miles away to the north.
But Palos Verdes tugs at me. All my changes were there.
I felt that tug powerfully in late June of this year upon discovering myself back in the Bay Area after a weeks vacation on the East Coast, a full 10 days of vacation still ahead of me before I had to go back to work, and a brand-new front tire on my FJR.
I pulled away at about 10 AM on Sunday morning, June 29, planning to run straight down Interstate 5 in time to climb the grapevine just out of Bakersfield and beat the 100 degree heat in the Central Valley. Maybe I would see Fairlaner.
The Sun God had my back as I prepared to leave:
Here are some pics....
I stayed four nights at the Palos Verdes Inn in Redondo Beach:
I checked in by about 3PM, borrowed one of the motel's bikes, and headed straight to the beach just a few blocks away. That's Palos Verdes in the distance.
I cruised several miles down the strand, to way past the factory seen in the distance....
I got all the way to the Sea Sprite Motel, which is right on the sand. This is the motel we stayed in back in 1964 when we returned to Los Angeles from four years in Colombia, SA. I recall that while we were staying there a kid walked through one of the plate glass doors.
You can't really swim in the ocean in Northern California: the water is far away and cold. But I love swimming in the ocean. So when I got back to Redondo Beach I jumped in the water. I grew up lying on that beach and swimming in that water. There's something salubrious, or primordial, about swimming in the ocean: it makes you feel young and healthy like those old folks in the movie Cocoon.
On the way back to the motel I grabbed an early dinner. Nothing like a beer after a MC ride and a dip in the ocean.
The next morning I got hold of Fairlaner and shot over to see him. It was World Cup time and he was binging on it. He invited me to join him and a friend for dinner that night. I accepted and left to visit some old haunts on the hill.
First stop was Harbor Community ("Junior") College, just up the road from Fairlaner. I'd gone there for a year or so after graduating from Palos Verdes High School and before moving up to northern California. I used to wear a black swallow-tale frock coat to class and play hearts between classes.
When I got to the house in San Pedro on Paseo del Mar, I met the current renter, and he let me walk all around. I had not been inside or in the back yard in decades.
Here I am parked in front of the house. I've super-imposed an old photo of my little sister (now in her mid-50s) standing in the front yard. You can see in the photo of mom above the unique chimney and window. It hasn't change in 60 years. My grandparents were Norwegian, and we used to go there for holiday dinners.
The bomb shelter.
Moving on from San Pedro back to Palos Verdes, I went by the second house my folks owned, which they bought with the game show winnings. That's me running toward the camera.
Dinner one night:
PVHS. Just a block from the cliffs. At lunch I would walk down and eat my lunch with my feet dangling over the cliffs.
So yeah, I went out to dinner one night with Fairlaner and his friend, and we shot some pool. But the real fun was when Fairlaner suggested we ride together as I head back home, since he had to shoot up the coast to Camarillo on Hwy 101 to check out the status of some crash guards that were being manufactured.
So we got on the 405 freeway north right in the thick of morning rush hour, to catch the 10 west to Santa Monica then up Hwy 1. Following Fairlaner on the 405 during the morning rush was not for the faint of heart--more like a master's class in lane sharing. A blast!
From the factory I hopped on the 101 and headed home, my current home, in the Bay Area. The temps varied from over 100 to the 50s as the highway turned in toward the coast near Salinas.
Here I pulled off to get a respite from the 100-degree heat and shed clothes, only to regret it an hour later as the temps dropped.
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