Email Tom at tomtgradeczek@yahoo.com

Chapter 4: Valhalla

I tried not to worry. Just because a Kamikaze Psycho Killer and the Vietnamese Shooting Bangles tried to assassinate me in a store full of heavily-armed gun freaks, I couldn't panic, because I thought it would only make things worse. Then, I tried to define "worse" in that context, and couldn't imagine anything much worse, until I thought about Mona. Then, I got worried again. At that point, there was only one thing to do. Find the nearest supermarket!

I pulled into a Safeway I came to on Washington Boulevard, then drove around the store, coming to a point facing towards the parking lot, where I could see every car coming in or out for a while. I was just calming my case of "nerve twitch", so I didn't look like a psycho killer the Safeway guard would feel like shooting. After a few minutes, I felt calmer. Then, a helicopter flew over, and I thought I was being silly. It was that extra gallon of high octane adrenaline in my system, mixing with the three crullers and the double coffee, making me feel so tense and worried. When I felt really sure there were no bad guys around, I went grocery shopping.

Once inside I realized I needed food for the condo. But first, I needed to call Mona. I used a pay telephone and the calling card number she had given me. She answered on the first ring.

"Mona!"

"Mona this is Tom. I need to talk to you. It's very important."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Well, the little Vietnamese guy from this morning's murders, brought three girl shooters with him to try to off me in a gun store, so I was worried about you." Mona must have been a bit taken aback by the news, and it likely showed on her face.

"Vot's da matter, Mona? Iss dare a man on da phone? So, who vood be callink you when you are at dinner vit your mutter and making you look so unhappy?"

"Tell your mom its your ski instructor." So, Mona did and I heard dazed mutterings in the background. Then she came back to me. "Tom, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay." Her voice was cracking a little, so I tried to reassure her, but she was getting it from Mom at the same time.

"Yes, I'm fine; the bad guys were no match for fifty cops and a gun store full of shooters, but now, I'm worried about you. If they followed me, maybe they followed you, too." Mom was also not helping.

"Of course he's not okay, skiing down hills all crazy fast. He's going to kill himself." Mona's mom must have known I could hear her, so she came at me with both barrels. "You should stop vit all dat zooming and twisting down hills. My Mona is so upset. You could kill yourself. Then, how should she feel? Aunt Rose, she loved a skiing man and he crashed into someting, and he vas never the same. It's always da same vit you young people, go fast, be crazy, ven you should be settling down." Then, Mona took back the conversation. "Mom, if you say one more word, I'm leaving."

"Let me say a word to your mom."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Mona, you've trusted me with those special rope tricks we do, so just trust me here."

"You are so...o-o-o-o-ugh, frustrating. Okay, but just for a minute. Good luck."

"Hallo-o-o."

"Hello, Mrs. Bubavitz."

"Yah, I am here."

"Mrs. Bubavitz, I just want you to know that I think very highly of Mona, and I think that if only she knew life the way you do, she would understand what you are telling her. Perhaps the problem is that Mona knows so many men, and she just doesn't think I'm the best man to settle down with.

"Dots very interesting," then away from the phone, "this ski man, he has some humble senses." "Go on ski man; so what's your name?"

"It's Tom, Mrs. Bubavitz, Tom. For sure, Mona doesn't think I'll be good enough for you, and she doesn't want to disappoint you. She tells me often that she worries about what you will think."

"She tells you dis? So, how much money can it be with the ski instructing?" Mona gasped in the background.

"Well, the ski biz is only for fun, and whatever money I get is extra. I'm a computer programmer most of the time, and you can make a thousand a week if you have good clients, and mine are great, like Cleveland Automotive Repair. Have you seen him on TV?"

"Yes, of course, who hasn't seen Jackie on da TV, and I tink maybe he's Jewish like Sammy Davis Junior, and he's so successful. So, you're really a computer man' vel, dots sometink different."

"Honestly, also, Mrs. Bubavitz, I'm not very religious, and Mona worries you'll hate me if I'm goyem."

"Vel, yes, dot's a little problem, but who knows where da heart goes. You maybe have more sense den my Mona. This is good, I tink. You could maybe talk to Rabbi Rosenbaum."

"I was just talking to Rabbi Rosenbaum this morning outside Emilio's Hat Shop." I interrupted. The rabbi was in a hurry, so we didn't have much time, but wasn't it such a shame about his car?"

"You talked to Rabbi Rosenbaum, so he knows you? Vel, of course da congregation is going to help him vit his car. Tommy, vit a little shmutz scrubbink here and there, you might be perfect for my Mona. An', look at Mona, she's a believer and so maybe she helps you." Then Mrs. Bubavitz started in gently on Mona, "how come you never tell me about this computer man with a good job and good sense?" Then, she returned to me. "Tommy, vat you tinkin' about maybe stoppink dis dangerous ski job and having a few nice, little children?" Before I could answer, I heard a few little struggling noises then Mona's voice again. "I should have known you'd sweet talk my mom." But to her mom, she said, "he's a devil Mom, a devil, and HE can't have the children, that's my job." Mom was philosophical. "Mo-o-ona baby, doncha know dot all men have some of da devil in dem? Look at Aunt Ruthie's Itzhak." I tried to get Mona's attention, because it sounded like there were brush fires suddenly springing up all around her.

"See Mona, the devil part of me seems to be okay; just look at Itzhak." With this, Mona busted out laughing, then continued.

"You are not a well man, Tom. I don't know if I'm laughing because I need to cry, or crying because I need to laugh. Just don't worry about me, Tom. Please be very careful, and call Bernie. I'll call you at the condo late tonight. Just email me. Now that you made my mom all dreamy-eyed, I need some time to straighten her out. Be good. Bye."

"Bye Mona."

I began to feel a bit better. I really needed to burn some of this nervous energy getting the right food for condo life. I bought lots of fresh vegetables and fruit and, of course Altadena Pineapple Naja yoghurt for my morning power shake, lots of Calistoga water and juice and a nice bottle of champagne. I was focused, and purposeful, and out of there like I was jet-propelled. Stowing the bags, I headed for the 210 and another stop on the way to Valencia.

I needed to get my laundry at the 6-2-12 Cleaners, but first, I had to make a stop and check my back. I had lived in Simi Valley three different times in my life, and I didn't know which time I liked the best. Now, Simi was turning into a nicer, cleaner Pasadena kind of place. When I first lived there, it was a little bit wild and raw, and there was no direct freeway into the San Fernado Valley. In between came the period of major land speculation and, of course, the Rodney King trial. Man, talk about your mood swings and attitude changes. Now, I just lived there and liked it. I subbed at the local library, and it was close enough to Jackson Auto's main office, so I didn't have to fight much traffic. It had some of the best weather in the world, without ninety percent of the air pollution common to LA and "The Valley".

After I made the switch from the 210 Highway to the 118, I tried the radio. The Dodgers were playing a preseason night game but KFWB was highlighting the Sheriffs' Department making a big bust at The Shooting Gallery in Altadena. I listened for details being given to the radio stations. The sound of KFWB was always low-tech, even on the best radios, and I was never sure how they accomplished this. KFWB already had The Shooting Gallery story on live.

--HBC edits---

"So, now let's switch live to our eye in the sky, KFWB traffic 'copter reporter, Bob Russel." "Thanks, Jim, well there are at least four helicopters at The Shooting Gallery right below us here now, one almost on Lake Avenue, so if you don't need to take that route, I'd avoid it as traffic is backed up for at least twenty blocks south from Shooting Gallery Drive all the way past Washington Boulevard. There are three more helicopters in The Shooting Gallery's parking lot, and there is tremendous activity there. Back to you, Jim." "Thanks, Bob, let's switch now to our live on the scene reporter, Arnie Hathaway, with the KFWB live news remote truck on the scene right at The Shooting Gallery. Arnie, are you there?" "Yes Jim, I am; I just spoke with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms team leader, Agent Gary Moore, and he made a statement that, in a coordinated effort between his office and the Los Angeles County Sheriffs' Department SWAT team tonight at 7:14 pm, one of the suspects in this morning's murders in the Spring Street jewelery robbery was apprehended, along with three other Chinese, or Vietnamese, nationals on various illegal weapons possession charges. The murder suspect is being transported first to the Los Angeles County correctional facility in Azuza for arraignment on a number of assault and battery charges, including assault with a deadly weapon, and then he will be taken to the new Federal lock up facility near Pomona, California to be charged on illegal weapons possession charges. Two of the other three people in this bust have been taken to the INS center in Thousand Oaks, but the third person, a woman who is reported to be unconscious, was flown by Med-evac copter to the LAPD hospital jail, and the full extent of her injuries is unknown at this time. I also spoke to LAPD police Lieutenant Karl Rocker, who had this to say," "We have strong evidence that indicates that one of the suspects taken into custody tonight is one of the gang members involved in the murders and robbery that took place in the Spring Street district this morning. We will be making arrangements with the Federal and County authorities to have this suspect transferred to the City of Los Angeles Jail to await arraignment on charges stemming from those murders." "Well, there you have it; Jim, back to you." "Thanks Arnie; that was Arnie Hathaway in the KFWB live news remote truck bringing you the latest on this story. After the break, more news about the shootout at the Gomez Auto Body and Paint Shop in Santa Ana this afternoon that left four dead and twelve injured, Oops, this just in, there were 5 confirmed dead in this mornings Spring Street murders and two more shooting victims in the office building's 2nd floor are now in intensive care. Also our eye in the sky traffic copter will give us details about the fourteen car pile-up on the 605, which now we hear has turned into a shooting disagreement between three of the accident victims, with multiple fatalities. KFWB, all news all the time, where the news comes first."

"Hey, this is Jackie from Cleveland Automotive Repair in Canoga Park and nine other locations in the greater Los Angeles area. Are you having trouble with your car? Well then, give Cleveland Automotive Repairs a chance to give you an estimate. Stop in or call and we'll be happy to talk to you or check out our website at www.JClevelandAutomotive.com for a list of the products and services offered by Cleveland Automotive Repairs since 1986. Send us an email, and we will respond with an answer and an estimate range. If you email us by 5AM, most times we can take you to work, have your car towed and fixed and returned to you at work the same day. We're proud of the customer care we offer. That's..."

I had to hit the button for the Dodgers game with its soothing combination of a game played on well-maintained grass and Vin Scully, "Here's the windup ... and the pitch, ... down in the dirt with a slider for ball one." I lowered the volume to be a gentle reminder about the game, avoiding the piercing repetition of death and destruction blaring from KFWB. Of course, it was a science with LA broadcasters, knowing how often to repeat the key names of the station and people so as to provide the maximum possible brand retention of the key corporate symbols, while sandwiching in between the goriest possible news to attract the largest market share, to thus charge the highest ad rates possible. I'd do it, too, if I had their facilities, cash flow potential and market. There was just so much murder to report in the LA area; there was a constant barrage of "killing news", "with updates every ten minutes, and complete stories on the hour and the half hour". No wonder there were so many people making millions selling chain link fence and steel window shutters in the LA area. Sometimes it really did seem like the KFWB banner should have been "All murders, all the time. Where the murders come first." But, as I eased "over the pass" into Simi, a sense of tranquility came over me, home, sweet home. Next stop, Valhalla.

-BMRC-6/12/08-End edits-

Taking the second exit off the 118, I drove a short way to the entry road of Club Valhalla, formerly known as Club Ecstasy and, before that, Club Ambrosia. It was only 8 pm, and the lot didn't officially open until 8:30 pm, but I needed to visit the "Walk of Love" before there was a big club crowd. At the gate on the top of a small hill, with steep sides overlooking the highway and most of Simi, was the light-bedecked, fountain-enhanced mini-paradise for dancers. The very young gate attendant looked new to shaving, but he was well trained by the head security guy, Jamie, who really was himself a glorified bouncer. With his new name badge proudly displayed, Nick, the gatekeeper, repeated the line he needed for the moment.

"Sorry Sir, but the parking lot doesn't open until 8:45 pm, and the club doors are only opened at 9 pm."

Trying to read the gatekeeper's name badge and talk at the same time, I spoke slowly. "Thanks ah-h-h, Nick. Can you get Jamie on the intercom and tell him Mr. G would like a moment of his time? Thank you."

Stepping into the small booth that was the domain of the gatekeeper, Nick clicked on his radio and waited for Jamie to respond. It only took a few seconds, although Jamie could have been in Fresno for all the static and noise.

K-K-Kshshshshs, "Yah Nick, what's happenin'?" tweeeeeeeep

Click click, "A-a-a-h Jamie?" sque-e-e-el-ch-ch

Fo-o-o-weeep, "Yah Nick, go ahead." shr-r-rp

Click...click, "A-a-a-h, there's a guy here. He wants to talk to you; he says he's Mr. G." Clack!

Zzzzt-zzzt, "Ya ..., great; put a comp on his window and let him in. Tell him I'll be right out." B-u-u-eeee-t

"Sir, Jamie says he'll be right out to see you. Uh, just drive up to that crimson fountain and he'll be out in a minute."

"Well, thanks Nick; it's a pleasure meeting you."

"Thank you, sir."

With that, Nick handed me a pink card marked "COMP" for my dashboard and went to open the gate. I said thanks again as I passed him. Being the lonely gatekeeper was the first job most bouncers got at Valhalla. There, they watched the "pretty people" drive by all night, every night, and they could only dream of the day when they could go into the club, during hours when the floors were sparkling clean, to collect cover charges. Then, if they had the proper training, they too could heave vomiting drunks and pimply idiots "out on their asses", but only when appropriate, of course. These dreams oft included many distressed damsels who turned to these men of iron to help them in their hour of need, maychance starting their balky chariots in the pouring rain. Or, if the ultimate "pinnacle of rep" was reached, said damsels would ask the lucky Valhalla staff member, in his clean, burgundy blazer armor, to escort them to their castles, because "my dum-ass girlfriend, who said she wouldn't do this anymore, left me here and took off with that guy who said he was inna band, and that creepy guy over there keeps lookin at me". Yes, tis a world of fantasy and a small bit of heaven, located between the real world and the starry sky.

Of course, by day, the joint looks like a big beer warehouse, with lots of stucco chipping off, and a two acre parking lot with thin cracked blacktop which oozes sticky puddles of tar during hot August days. In sunlight, the place is better seen as the cash machine it is, crawling with accountants, liquor salesmen, and maintenance men who change out at least a hundred of the club's four thousand light-polluting bulbs every day.

Ah yes ..., a place worthy of the dance club gods, this Valhalla.

Jamie came walking out of the club with a firm step and the sharp eyes of a guy who only woke up two hours earlier, went to the health club for a little breakfast, a couple laps around the pool, ten minutes with the weights to open the pores a little and tone a few muscles, into the steam for a cleansing, followed by a twice-weekly cut and comb out for his hair. He made Mr. Saturday Night Fever, John Travolta, look sloppy and wussy. Only the head of security was able to skip the club uniform, so tonight, Jamie was in black slacks and a black turtleneck with a glossy silver blazer. I had known Jamie for six or seven seven years and had helped him move along since he was the gatekeeper, especially when it came to inside "info" in the sound system biz.

ABC edits

Fantasy atmosphere aside, the money at Valhalla was made on liquor, and two things increased beverage sales; dancing up a sweat, and babes dancing that jungle-rhythmic dance of the ages while guys watched. Both absolutely depended on the sound system. Having been an Imagineer with Disney, I had all aspects of the sound business down cold. From John Meyer up north to Cetec Gauss down south, and all the JBLs and Cerwin Vegas in between, I had been there and done that. The AES was my entry pass, but I knew the mythology too, whether it was Ludwig Septmeyer and Jimmy Lansing or the latest digital toys. What to have and what not to try lest the devil himself takes his toll and..."the sound system goes down", because whatever happens, there must be dance-able sound or the club would instantly turn into a glittering mausoleum. Jamie had entrenched himself in the club by remembering just enough of what I explained about sound systems to be a double-threat. The owner of the club had come to depend on him, even helping Jamie out of some tight jams a few times in the long-forgotten "era of stupidity" that minor, small-town stardom and a steady paycheck can induce in young men. Jamie approached my car as I rolled down the window, and exchanged a mystical secret handshake with me as part of his greeting.

"Hey G-Man, whats happening? Shit man, I haven't seen you in months. You missed a really killer party last Thursday night, and I mean Kill-Ller. You know that blond chick Sheila, with the eyes that cross sometimes when she's had five or six drinks? Well, she had three stewardesses in town stayin' at her place, and so Tommy and Sam and I got invited to this party at her place, and these babes were in-fucking-credible. They musta done each of us guys at least twice, maybe more. I lost track after five or six times, and then when we ran outa condoms at nine or ten in the morning and we were all too wrecked to drive, they cooked us the most un-fucking-believeable breakfast you can imagine. The stew who did me is comin' back with two other friends this weekend, and Sheila asked about you 'cause we were one guy short. So are you ready to cum your brains out, or what?" With Jamie so hyped up on his latest triumph, I wasn't in a balloon-bursting frame of mind.

"Well, that SOUNDS great Jamie, but I need a few favors right now, then maybe tomorrow I'll have a handle on the weekend; I'll email ya. Right now I need to park my car for ten minutes in the underground garage and make a quick check-out on the "Walk of Love". Then, I need to have you let me through the truck exit gate in case I'm being followed, so you will be able to turn whoever it is around at the other gate. Then email me to tell me who was tailin' me. Finally, I need your house keys so I can get the camel hair jacket I lent you, the two ties and the slacks and sweater as well. Can we do all that?"

Jamie was very serious about things now. "Hey, absolutely G-Man. I had that coat dry-cleaned just like I said, ya know, after Sam hurled on it that one night, and now it looks great and doesn't smell or anything. Hey, I really appreciate you lending it to me for that dinner I had with Mr. Samson and the club's investors. He even commented that it looked really classy and that maybe my taste in clothes was improving. So, what's happening with the back gate?" (frowning) "I hope that redhead that gave you trouble last year isn't back being crazy. Man, I am so sorry about hooking you up with her. I mean, how did I know she was a psycho and not takin' her lithium. Or is your problem the husband of that Swedish babe from Solvang who tried to run you down in the lot here? Hey, that was just bad luck. I mean, she spent what, a week at your place, and the one night you two want to come here for some dance fun, her asshole husband shows up. I hear she's got a restraining order against him now, and she came in four or five weeks ago askin' about you. Hey, you wanna borrow my Magna 65; it's very radical-looking, it just fucking burns the road and chicks love it?" Sometimes, I felt Jamie was a bit scattered, but he was definitely a reasonable guy. I also trusted he would help me if I ever needed him.

"Hey, thanks for the offer, but I don't have time to take a ride at the moment, maybe next week. First, lets park this boat. Afterwards I'll go over to your place. But just now, I need to check something out on the "Walk of Love", so lemme into the garage, okay?"

"Ya, okay but you can't stay long, and you'll need to change clothes before you can get into the club, cuz you know the rules, no cowboys allowed. And if you dropped something on the walk, you better come back in the daytime. Man, you could break an ankle trying to check out that hillside in the dark. Shit man, we just had a babe who broke a heel doin' somethin' stupid out there, and it took an ambulance AND a wrecker to get her out. Man, can you believe that, a fucking wrecker because she tipped over one of the big tree pots sliding down the hill and the damn thing rolled down the hill on top of her leg? Those pots must weigh five hundred pounds. They had the wrecker lift it off her leg before they could get her into the ambulance. Lucky Mr. Samson just put up that big sign about the "walk here at your own risk" stuff. Man, no one was dancin' that night. Liquor sales were down 80% that night, Eighty percent. The clubbers were all watching that drunk chick sobbing because she had to pee, and she couldn't move with that big pot on her, so she had to pee on herself, can you believe it? Man, what a fucking, unreal night that was."

"No problem, I'll drive over to the underground. Meet me there, and I'll be careful, but I have to look for something."

"Okay, hey man, it is good to fucking see you again. I thought you had stashed yourself away someplace with those two in-line skate babes I saw you with months ago, and I wondered if I would EVER see you again."

As I pulled out I could see by the grin on his face that he wanted a report, but since my rep is that `I don't dis the ladies I sleep with', I could only give him innuendo. "Ya, but Jamie, then I would have died a very happy man, right?"

"Right on G-Man, abso-fucking-lutely; give me one minute."

As I eased the car down the inclined driveway, Jamie raised the garage door, and then he let me out before he closed it. He explained the keypad entry code, then he went back to opening the club. I headed for the little "Walk of Love" to see what I could see. The location of Valhalla offered me a special bonus when it came to seeing what was what. Not only could one see the traffic on the highway and most of Simi's streets, but it just happened to provide a perfect, total-coverage view looking down into my yard and parts of my house. Pulling the 8x monocular out of my vest pocket, I checked the house very carefully from one of the shadowed parts of the "Walk". Sure enough, there was a Ventura County Sheriffs' patrol car parked right in front, waiting for my return. It must have been the change of shift, because a second patrol car drove up Evergreen, went past the other Patrol car, turned around at the end of the dead end street, then came back to where the first car was parked. Just as the second car approached from behind, the first car moved forward and then the officers inside got out to exchange some chat and a clipboard.

All at once, my neighbor's motion detector light came on, and every dog within a block began barking. A figure dressed in black tried to pull back into the shadows, but it took five minutes for the light to go off and the dogs to quiet down. I thought I saw the figure circle around and try to climb the wall of the neighbor whose wall corner adjoined mine, but that was worse for him, because he startled the fifty to sixty guinea pigs the neighbor raised in little, heated hutches in his backyard, and when the guinea pigs started to squeal the dogs went crazy. The cattie-corner neighbor came out with his shotgun for show, because he wanted to scare off the local kids who were giving his guinea pigs stress-related heart failures. There was no way this night stalker was ever going to get into my house with its twelve different alarm systems and a real tsunami alert siren. But, I might get another two hundred dollar public disturbance fine for using an unapproved siren, and I had to stop that from happening. I wasn't getting into my house that night, but nobody else would either.

When I saw Jamie again to get his house keys and agree on where to stash them afterwards, I had him go with me to see the idiot who was trying to break into one of the houses in my neighborhood. Jamie called the cops on his cell phone and the police tracking helicopter was overhead in four minutes. Moments later, two patrol cars came down the street parallel to mine, and out jumped four policemen, while the drivers cruised along slowly, keeping in radio contact. Once the copter flushed the trespasser out of the bushes, two doors down from my house, but on the block behind, I thought the story was over. In Simi, once you are IDed there is nowhere to go, because Simi IS a valley, and the town is at the closed end.

But somehow, the intruder got to his Jeep a block away. He eluded the other patrol cars by driving through yards, and then beat the copter by driving for a while under the elevated freeway. By that time though, there were twenty more patrol cars chasing him. The club's higher-altitude location, two hundred feet up from the valley floor, provided a great vantage point to see the whole pageant unfold. Eventually, there was a cordon set up and road blocks everywhere, including the freeway on and off ramps. There was bound to be a description, including height, weight, build, and color of clothes, circulating among the various police by now, and this guy really didn't have a chance, even if it took hours for the cops to chase him down. Eventually, one of the Simi City police cars came by to get a report from Jamie. The city cops knew Valhalla and Jamie really well, and they liked it that he kept the drug-dealing at the club to a minimum. When I heard Nick tell Jamie that a Simi police car was coming up the hill, that was my cue to exit via the truck entrance gate. A fast wave to Jamie and I was on my way. When Jamie knew what had happened, he would email me on his broadband cell phone and I'd call him for details. It wasn't 9:30 pm yet, and I was on my way again. Only three quick stops and I could finally get some much-needed rest.

By heading west, away from the police who were trying to catch the interloper, it was smooth sailing over to the 6-2-12 Cleaners. I picked up a rectangular bundle of laundry, and a few shirts on hangers. Going further west, I came to Jamie's house where I let myself in. Jamie was not totally superficial, but he might have been a bit shallow. Half of his life revolved around naked interactions with babes, and the rest he used to keep his job, eat, sleep, go to the health club, pay a few bills, and ride his motorcycles. It wasn't much of a life, but there was a breathless simplicity to it. His house reflected this. The front room had a wide-screen TV, a monster stereo, three couches, and a bar along one wall under a few lamps. His bedroom was even simpler. There was a California King-sized water bed, two lamps, a telephone answering machine, and a dresser, although for asymmetry, one and a half of the walls were covered with mirrored squares. I retrieved all my clothes from his closet and stowed them in my car. Jamie's answering machine was very busy. Ursula from Solvang called and said she'd call again. Jenny called and asked why Jamie hadn't called back. Sheila called and said she'd be at the club later and was tall Tom back in town. I was tempted to pick up the phone, but I was on a mission and didn't have time. Heading out the front, I locked up. The porch light at Jamie's didn't work, but by unscrewing the top of the fixture, it created a convenient place to store keys. There was already a set in there, and I just dropped my set on top of them.

After stopping at the drug store for a toothbrush, paste, and mouthwash, I headed past the library and made a quick stop at the U-Store-It complex to pick up the huge pistol Tim wanted to buy, then I jumped back onto Highway 118 headed west. The highway ended a few miles further along, dumping me into Moorpark, a little bedroom community. I headed north out of Moorpark on Cal Highway 23. This was one route which was never recommended by the tourism clubs. Along Highway 23 headed for Fillmore are some of the largest chicken ranches in the world, and on a hot day the stench could possibly kill you. I was incredibly lucky that night, because the wind was blowing from the east to west, which was rare, and the awful smell was blowing away from the road. After you drive for a few miles past the chicken ranches on Highway 23, you come to one of the most dangerous switchback roads in California. This thinly-paved road was covered with dusty gravel and sand. It's heavily used by trucks loaded with gravel and sand blasted from the same hillsides the road is cut through when it was built. If anything goes bad on your car's steering or braking while driving this stretch of road from the top of the cliffs in the back of the Santa Susanna mountains until you get to the valley floor about two thousand feet below, you could easily bounce down the steep switchback and cliff non-stop to the bottom. There were a fair number of accidents on that road with drivers going over the edge and nearly all of them resulted in fatalities. There was never any tailgating on this nasty stretch of gravel-and sand-covered road. One little mistake and, suddenly, you'd be going from driving to flying. But, I had driven this road hundreds of times to go golfing just across the valley, and so I knew where to be careful. If it had been daytime, I might have stopped to admire the view that a two thousand foot vertical drop can afford.

Once you reach the valley separating Moorpark from Fillmore, you pass a number of very lush orange groves, the Elkins Ranch golf course, and finally a bridge over the headwaters of the Ventura River, where Highway 23 has become Chambersburg Road. In Fillmore proper it's called A Street until finally it intersects with Ventura Street. Then, you turn east towards Valencia as Ventura Street becomes Telegraph Road and eventually Highway 126. The drive to the Santa Clarita Valley is quite pleasant and, in the daytime it's very pretty. You pass fish hatcheries, dry river beds where vintage aircraft are stored, Lake Piru parklands and dry washes where dune buggies and motocross riders play at being Mad Max. Eventually, the highway puts you into Valencia near Magic Mountain amusement park. I drove by the Valencia golf course and parked outside the condo with my lights off for a few minutes. When I felt sure I wasn't being followed, I went inside, and after opening up the place, I unloaded my car. What a day. What an incredible day. I needed to set up the condo so I could live in it, call Bernie, and then wait for Mona to call. Oh well, no rest for the weary.

Hit Counter

All rights reserved. Copyright 2005.