Smelly Pot, the only place to go when you’re hankering for stinky tofu.
Max was sitting in his car seat outside the local Smelly Pot, waiting for his taste of stinky tofu, when he got word that we were headed to Northern California on a trip that would include a visit to his stepbrother, Jet.
The Malt was not amused. He doesn’t cotton to dogs in general and loathes big dogs.
By definition, anything larger than a plus size shih-tzu is Max’s sworn enemy.
(He also doesn’t like dark colored dogs. You might say they are his, uh, bête noire. Snork, snork.)
Jet is a Golden Retriever. He’s a member of our son’s family in Sacramento and successor to Tucker, a beloved 13 year old pooch, also a GR, who passed away last year.
Jet is at that awkward stage where he is chronologically still a puppy but has achieved most of his full growth. He’s clumsy, friendly, affectionate, strong and easily distracted.
Sometimes you’d swear his brain was the size of a walnut and other times that characterization would be an exaggeration.
Puppy Jet, before he became the Sith Dog, Terrorizor of Maltese.
Max and Jet met six months ago when Jet was a fluff bundle who could be intimidated, or at least ignored, by a senior Maltese. Since then Jet has developed into a fine 65 pound specimen.
He eats big and poos bigger, but has still to learn that “Off!” means more than a brand name mosquito repellent. The dreaded, needle-sharp puppy teeth are gone but his paws are still outsized for his frame.
Jet doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He’s just a goofy slobberhound who lives his life at 130 miles per hour, bowling over everything in his path including certain small, white and occasionally ill-tempered fur nuggets.
I think you can sense where this is going.
Our trip north was planned to take two days. Not because of the recent deluges that hit California. Not because of distance or driving times.
Nope, the trip was scheduled in a leisurely fashion largely because the fur king and the Alpha Japanese Female have equivalent-sized bladders and require frequent stops to leg-lift and squat, respectively.
No longer the little pushover.
Contrast that with yours truly who treats every long distance drive as a personal challenge to his manly ability to avoid comfort stops even if that strategy requires empty bottles and risks indecent exposure to long haul truckers.
But I digress.
We planned to rip up the freeway to the middle of the central valley and then head east into the foothills along the Sierra Nevada range, staying high enough to enjoy the forests but low enough to avoid any snow.
It appears that there may be more civic clubs than pizza parlors. Barely.
The first night out of Rancho Cucaracha took us to Oakhurst, known as the southern gateway to famed Yosemite National Park.
It’s a town of about 3,000 water logged souls living at 2,200 feet elevation along the Fresno River and surviving mostly on the tourist dollar.
There are lots of the following in Oakhurst: pizza places, gift shops, pizza places, statues of bears, white people, rain, pickup trucks and Labrador retrievers. And pizza places.
You won’t find many of these in Oakhurst: fresh vegetables, Asians (exactly 3 according to the 2010 Census), Prius cars, suntans, kale, quinoa or frou-frou dogs.
We rolled into town, the AJF immediately increasing the Asian population by 33%, and stayed at a Best Western which was perched on a hillside surrounded by lovely foliage and landscaping and featured the noisiest plumbing east of the Fukushima Dai-Ichi Nuclear Power Plant.
The most dangerous of these is the one in the sweater – 1/4 the total of that day’s Asian population in Oakhurst.
After strolling the downtown area we debated how best to spend the rest of the hour and decided a drive through the area sounded good.
We meandered along country lanes and took photos of bear statues and large logs and wondered how Spook Lane got its unusual name.
Returning to the lodge we stopped for… you guessed it, pizza.
Speaking of bear statues, Oakhurst boasts of an apparently world famous talking bear statue located in front of a real estate office.
The life size, fiberglass ursine has been around since 1963 and will spout about wilderness ecology and such when a visitor presses a button.
Okay, it’s not the Mona Lisa. It’s not even up there with the World’s Largest Twine Ball as a roadside attraction but it is a certified California Historical Landmark.
Other irresistible tourist sites include a 25 foot, chainsaw-carved Statue of Liberty and the statue of Gabby the Wooden Gold Miner in nearby Coarsegold. Sadly, the iconic 1,000 year old “tunnel tree“fell over a couple of weeks earlier.
This Talking Bear is world famous. We know this because there is a sign that says so.
After the day’s excitement, the night passed peacefully save for the guest above us who was afflicted with concrete feet and an incessant need to walk back and forth to the bathroom where he or she would flush the toilet repeatedly, each flush sounding like a 747 reversing engines after a particularly hard landing.
The following morning we woke to rain and left over pizza.
After a complimentary breakfast, which garnered no compliments, we left for a drive along scenic Highway 49, the “Gold Country Route,” which starts in Oakhurst and heads north through many historic mining communities of the 1849 California gold rush.
Yeah, the name adds to the value of the real estate. Ghoul Drive and Slasher Street are good, too.
Highway 49 twists and climbs past panoramic vistas dominated by rocky meadows, black oaks, and piñon pines with Douglas firs and redwoods on the higher slopes.
Over-achieving wildflowers added color in the fields even though the calendar said February.
Dozens of lakes, rivers, and streams provided dramatic counterpoints to an already attractive geology.
Our travels took us along misty routes through places whose names resonate with California history: Sutter Creek, El Dorado, Jackson, and Angel’s Camp – site of Mark Twain’s famous story “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”.
Yeah, well, we didn’t stop at any of these places.
We motored through because a) it was raining cats and canines, b) we’ve been to all these towns many times and c) the aforementioned male proclivity towards non-stop driving.
Besides, Max had a date with destiny. Jet was waiting. But that’s a tale for another time.
I promise, the next installment of this story is coming soon.
Categories: The Dog From Rancho Cucaracha
WITHIN THE K STREETS 
So good to see you guys back! Anxiously awaiting the next installment of ‘The Adventures of Max and Jet.’
Life is good in CA? Max found a groomer who does not like….uh, bows in his ears?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Lois! Though different than Hawaii, life in California is indeed good and all are well. Max has adapted easily and I think he prefers the “Mainland” because of fewer bugs and lower humidity and all those things that afflict pink-skinned pups in the islands. As he ages (he’ll be 10 this summer) he’s become even more a creature looking out for his comfort.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I hope you all had a good time. I’m looking forward to hearing how Max and Jet got on. I would call Jet small, so if he gave Max too much trouble I could have a woof with him.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very true. Compared to the lovely Clowie, a 65 pound retriever like the Jetster is just a small fluff. As you’ll soon see, Jet may need a wise word from Ms. Clowie to put him in his place!
LikeLike
Kyla loved road trips. I fly.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Snork, snork….bird pun!
LikeLike
Well, it’s about dang time! I was wondering about Max last week. Jet does look very cute, if stupid. So interesting to hear about talking bears and the visual image of the AJF squatting and standing next to bears and raising Asian populations by large amounts, though by the amount of pizza consumed, I’d say you both are at least a quarter Italian at this point. Sorry you missed the tunnel tree. I’m pretty certain the guest above you consistently books rooms above us when we are forced to skip the Homeaway and use a hotel. I curse him and his grandchildren.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey Kerbs! Good to hear from you; I’ve enjoyed tracking your funny blog! Yeah, it’s fun to visit different places with the Malt because he’s such a good traveler even though he requires more frequent pee stops as he ages. Wait a minute, was that him or me…can’t remember any more.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I feel victorious if I can go 4 hrs on a trip w/ no pee breaks. I feel like stopping is weakness, but I guess dog bladders get old just like people bladders.
LikeLike
So glad that his lordship finds life easier these days – less baths must be a joy both to him and to you.
‘After strolling the downtown area we debated how best to spend the rest of the hour’….good tip for the prospective unwary visitor!
As to the relief of the female bladder where no suitable provision is available, did you never hear of that wonderful South African gift to the world – the Easy-Wee? Consisting of a funnel and flexible tube hospitals bought it by the thousands which left me wondering
A…why hospitals did not have suitable provision
and
B…whether the users were obliged to shout ‘Gardy loo’ as they hung the pipe from the windows of the ward.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’ve done it again…sent me burrowing to discover what the heck “gardy loo” meant. I swear you’ll give me an edumacation whether I want one or not!
Interjection. gardyloo. (Scotland, obsolete) Used by servants in medieval Scotland to warn passers-by of waste about to be thrown from a window into the street below. The term was still in use as late as the 1930s and 1940s, when many people had no indoor toilets.
I picture large groups of Costa Ricans standing in the mercado and repeating obsolete Scottish interjections taught to them by Helen Devries. Cultural contamination to be sure.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just wait until they graduate from theory to practice…
LikeLike
Aloha Tom, enjoyed reading your blog. Looks like you’re all adjusting to California life.
My “plus-size Shih Tzu” Prince Charming passed on a few weeks ago. It’s been absolutely heartbreaking. He was diagnosed with anal gland cancer a few months ago and had surgery to remove the infected gland but it had already spread to his liver. He stopped eating and refused his meds. His last night we walked around Magic Island and he even took a few steps in the water, then he collapsed. That night we invited the Tamayori’s to visit with him in the lobby. Prince boldly walked down the grass ramp and lay on the “forbidden” grass area while the Tamayoris said their goodbye. That evening he began howling so Laura and I took him to the vet 12 hours ahead of our planned visit. Three am in the morning he passed peacefully. He was 15 years old and such a joy.
How fortunate we are to have the unconditional love of our furry pets. They encourage us to laugh and play, to get out and walk and to feel needed. We are so blessed to be able to experience the joy of true companionship. Hugs Jackie
Jackie Young-sent from my iPad.
ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR
Chew your way into a new world. Munch leaves. Molt. Rest. Molt again. Self-reinvention is everything. (Amy Gerstler)
>
LikeLike
I’m so sorry to hear this, Jackie and our condolences go out to you and Laura. Prince was such a fine friend to Max and a joy to Machi and I. We will miss him but will always smile when we think of him and the times together. At 15 he enjoyed many years with you, the best dog parent any fluff could have and his life was very happy because of your care and love for him. The “Dogfather” will hold a special place in our hearts.
LikeLike
I am incredibly behind reading blogs but would be sorely remiss if I didn’t comment on you and Max’s latest adventure. Sounds like quite the experience and I am so looking forward to hearing ‘the rest of the story.’ Sam sends greetings to Max and says go easy on Jet, and thinks big dogs have gotten a bad rap. He thinks Max should try to think of big dogs simply as a large pile of fur and nothing more. 🐾
LikeLike