Big Bear Lake, California!
Posted: Sunday, August 21, 2011
by Octavia Hansen
Octavia Hansen
Have you heard of Big Bear Lake, California? It was news to me. So I went. What a place! What fun! I was there. I know.
The adventure starts just getting there. Well, it is for me. Las Vegas, though recognized as the playground of the United States, can still wear thin if you live here. The sky is always bright at night, hot days seem to go on forever. It's a desert. It's an oasis in the desert. I find myself yearning for cool air, dark skies with stars and grass in front of houses. Most residences in Southern Nevada sport a rigidly enclosed area of rocks, sand or dirt. Convenient as it is for water conservation and general maintenance, Norman Rockwell never painted a yard like that.
Friends told me Big Bear Lake was a winter playground for Los Angeles, San Bernadino and San Diego. Okay, so it's busy in winter. At that altitude, approximately seven thousand feet, I'd be surprised if it DIDN'T snow. I'm not a snow bunny, summer is my time. Spring is really my time but getting anywhere at that time of the year is juggling beyond my entertainment capacity. It took me a long time to realize being self-employed did not mean losing money when I slept, or ate, or did anything for myself not directly work related. Like all work -- time, distance and a vacation away from it is necesssary to sustain productivity. You buying that? I do.
From Las Vegas, the highway west is dismal. I'd rather travel at night when the stars come all the way down to the ground but that's not always practical. And, receiving life saving travel advice many years ago from a stranger at the next gas pump, I was warned not to drive unknown mountains. Sounded sinister. I've traveled most of my life, mostly by car; nothing has stopped me so far. Las Vegas receded in the rearview mirror, open spaces, then truck butts. It's my entertaining way of referring to eighteen-wheelers who, though they always are slower, seem to be forever in front of me. Say "truck butts" to yourself every time you see one while driving and you'll laugh.
Barstow is a highway hub in Southern California where you fill up so you can go somewhere else. If it's known for anything else, there's not a billboard proclaiming it. Not a tourist destination. So I filled up.
Driving out West, or off the multi-laned interstate, can be a pleasant experience but you have to be cautious. Give yourself lots of time, always fill up when ever possible, take a camera, be ready for survival conditions no matter how pleasant the weather. This is where watching "worst case survival" television comes in life-saving handy. Pay attention. A detail can save your life. Carry water. Have a blanket with you. Keep a survival kit in the car, AAA can tell you how to stock it without being a member. Even if you just have a flat tire . . . Is it night? Do you have a flashlight? Temperatures can soar or drop in as little as two hours anywhere. Every year someone freezes to death in Denver, Colorado. What? Did the snow surprise someone AGAIN?
But I'm on the road and things are great. No, really. It's great. No surprises. I'm a sucker for detailed maps, if there was one naming trees and ranches, I'd have that, too. Las Vegas is in a valley; everything is up hill. So I'm going up hill, and up, and up, a little glide down just to lull me into some easy driving . . . and then uphill. Not just uphill -- twisty, turny, windy uphill, signs warning about rock slides, against trailers, buses and anyone with a queasy stomach to go another way. I'm for the adventure and my little car can make it anywhere. On the last ferry out from Port Angeles, Washington, to Victoria, Canada, on a Friday evening, my little car was small enough to be the last one on . . . and the first one off! I even found a parking space in the French Quarter of New Orleans once -- that's small!
On California Highway 18, after Lucerne Valley, heading to Big Bear Lake, there are no billboards. There is no room. There are also no guard rails, very few painted lane lines, and when the sign indicates a curve at twenty mph, you better slow down to fifteen. Still there is always someone riding my bumper trying to go faster. I always pull over. I'll get to their accident right after they do. When I could look out, the vista went on forever. The only other way to view scenery like this is out of an airplane window. Really worth it.
Hmmm, a valley floor, trees getting taller, a few interesting rock formations . . . then I'm here! I'm REALLY here! Open the window and smell the freshness. Actual pine, none of that phony bathroom scent. There's a breeze -- it's not 110°! What little traffic there is, is used to tourists and pedestrians . . . slow . . . friendly . . . no one seems to be in a hurry. Hotels abound, every food is available, strangers wave. I'm suspicious. It's just my way.
But Big Bear Lake makes me relax. There is plenty of parking. Plenty of walking. A feast for the eyes. It's green. Even though it's full of people, it's almost like you are surrounded by a great big family. The main road skirts the lake -- something about seeing peaceful water and intensely clear sky makes me drop my shoulders to what is supposed to be their normal place and exhaling air I didn't know I held so deep. I think I finally caught my breath in the thin air after mountain climbing in the car. All of it's good.
It was only for a weekend. I don't think I could have taken such clean living any longer. I walked a lot. I shopped, I read a lot of menus. For what I thought was a small town, variety was every where in every thing. I can't believe for the great outdoors there was still a multi-movie-plex and bowling. I guess during heavy snows, indoors has its place. I did see a few Winter photographs posted around the town, snow drifts up the to tops of people and plows. No thanks.
After my eyes adjusted to everything being lush greens and intense blues, I looked at art, jewelry, saw signs of live theatre, live entertainment, walking tours, lake tours, driving tours, no bars on the windows . . . not on houses, not businesses, not even a window bar dealer. Refreshing.
Everything is on a hill. The hills go right down to the lake. Your legs will get a workout. Bring hiking shoes, you'll probably want to be in them the entire time. Gals, you will feel those calves and bums firming up with every step. Walk long enough and you'll feel yourself still vibrating with the exertion. There are places to be with people and places to be alone. I've never seen so many benches waiting for my convenience. I personally tried out seating in front of almost everything.
Considering I don't like dogs, I will modify the statement when visiting Big Bear Lake by qualifying it with 'I don't like untrained dogs' or 'I don't like irresponsible dog owners.' There was practically no barking. No dogs jumped on me and there were no piles of reminders on the streets or sidewalks from the animals. Maybe there aren't bad dogs, just bad owners.
For the quantity of food I consumed, I lost weight with all the walking. I would go so far as to speculate that if I visited there enough, I would soon have that Betty Grable pin-up look from behind that I covet so much from my local place of fitness. Exercise was never this happy before. I did look upon green ski runs, ever rising peaks, trail heads easily followed and abounding picnic areas. Exercise is easy this way. You don't even know you're doing it . . . until later when your previously unused muscles tell you that you did.
Good thing I always carry a camera. As an art director, my shots are clear and perfectly framed. Still, it's almost impossible to capture the feeling of a lakeside village with so much community feeling. I'm sure the horse carriages turn into sleighs with bells when snow blankets the area, and hot chocolate is rampant. Maybe people fly in for the winter weekends, I can't imagine taking your life in your hands up and down those moutains -- chains or no chains.
There are still hints of reality . . . closed businesses, more house sale signs than looks healthy for a neighborhood, half filled parking lots that should be packed. Just the times.
Still, it's hard to be tense and bitter with laughter in the air. I enjoy other people enjoying themselves. It was close to a traffic jam on the lake, lots of people taking a slow ride, waving at sailors and landlubbers alike. When I put my hand into the water along the shore, it was surprisingly warm. I'm sure there are scientific explanations of water, sun, altitude and season . . . I just liked the idea of comfortable water.
When it came time to leave, I had to consider the time of day. Vaguely familiar with the return treacherous roads, I was still not ready for a night time assault. Setting sunlight also showed landscapes invisible from the ascending direction as I rounded every turn. Not only did I gradually come down from the mountains, but the temperature was inversely proportional towards the valley floor. And traffic picked up. Maybe they were coasting all the way. Can you still coast in an automatic vehicle? Or they were just as wild sailing down as climbing up?
The way is always shorter going home. It's familiar. But I find it's not always faster. Maybe it's because I'm still thinking of mountain scenery. I take lots of pictures and use them as screen savers later. There's a bitter-sweet to this . . . wonderful when I was there . . . wistfully sad that I came home. I fantasize what it would be like to live in such a place, then remind myself I visited under the best possible conditions. Summer. I am young(ish), healthy and affluent enough to appreciate it. When I see such places, I'm so glad I had the adventure.
There's an old joke that when you are on your death bed, your dying words will NOT be: "I wish I would have spent more time at the office."
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)I inhabited Pasadena for years, Palm Springs for years, no Big Bear, then finally, a bunch of us decided to have a party at Big Bear. It is so "un southerncal" which is what makes it so great. It's hard to forget once you have been there. Great article.
Yours,
Christofer
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