San Diego for the Winter

Me at the Boston Library this fall.

For the last fourteen years, my wife and I have made extended visits to San Diego. When we lived in the Phoenix area, we went in summer. Now that we live in Omaha, we go in the winter. We arrive just after Christmas and return home just before Easter. In the meantime, I'll do a little surfing, visit friends and relatives, and hopefully do a lot of writing.

My current book project is The Templar Reprisals. It's a modern day thriller using the same cast of characters as The Shut Mouth Society and Deluge. Greg Evarts is the police chief for Santa Barbara and his wife Patricia Baldwin is a UCSB professor and renowned Abraham Lincoln historian. Fun story.

My latest book, No Peace, A Steve Dancy Tale has leaped out of the gate faster than any of my previous books. I'm pleased it has been well received by Steve Dancy fans. I'm already doing research for the next Steve Dancy, so stay tuned.

I'm participating in Constituting America's 90-Day essay event again this year. I'll let you know when my essays are published, but if you're a Constitution enthusiast, you'll want to bookmark the site to read all 90 essays. More on this with the essays start publishing in February.

Another reminder: If you would like a free Steve Dancy short story, Kindle book, or a audio book, send me a request at jimbest@jamesdbest.com. I have some left over promo codes that you can share with friends and family. (Or strangers, if you're inclined.)

Honest Westerns filled with dishonest characters.

Why things have been quiet here

I just returned from a great vacation that explored the northeast of North America. My wife and I flew to Montreal to meet my sister and sister-in-law for a three-week trip. We spent three days sightseeing in Montreal and then boarded a sanely-sized ship to cruise the Saint Lawrence River around Nova Scotia and on to Boston. We stopped daily at Canadian and then American towns, with plenty of time to go ashore to explore and spend money. I used to live in Boston, so our four days there were nostalgic. We even took a day trip to Concord, my favorite New England town. Next, on to New York City for more sightseeing and a week with the grandkids. Just arrived home and tuckered out.

Did I get some writing done? I did. But not nearly as much as I thought I would. The ship moved at night from one interesting location to another, so down time on the cruse was limited. On occasion, I returned to the ship and let the women shop. When alone, I wrote while sipping whiskey in the Crow's Nest bar. Pretty cool environs.

Now I’m home and eager to write on a daily basis. That is, after I unpack, get the house winterized, go to a couple of my grandson’s soccer games, and pay a few bills. How in the world did I find time when I worked steady?

Don't forget to buy the latest Steve Dancy Tale

Arizona in Spring

Phoenix

We lived in Arizona for twenty-five years, then my wife and I moved to Nebraska to be close to our grandkids. Our life is busy, so I rarely thought about my previous home state. Last week, we visited friends in Arizona and I felt a sudden nostalgia for my old stomping grounds.

Every morning before breakfast, my friend and I walked the desert hills of his neighborhood. The weather was perfect and spring wildflowers bloomed everywhere. There is a stillness to the Arizona atmosphere that I have seldom encountered elsewhere. I used to say that there were two places in the world where you could deplane and immediately know your location by the feel of the air. One was Hawaii and the other Arizona. Different feel for each, but each unique. I also miss the desert landscape. Nebraska is flat, but in every direction, the Arizona skyline is serrated with craggy hills and mountains.

If it doesn't bite, and it's not poisonous, then it's not native.

Since I winter in San Diego, I can get good Mexican food anytime I want, but I forgot that Arizona Mexican food is spicier and the variety greater. Not as many taco shops, but more high end restaurants, some serving Mexico City cuisine that's outstanding.

The homes have a style unlike any other region of the country. Land is cheap, the temperature hot, and slab foundations means that even the largest homes are single-story with windows deeply recessed into the walls to ward off the sun. The architecture gives neighborhoods a spread out, open feel that's close to the ground. The big sky and vibrant colors invite you to enjoy the outdoors.

I encountered something I didn't like. With boom-town growth, traffic has become increasingly clogged, especially during work traffic hours. It's not as bad as Los Angeles, but frustrating just the same. When we moved to Phoenix in 1991, it took me thirty minutes to drive to work in off hours and thirty-five minutes in work traffic. A five minute penalty. That's all. That was nearly thirty years ago and the city's breathless growth has never paused. Now it's congestion galore.

Phoenix is called the Valley of the Sun. It's a fitting description because the sun dictates so much of life, architecture, and clothing styles. The sun isn't just a hot ball in the sky. Arizona has some of the best sunrises and sunsets in the world. And great nights. There is nothing like a cocktail and swim after supper in the warmth of a summer evening.

Damn. If my grandchildren were't so cute, I'd move back in a heartbeat.

Pine, Arizona. Where we had a summer cabin.

Road Trip From Seattle to Omaha

My sister lives in Long Beach, California and my brother in Kailua, Hawaii. I live mostly in Omaha, Nebraska, but spend winters in San Diego, California. We managed to get together at least once a year, usually in San Diego and Long Beach. This year, my brother-in-law talked us into a road trip. I'm glad he did.

Since he and my sister would be in Washington visiting his family, my brother and I decided to fly to Seattle and do a road trip to Omaha. After seeing our itinerary, my wife decided to join us, making five in one car. In those kind of close quarters, you need to get along.

Great trip. (If you're into family movies, here's a video recorded for posterity.) We traveled through Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Iowa, and Nebraska. Actually, my wife and I traveled through those states, but we chose to remain at home while the remainder of our crew drove back to California.

This is a big and beautiful country. If you haven't leisurely traveled the northwest, put it on your bucket list.

Return to The Scene of My Crime

What happens when a relentless downpour, politics, and street gangs attack California?

I recently arrived back in California, a state that my latest book makes soggier than a wet biscuit. Deluge is my first disaster story. Usually I kill off a villain or two, but not an entire state. Without disclosing a spoiler, Deluge fits nicely in the disaster story genre, which means that the powers-that-be eventually listen to the smarty pants who keep proposing a wild scheme to save the day, or in this case, the state. Not having previously written in the genre, I had to do wide-ranging research. To my wife’s chagrin, I watched every disaster film produced in Tinsel Town.  Well, maybe not all of them, but the ones I watched ran the gamut from the still entertaining Twister, to the classic Andromeda Strain, to the recklessly realistic Sharknado. Needless to say, I had trouble sleeping for months.

Why a disaster story? Steve Dancy and his new wife insisted on being left alone for their honeymoon, so I needed to document other happenings. I always intended to do a follow-up to The Shut Mouth Society, but the sequel I have in mind requires my characters to age a bit, so they needed a transitional adventure. Now that I’ve given them one, they may not speak to me again. It should be okay. Since I’ve returned to Steve, Virginia, et al., they have time to get over being peeved.

I’m staying at my San Diego condo for three weeks. I going to do a little surfing and a lot of writing on the next Steve Dancy Tale. I plan to have the seventh in the series available by Christmas. So far, so good. I like the storyline and it has bad guys—and gals—aplenty. In the meantime, try Deluge. It’s the most adrenaline you’ll can experience while reclining in a Barcalounger.

Here’s a snippet:

Evarts did a quick reverse K-turn to get going in the opposite direction. As he accelerated down the slight incline, a rush of brown water came blowing across the road in front of him. It looked like a dozen fire hoses all sprayed in unison. If he tried to stop, he’d slide into the torrent, maybe sideways because of the slick pavement, so he pushed the gas pedal to the floorboard. Everyone except Evarts yelled as they hit the water. He gritted his teeth as he focused on timing a hard turn into the horizontal waterfall. When the water hit the truck, he had already turned into it as they blasted through the gush, emerging on the other side, the truck’s rear end swinging back and forth. Then he lost control. The truck spun around two full turns and righted itself, pointed down the road in the direction they had been heading. Lucky. He looked at his speedometer. He was rolling downhill at fifteen miles an hour. To hell with that. He punched it and they sped toward town.

The Shut Mouth Society

Deluge

How many New York minutes can you cram into nine days?

We have three grandchildren in New York City and we try to visit them as often as we can muster up the energy and coin. Let’s see, we were there nine days. In that time, we saw a Yankee’s game, celebrated our son’s birthday, celebrated our granddaughter’s birthday, watched our two grandsons play collectively ten—count them, ten—lacrosse games, saw our youngest grandson play two baseball games, watched our granddaughter perform in a school production of Pirates of Penzance, attended our grandson’s First Communion, ate innumerable meals in restaurants, and rode in countless cabs, ubers, and car services. All this, while being entertained by a new bernedoodle puppy that made the energizer bunny look languid. We even snuck in some private time to tour Radio City Music Hall on tickets we bought two years ago.

I know I forgot tons. The entire week is a blur. We’re a couple of retirees who on most days lumber from room to room to get enough exercise to laze about some more. When my wife yells that we need to go to CVS tomorrow, I mutter that she ruined my entire day. If it’s CVS and the hardware store, I get out my iPhone and schedule the chockablock activities in my calendar app.

We love New York, and we really do love all the activity, especially when the weather doesn’t mug us. This was not one of those visits. My son never leaves a Yankee game early, but in the top of the eighth, the stadium turned into the biggest icebox on the planet. A near capacity crowd was thinned to a few guys hawking sodas before the Yankees came to bat. We left our hotel in fine weather to walk to Radio City Music Hall. Halfway there, it turned blustery, cold, and wet. Us, without an umbrella or decent coats. We even entered the restaurant after our grandson’s first communion drenched, with teeth chattering. Last Saturday, the weather for the lacrosse games was perfect. Perfect. It was a trick. On Sunday we were smart enough to wear layers, but twenty wouldn’t have been enough. It went down to forty with gusts of hurricane proportions that made me understand what chilled to the bone really meant. I’ve posted recently about the springtime snow in Omaha. New York likes to do the chill bit without the pretty white fluffy stuff.

In the end, it was all good. We hit the Big Apple at the perfect time to see all three grandchildren strut their stuff, and we got in on some nifty celebrations. But we were exhausted by our last day. 

As we drove back into the city from some farm that boasted plenty of lacrosse fields, my daughter called from Omaha. She wanted to know what time we flew in that night. What’s up, I asked. Our Omaha grandson wanted to know if we could make it back in time for his Sunday evening baseball game.

House of Corn, Stone Presidents, and a Sioux Triumph

Mitchell Corn Palace

We recently moved from Arizona to Omaha and are still getting to know the neighborhood. Friends—and sometime relatives—wanted a road trip to check out the northern hinterlands. We blasted through Iowa to get to South Dakota to our first stop in Mitchell. We came to see the world renown Corn Palace.  Each year, the town decorates the outside of the building with artworks made entirely from corn cobs. Pretty cool. Or at least cooler than a big ball of twine.

K Bar S Lodge

After gawking at the ethanol cathedral, we speed down the road to spend the night at the K Bar S Lodge, which is in the shadow of Mount Rushmore. The huge lodge closes at the end of the month and guests were sparse. As we wandered the buildings, we kept an eye out for a tyke on a trike or a pair of scary twins. I never spotted a worrisome apparition, but the next day at Mount Rushmore, I spotted Gary Grant strolling around in a dark suit and pristine white dress shirt. We found Mount Rushmore to be an impressive feat of art and engineering and the park service has done a good job of presentation.

North by Northwest

The Knuckle Saloon in Sturgis

Lunch found us at the Knuckle Saloon in Sturgis, host city to the seventy-eight-year-old motorcycle rallies. We saw only one lonely rider, but the food at the saloon was good and the ambiance iconic.

Sheridan Inn a bit before we arrived

In the afternoon, we drove to Sheridan, Wyoming and stayed at the historic Sheridan Inn. This hotel didn’t seem haunted either, despite one of the long-term employees having her ashes buried inside the wall of her room. The photographs on the walls are reason enough to pay the inn a visit. After breakfast, we drove to Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument. Here we found ghosts and restless spirits aplenty. Little Bighorn is a sobering experience that reminds us that there are two sides to every story.

Art work detail at Little Bighorn Battlefield

We returned by way of Sheridan and stopped for lunch and a shopping spree at King's Saddlery. If you’re ever in this part of the country, King’s is a must stop. It reminds me of the tent in Harry Potter that looks small from the outside, but goes on forever inside. This is not a tourist store but a serious place to buy ropes, tack, and appropriate attire for horseback riding. If you want something western, whether it be leather goods, belt buckles, clothing, jewelry, art, dishes, books, ropes, or whatever, you can find in at King’s.

Kings Saddlery

On the way home, ate breakfast at Wall Drug and took the 240 loop through the South Dakota Badlands. Due to thousands of signposts, Wall Drug is as hard to find as a fly in a cow pasture. It’s worth the trip, however. Good breakfast, cheap coffee, and lots of western art and artifacts. After breakfast, we sauntered through the Badlands. We saw very few cars, but we did make a sharp turn and almost ran into a Rocky Mountain Big Horn sheep. I stopped the car, wondering how much damage those curved battering rams could do to my side panels, but luckily he seemed more interested in eating the vegetation alongside the road. The Badlands landscape is impressive and when it’s uncrowded, you can feel connected to some bygone era. If you make this trip, late October is perfect … unless it isn’t. Weather during late autumn can be unpredictable, but we had it near perfect. Good luck to you, as well.

Just before we scooted home, we made a stop at Minuteman Missile National Historic Site. We stopped at the Visitor Center, and then went on a guided tour of Launch Control Facility Delta-01. Both are must-sees, but the Launch Control Facility requires a reservation. These nuclear weapon delivery systems are now thankfully in the back of our consciousness, and hopefully will remain there.

This road trip was my second favorite. My favorite is the Grand Circle. It’s a shame more people don’t hit the road nowadays. The expansive countryside of the West has awe-inspiring landscapes, a fascinating history, and friendly people eager to help a tenderfoot.

Hills and Dales and Rin Tin Tin

There is nothing as invigorating as an early morning hike. Probably should have done one yesterday. Instead, we got off about mid-morning after long chats over several cups of coffee. The Sierras and other ranges were still beautiful as we climbed some minor foothills to get a panorama view of the Carson Valley.

We had a purpose for this particular hike. My brother-in-law built and positioned a bench dedicated to his father at the top of a hill. Recently, his mother also passed. She was a wonderful person, a great mother, and an ideal mother-in-law. He had a new brass plaque engraved and we hiked up to the top of the hill to add it to the bench. It was a quiet and perfect moment.

In the afternoon we drove out to Fort Churchill. The flies beat us to this historic site. After a few minutes of insects buzzing around my eyes, I was eager to get inside the small museum to escape the pesky pests. I can only imagine how crazy-making it must have been when there were hundreds of cavalry horses around. The life of a frontier soldier was not easy.

The fort is now a ruin, but still an interesting side trip. It was situated to protect the Carson Trail, which was used by the Pony Express and pioneers on their way to California. The fort looked nothing like the one in Rin Tin Tin, my favorite television show as a child. Instead of a log stockade, the white adobe buildings were not protected by a wall. The purpose of the fort was not to be an oasis of safety as much as a central point to send out patrols.

Next, the Reno gun show. 

Mountain Sanctuary

Yesterday, I visited a high school friend I had not seen for at least thirty years. Before diverting north, the trip started through the Carson Pass in the Sierras. It was a beautiful drive and I thought anyone should feel privileged to view these magnificent mountains. Then I remembered Genoa, a way station for 49ers. I was cruising at 60 MPH in climate controlled comfort, while the early pioneers were lucky to eke out 10 miles in a long, determined day. The view probably wasn't uppermost on their minds.

My friend owns an isolated forty acres next to national forest. Getting there required him to come down the mountain to lead me through trails that would challenge a city-bred sedan. Although he had owned the land since the early seventies, he didn't move there until semi-retirement in the nineties.  Now his wife descends the mountain every day to work, while he struggles to make his home self-sufficient. He may want to be independent, but he’s a distant cousin from the long-gone, mountain men who lived off the land. PG&E provides electricity to supplement his solar panels, propane is delivered to his door, a tractor can carve out roads and plow snow, and cell phones keep civilization a touch screen away. Technology is a wonderful way to make a rustic existence comfortable. I even noticed a Verizon Hot Spot winking away on a book shelf to bring the entire World Wide Web directly to his mountain top. The pioneers could only wish they were so lucky.

We had a great afternoon wallowing in nostalgia for our younger days. We have lived very different lives since high school, but reconnected easily. We had been neighbors in high school and had peddled bikes towing surfboards to the beach nearly every day. We learned to surf with a couple of other friends and spent untold hours lazing about the beach; sunning, talking, playing volleyball, and flirting with girls. Growing up at the beach in the sixties was a singular experience and a great way to meander our way to adulthood.

Carson City and the Landmark St. Charles Hotel

We started the day with a visit to Genoa, which is situated just below the Sierras at the edge of the Carson Valley. (Everything in this part of Nevada is named after Kit Carson: cities, streets, valleys, counties, rivers, mountain passes, recreation areas, pets, and children.) This is a historic town where 49ers took a breather before struggling over the mountains to the gold clogged streams of California. Genoa was also a significant stop for the Pony Express. Today it hosts a great antique gun store with experts who freely share their knowledge of 19^th century weapons.

TheShopkeeper was the first of the Steve Dancy series and it took place in Nevada. The Carson City St. Charles Hotel was a prominent setting for much of the story. Seven years ago, the St. Charles was a dilapidated flophouse. On this visit, I was pleased to see a restored exterior with thriving businesses on the ground floor. The manager was hospitable enough to give us a tour of the upper floors where the rooms are still in the process of restoration. One room is preserved behind glass in 19^th century condition. The room is a few inches wider than the single mattress on the floor and personal belongings are strewn at the bottom of the bed. I took liberties in my book, and housed Steve Dancy in a suite on the third floor. The St. Charles is across the street from the capitol and legislative building and provides elected officials with a fitting reminder of Nevada history.

After the St. Charles, we visited the Capitol, Nevada State Museum, shopped, and ate lunch at an oddly themed Polynesian restaurant. Carson City has a Basque heritage, so we had an excellent dinner at a friendly Basque restaurant. Tomorrow, everyone seems to be going off in different directions, so we’ll share stories at dinner.

Single-Tasking—The Ultimate Luxury

An article in the Wall Street Journal got me thinking. Single-tasking has become a luxury. L. Gordon Crovitz's article is titled “How the Internet saved the Novel.” He writes, “Engaging with a novel … requires rare focus in our information-snacking lives.”  Crovitz concludes with, “The more time people spend tracking fleeting pixels on digital screens, the more they seem to yearn for something else. The well-crafted novel is more alive than ever.”

In this multi-tasking world, nothing can be more relaxing than having only one thing on your mind. Getting lost in a really good story does the trick. Sit down and single thread a novel for a quick break from the travails of everyday life. You can do it anywhere, any time, and for as long as the world allows. You will be instantly transported to another place, another time, and another set of lives. What could be better than that?

What would be better would be reading a great novel in the perfect place. Like Lake Powell, for instance. With more coastline than the state of California, you can always find a private nook with nobody around and stone cliffs make cell and radio communication impossible. Good novels, water toys, and Lake Powell. The ultimate modern day vacation. Relax. No one can get in touch with you, no can interrupt your reading, and no one can demand that you do three things at once. Unless you bring the kids, but that’s another story.

Home again, home again, dancing a jig

I love to travel, but it's always good to get home again. We attended a wedding in Istanbul, and then spent a few weeks in Spain. We visited Barcelona, San Sebastian, Madrid, Toledo, Seville, and Granada. Fun trip. Steve Dancy didn't fare well. I had intentions of working on the fourth in the series, but fatigue after a day traipsing around a new and fascinating city left little time or energy for writing.

On my return, I found two new blog reviews for my books and a host of new Amazon Customer Reviews. You can follow the links below if you're interested in reading them.

Thanks to all of my readers for continuing to buy my books while I'm off gallivanting in some foreign land ... and thanks for your kind words in reviews.

Murder at Thumb Butte Reviewed at The American Culture

The Shut Mouth Society reviewed at Enough With It

Amazon Customer Reviews