Lifestyle
It’s time to take a road trip to Carrizo Plain, which still blooms with spring colors
In summer, it’s too hot. And in rain, the muddy dirt roads threaten to swallow your car.
But if you can hit Carrizo Plain National Monument on a spring day when the hills and grasslands are green and a few wildflowers remain in the meadows — well, you’re winning. And you’ll be seeing a lonely, raw corner of California that few people ever find.
The monument is about 38 miles long and 17 miles wide — hard to miss, you’d think. But it lies along the San Andreas fault in the usually dry hills between Bakersfield and Santa Maria, far from Interstate 5 or U.S. 101, about 170 driving miles northwest of Los Angeles.
Signs warn motorists what’s ahead in Carrizo Plain National Monument in San Luis Obispo County.
(Christopher Reynolds/Los Angeles Times)
Within the monument, most of the roads are gravel or dirt, and there is no drinkable water, no food, no gas and spotty cellphone coverage. The education center and two semi-primitive campgrounds feature vault toilets.
It’s almost perfect, in other words, for repelling crowds. Yet it’s pretty good as the centerpiece of an overnight road trip probing small towns and back roads of the western San Joaquin Valley and eastern San Luis Obispo County.
If you happen to arrive Friday, Carrizo staffers and volunteers will be celebrating the 25th anniversary of the monument, which was created from former ranch land under President Clinton. (Free tours and refreshments will be offered at the event, which takes place from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the Guy L. Goodwin Education Center.) But next week might be greener, because rain on the plain is probable Saturday and Sunday.
For many visitors, Carrizo’s big draw is wildflowers. The grasslands and hillsides act as a vast, uncluttered canvas for their colors, which typically bloom in March and last through April. But every year is different, especially in this era of climate change. This year, after unusually heavy rains in February, Carrizo Plain erupted in a dramatic bloom in March, attracting several hundred visitors per day.
In Carrizo Plain National Monument on a spring day, the hills and grasslands were green and a few wildflowers remained in the meadows.
(Christopher Reynolds/Los Angeles Times)
By the time my wife and I arrived in the first days of April, the flowers were past their peak, but the hills were still green and many meadows popped with yellow, purple and blue. If I’m reading my wildflowers handbook right, these were tidy tips, Goldfields, Owl’s Clover, thistle sage, Valley Larkspur, coreopsis, phacelia and hillside daisies.
Meanwhile, the 3,000-acre Soda Lake, which lies dusty, crusty, dry and white in summer, still had some water in it. Imagine the salty lake beds of Mono Lake, the Salton Sea or Death Valley’s Badwater, but surrounded by green hills. It was startling — the opposite of an oasis in the desert.
To get there, we drove north on I-5 into the San Joaquin Valley, then veered west by way of State Routes 166, 33 and 58, pausing for gas at Maricopa (population: 984).
Within the monument, we rambled along Soda Lake Road, admiring windmills, an old ranch house now reserved for bats, and a few hills dotted with lazy cows. (The monument is run by the Bureau of Land Management, which allows grazing.)
Looking a little bit more closely, you realize that the monument is all but torn in two by the San Andreas fault. On Elkhorn Road, you remember that those mountains to the east (the Temblor Range) are slowly lurching to the southeast. Meanwhile the Caliente Range — those mountains just to the west — are lurching the opposite way. The “offset” is growing by about 1.5 inches per year — at least, until the next big quake.
A lone visitor stands at the edge of Soda Lake in Carrizo Plain National Monument.
(Christopher Reynolds/Los Angeles Times)
Slowly rolling through this scene, we spotted two critters scurrying along the roadside — fist-size creatures hopping on their back legs. These were probably giant kangaroo rats, a native species whose numbers have been growing since their listing as an endangered species in 1987.
We didn’t spot any blunt-nosed leopard lizards or San Joaquin Valley kit foxes (which eat giant kangaroo rats) but those species, too, are endangered and native to the area. Pronghorn antelope and Tule elk are out there, too, the experts say, along with California condors soaring overhead. We just saw crows, loitering on fence posts.
The Goodwin Education Center, the monument’s main gathering spot, is open Thursdays through Sundays, December through May. We looked at maps, got advice on where to go next and ate our sack lunches at a picnic table, marveling at those green slopes.
A San Joaquin kit fox is displayed at the Goodwin Education Center within Carrizo Plain National Monument.
(Christopher Reynolds/Los Angeles Times)
In this long valley, scientists have found signs of Native campsites up to 10,000 years old — a hint of how much wetter this area once was. Not far from the education center is a short hike to Painted Rock, a protected site that includes Native pictographs on a horseshoe-shaped sandstone formation. The red, black and white images go back 100-4,000 years. (We didn’t see them. From March through May, visitors can see the pictographs only on Saturday guided tours. From July 16 through February, visitors can book self-guided tours.)
After lunch we nosed around nearby Soda Lake, exited the north end of the monument, joined State Route 58 and headed west over a series of whoop-de-doos — those rises and falls in the road that will help you defy gravity, if you take them fast enough.
One of them, I realize now, was the San Andreas fault itself.
Through all of this, we saw no more than 15 or 20 people, cars included. Continuing from State Route 58, we joined State Route 41, watched oak trees and vineyards pop up and multiply, continued into Paso Robles and spent the night.
On the return trip we lingered for an hour or two in Santa Margarita (population: 1,149), checking out the Porch Cafe, the Barn (antiques) and the Giddy Up vintage goods and gift shop, which operates in a blue Quonset structure known as the Rainbow Hut.
Holli Rae owns and runs the Giddy Up vintage goods and gift shop on El Camino Real in Santa Margarita.
(Christopher Reynolds/Los Angeles Times)
“It’s just a sweet little town. So quiet,” said Holli Rae, a filmmaker and former Angeleno who opened the Giddy Up about two years ago. She moved north, she said, for “the nature, the animals, the deer, the birds. The creatures!”
Thanks to U.S. 101, we were home and grateful within three and a half hours.
Soon, we knew, summer will come and fry the Carrizo Plain until everything green is brown. Beginning June 1, in fact, the Goodwin Education Center will close for six months.
For a few more weeks, Angelenos, your window of opportunity is open.
If you go
Where to explore:
Check out the Carrizo Plain National Monument website or call the visitor center at (661) 391-6191. The recorded information line is (661) 391-6193. Also check the weather; most roads in the monument are dirt or gravel and can become impassable in rain.
Where to sleep:
Adelaide Inn, 1215 Ysabel Ave., Paso Robles; (805) 238-2770. This hotel, located near 24th Street and U.S. 101, includes a pool and children’s play area. Rates start at about $100.
River Lodge, 1955 Theatre Drive, Paso Robles; (805) 221-7377. This hotel, born as a motel in 1947, was reborn as a boutique property in 2024. It has 28 rooms, a patio restaurant (Ciao Papi) and an adult-only pool. It stands alongside U.S. 101, about 3 miles south of downtown Paso. Midweek rates often start at $149, often doubling on weekends.
Melody Ranch Motel, 939 Spring St., Paso Robles; (805) 238-3911. This is a throwback 1950s motel with a swimming pool, open May through September. From the start, it has had 19 rooms and a prime spot on Spring Street, the main artery of Paso Robles. Rates start at about $100. Most reservations are taken by phone, in person or through Expedia.
Where to eat:
Joe’s Place, 205 Spring St., Paso Robles; (805) 238-5637. Since 1995, this breakfast-and-lunch spot has been a local favorite for casual family meals.
The Porch Cafe, 22322 El Camino Real, Santa Margarita; (805) 438-3376. This all-day cafe (with beer and wine) stands along the main drag in sleepy little Santa Margarita.
Sunday Puzzle
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This week’s challenge
Today’s puzzle is a tribute to Mimi. Every answer is a familiar two word phrase or name in which each word starts with the letters MI-.
Ex. Assignment for soldiers –> MILITARY MISSION
1. Pageant title for a contestant from Detroit
2. One of the Twin Cities
3. Nickname for the river through New Orleans
4. Super short skirt
5. Neighborhood in Los Angeles that contains Museum Row
6. Just over four times the distance from the earth to the moon
7. Goateed sing-along conductor of old TV
8. American financier who pioneered so-called “junk bonds”
9. Little accident
10. Land-based weapon in America’s nuclear arsenal
11. In “Snow White,” the evil queen’s words before “on the wall”
Last week’s challenge
Last week’s challenge comes from Benita Rice, of Salem, Ore. Name a famous foreign landmark (5,4). Change the eighth letter to a V and rearrange the result to make an adjective that describes this landmark. What landmark is it?
Answer
Notre Dame –> Renovated
Winner
Chee Sing Lee of Bangor, Maine
This week’s challenge
This week’s challenge comes from James Ellison, of Jefferson City, Mo. Think of a popular movie of the past decade. Change the last letter in its title. The result will suggest a lawsuit between two politicians of the late 20th century — one Republican and one Democrat. What’s the movie and who are the people?
If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it below by Thursday, April 23 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle.
This story is part of Image’s April’s Thresholds issue, a tour of L.A. architecture as it’s actually experienced.
A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” We identify our cities with their landmarks, and because we identify with our cities, we identify with the landmarks too. They are us and we are them, mirroring each other through eternity. A city like New York or Chicago, with the Chrysler Building, the Bean, etc., has landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention.
The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova. Merging on the 110 South from the 10 East while the sunset burns and traffic thickens is a miracle in more ways than one, and in the spirit of compulsively performing the sign of the cross when you pass a church on the freeway, this billboard is deserving of its own acknowledgment.
It may not be the landmark L.A. asked for, but in Sayre Gomez’s painting “Vertigo,” you begin to understand why it’s the one we deserve. At the opening for “Precious Moments,” Gomez’s solo show at David Kordansky, the room was vibrating. A game of energetic ping-pong unfolded underneath the gallery’s fluorescent light, beams of identification, recollections or stabs of grief bouncing off each piece in the exhibition. People were seeing hyperspecific parts of a city they love reflected in a hyperspecific way — for better and for worse. Recognition has two edges and they both happen to be sharp. Gomez twists the knife deeper for a good cause: He wants you not just to look but to really see.
In his work exist iconic signs of beloved local establishments — like the Playpen — the blinding glint reflecting off downtown’s skyline, telephone poles regarded as totems. The line to see Gomez’s replica of L.A.’s graffiti towers, “Oceanwide Plaza,” snaked through the gallery’s courtyard. Once inside, at least three graffiti writers whose names were blasted on the replica pointed it out proudly, even gave out stickers to take home. The truth can be beautiful and it can be ugly — in this case it’s both — on the flip side showing up in the form of smog, tattered flags and an abandoned graffiti tower that starkly represents the pitfalls of capitalism and greed, a neon arrow pointing to the homelessness crisis.
Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave.
— Sayre Gomez
In the main gallery, I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side, wearing cat ears and a tiger bodysuit as flush as second skin. The model made the kind of eye contact that felt dangerous — might cause an accident if you’re not careful. “#1 Halloween Destination … FASHION NOVA,” it read. I knew her, anyone who has driven through the two main arteries of Los Angeles knows her. The black-and-white smiley motif of the Vertigo, an events space, sat right next to her face, just happy to be there, it seemed, above a painted sign that says “Ready to Party?”
The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. Something rancid about it. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined at the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks — creating their own shrunken skyline in front of the Vertigo, signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.
Even angels exist within the context of their environments. Our Fashion Nova baddie hangs off the Vertigo, a building that has used its ad space as physical clickbait and political posturing for over a decade. It’s promoting the kind of fast fashion brand that’s been regarded as a case study on the industry’s environmental impact. In the years the billboard has been up, it’s looked over dozens and dozens of car encampments like the one depicted in Gomez’s piece.
She feels dubious, yes. But no less like ours.
Julissa James: I’ve lived in L.A. for 13 years now. For me, the city and the architecture of the city is less the Frank Lloyd Wrights and Frank Gehrys — there’s that — but other landmarks that signal, “Oh, I’m home.” The Fashion Nova baddie above the Vertigo has always been that for me. Your piece is layered and there’s so much more to it than just that, but that’s the first thing I saw and was like, “Whoa. I need to talk to Sayre. We need to talk about ‘Vertigo.’”
Sayre Gomez: It’s like L.A.’s Statue of Liberty. It’s the city of anti-landmarks, you know what I mean? I mean, there’s the Hollywood sign, which I think is so telling, because it’s the remnants of a real estate venture. The city is built by real estate schemes and 100 years later we’re feeling the effects of it. You’ve got empty skyscrapers and a massive homeless catastrophe. L.A. doesn’t really have real landmarks. It has anti-landmarks.
JJ: When did the Fashion Nova billboard above the Vertigo click for you as something that felt representative of the city, or something that you wanted to depict?
SG: My studio is in Boyle Heights, so I pass that billboard multiple times a week. This is my 20th year in L.A. and that building’s always been a big mystery to me. It was empty when I moved here before this guy Shawn Farr bought it and turned it into Casa Vertigo. I think he probably makes more money on it with the ad space than anything. I know nobody who has ever been there. Very mysterious to me. So that’s what I was drawn to.
(Paul Salveson from David Kordansky Gallery)
The Vertigo has always been mysterious to me. And that whole fashion industry is mysterious to me — the kind of shmatta, American Apparel-adjacent, or maybe coming out of the wake of that. These kinds of businesses, or the representations of these businesses, how do they function and how do they flourish? Is it aboveboard? What more perfectly encapsulates that than that building? It’s this weird thing you can’t quite figure out but somehow it has a lot of money and then it’s an event space, supposedly billed as that. Clearly it’s this big ad thing, and I’m very interested in the changing dynamics of capital. The capital of yesteryear, which was based on the brick and mortar, where things are being made in a specific location, maybe on an assembly line or in a specific way, to a kind of capital that is based solely on advertising or on viewership. These beautiful buildings acting as pedestals for some kind of ad space, you know? It becomes an anti-landmark for me. Something where I’m like, “Oh, there’s that thing again.”
JJ: It’s this gorgeous Beaux Arts building …
SG: It’s a Freemason building!
JJ: When I’ve talked to some people about the Vertigo, they’re like, “the Fashion Nova building?”
SG: They always have the woman in the same pose — same pose, different clothes. If you remember before Fashion Nova, they would have these provocative ad campaigns or provocative slogans. “Twerk Miley” was up, remember that? They did a Trump one: “TRUMP NOW.” They did one for Kanye when he ran for president. The 10 and the 110 are literally the crossroads of the city, so it’s really poised to be a special building. It has a special designation because of the location.
JJ: Talk to me about the process of doing this piece. Where did it start and how did it evolve?
SG: I was cruising around that vicinity trying to see if I could get a good vantage point to take photos of Vertigo. And then I stumbled upon this car — the car that’s in the foreground of the painting. Anytime I see an encampment that has kids’ toys, things that reference back to the lives of children, it hits hard. But I like to lay it all out there. I like to make things confrontational. I want it to be difficult. The painting isn’t based on a one-to-one photo [Gomez paints from a composite rendering of images he’s taken around town], but I knew that I wanted to use that car, and I knew I wanted to get the Vertigo building, and so I started just messing around with different iterations. I could never find a good angle to take a good photo of the building, so I just went on Vertigo’s website and I was like, “I’m just using these.” I switched the sky and put a more moody, atmospheric sky in.
JJ: Which I loved, because we know that feeling — you’re merging onto the 110 and you see a beautiful sunset. The euphoria of like, “L.A. is the best city in the world.” But you know what? What I found so interesting about your piece is that it was revealing to me about myself, but also about so many of us that live in L.A. and have lived here for years and have developed a jadedness. When I saw your piece, immediately I was like, “Oh my God, the Vertigo! The Vertigo! The Vertigo!” And then I was like, “OK, wait, hold on, there’s so much more going on here.” But the fact that my eye went to that first instead of the car encampment, the kids’ toys, brought up a lot of questions about my own relationship to the city and the things that we choose to see, the things that maybe we’ve seen so much of that we subconsciously filter it out. Why was it important for you to put these two things up against each other in this way?
SG: Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave. That’s what I’m doing in my work at large. I use the sunsets and the beauty to create a dialogue, to entice people to sort of look a little bit at how things are contextualized, how things act, what’s actually happening. I don’t make things in a vacuum. I was working on this show and I was going to really push this agenda of incorporating more of my experience with my kids into the work. That’s also a double-edged sword. I wanted to interject some levity, because the work can get so dark. I wanted to bring in some iconography from their world and things that they get excited about. When you’re juxtaposing that with really stark things, it becomes darker. I want to thicken the stock a little bit. Make things a little more complex.
Phil Pritchard of the Hockey Hall of Fame works the 2019 NHL Awards at the Mandalay Bay Events Center on June 19, 2019 in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images)
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This week’s show was recorded in Chicago with host Peter Sagal, judge and guest scorekeeper Alzo Slade, Not My Job guest Phil Pritchard and panelists Alonzo Bodden, Adam Burke, and Dulcé Sloan. Click the audio link above to hear the whole show.
Who’s Alzo This Time
The Don Vs The Poppa; World’s Worst Doctor; Should We Eat That?
Panel Questions
Big Cheese News!
Bluff The Listener
Our panelists tell three stories about someone missing a huge opportunity in the news, only one of which is true.
Not My Job: Phil Pritchard, the NHL’s Keeper of the Stanley Cup, answers three questions about the other NHL, National Historic Landmarks
Peter talks to Phil Pritchard, the NHL’s Keeper of the Stanley Cup. Phil plays our game called, “Let’s Go Visit The NHL” Three questions about National Historic Landmarks.
Panel Questions
The Trump Dump and Air Traffic Control Becomes Animal Control
Limericks
Alzo Slade reads three news-related limericks: Spice Up Your Spring Cleaning; A Fizzy Meaty Drink; The Right Way to Eat Peeps.
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