“And it is at this point in my trip when I am aware of a strong desire to go home. Home–what would I do there? Deep clean something, a few somethings. Get my coldframe out, start seeds. And I would read and write and … long to be elsewhere. Sigh. The human condition is never settled, always searching– and I am human.” -Astrid’s Travel Journal
She was a little nervous about the day in Burbank, California. If the day before her were anything like her Chicago visits, her attention and awareness would be exhausted by the busyness and chaos upon which every city thrives. Some people love that cascade and crescendo of myriad dynamic details and “life.” Astrid, when not used to it, often grew disoriented, overwhelmed and stressed with all the sensory input. But the day in the city stood as a challenge before her, and challenges were meant to be met, like any obstruction in the metaphorical (or real) path of life; she would leave having learned something, whether overcome by the challenge or overcoming it.
It was pouring rain when the valet pulled up with their rented Chevy Malibu to the hotel.
Like many Americans, Astrid had an appreciation for automobiles, but outside changing headlights and inflating tires to their proper pressure, she did not entirely understand how they worked. Auto mechanics, with their magic repairing skills, were wizards, able to bring back broken cars to life, with a little time and their iron wands of wrenches and pliers.
The combustion engine, which drives most automobiles, is a miracle. Little explosions, controlled and contained, have allowed man to travel the world, go faster than humans were ever meant to go and gave us a life which was unimagined before the automobile. It is an amalgamation of millions of little and big inventions (and patents), from the carburetor, to fuel injector, to tire pressure stems, etc a so on. And the electric vehicle is the same scientific wonder, when considered in the vast space of history. Every time we get into a car, we are riding on hundred million little ideas and untold of number of hours of trial and error.
But as humans, we are not all science and efficiency. We seek and create beauty, harmony. Automobiles are an art form. They are attractive, or weird looking, colorful, iconic. Peterson Car Museum knows all this, and treats their exhibits as such.
Just as Astrid learned to identify insects and plants through research and repetition, Snorri learned how to identify cars. Cars, like bugs and plants, have categories: cars, trucks, vans, SUVs, Big Rigs, etc., and these are divided further into size, make, model, engine size, piston placement, ad. infinitum. There are many different aspects to be interested in when one considers automobiles.
A Tesla semi-truck stood by the door, in all its electric-run glory, graciously welcoming the visitors into the museum from the parking garage.
Snorri’s admission was free that day since the local school system was on strike. But they chose to buy the extra ticket to the “Vault”, a basement where cars were squeezed in, lined up in random order and labeled with little identification cards. Some cars had plastic covering them, protecting them from the leaks in the ceiling.
When you have been on the planet a few decades, and have been on the roads as long, cars start to carry emotional memories, as well as bodies and goods from place to place. Astrid’s memories were piqued as she came across a few particular vehicles. A 1970s Chevy Malibu, reminded her of a similar one Astrid drove in her teen years. The museum car was gold, hers was pea-green, inside and out. There was a Honda motorcycle that her dad owned which she remembered sitting on as a child.
After looking over the cars in The Vault, they walked through the Tesla Motors exhibit, marveling at the weird and wonderful design and concept of the electric cars. Then onto the Hypercar exhibit, then to the Hollywood vehicles.
By the time they were done with Peterson Car Museum, it was dry and sunny out, so they ate at HiHo Cheeseburger, (a very good place to eat), then walked the grounds of La Brea Tar Pits Museum marveling at the weird tar pools that smelled of petroleum.
They found their way back to the car, then drove the crowded, Tesla-filled streets to a trailhead of a path that lead to the Griffith Observatory, and started the climb.
“Who would have thought an observatory would be on a hill? I didn’t,” Astrid said as she puffed up the dirt path full of switch -backs. The Griffith Observatory overlooked the city of Burbank and some of Los Angeles, with the Hollywood Sign visible in the distance. As they reached the top, a fine mist was starting to fall. The concrete building was what one thought of when “Observatory” was suggested— pillars, marble everything, and a rounded dome pointed away from earth and humanity, into space. Inside, crowds sought shelter from the rain in soggy chilled masses.
The planetary show, combined with the exhibits highlighting the vastness of space and the collected observations of it, put Astrid in a pensive mood, as she tried to wrap her mind around the knowns and unknowns of the universe she inhabited along with 7 billion other unique humans.
Science, to Astrid,is not a stationary thing. It is a tool with which humanity uses to measure itself and its surroundings, with the aim to better understand itself and the universe. To “believe in Science” was to believe that the process, used properly and honestly, will help us understand our life and world better and use that information to ultimately live better. Science is self-correcting, that means that sometimes, it needs to be updated, corrected, i.e. sometimes Science, (more, the humans using it) doesn’t know that is it is missing something, and gets it wrong. But correction of past inaccuracies is built into Science. That’s what she trusted.
Just when they decided it was time to leave, the wind and rain picked up, but they decided to risk it, and fast-walked down the sidewalk this time to their car at the bottom of the hill.
The impact of the uncommon rain was everywhere. Unlike the ubiquitous drainage systems which hide in plain sight in the more rainy areas of the country, in Burbank, the water just ran down the streets. Sandbags were piled here and there, trying to block or reroute large quantities of water through the landscape. Large eroded ruts lined the walking path up to the observatory. A veritable stream of water ran down the paved road from the observatory. As the family jogged through the rain, a car, unused to or naive to the phenomena of hydroplaning drove fast, right through the stream of water.
The family arrived at their hotel soaked and chilled. After a very good Door Dash dinner from a local Mexican restaurant, they called it a day. Despite her dread of large cities, Astrid enjoyed her day, and was thankful for the experience. She didn’t want to go home yet, there was so much to see.
Not I 