THE PICK OF O.C.

Expecting guests this summer? Want to give them a slice of Orange County that maybe even you haven’t tasted before? Here are some tidbits you might offer--or perhaps keep for yourself:

Orange County? Sure, your guests might wonder about the name. Tell them that in the years B.D. (Before Developers), Orange County was covered not by red-tiled roofs but by orange groves. More than 60,000 acres, in fact. It wasn’t that long ago that you’d walk outside at night and smell orange blossoms in the air. Today? As one 8-year-old put it, “House County” would be a more accurate label.

Seal Beach Pier. With its quaint Main Street and Red Car Museum, downtown Seal Beach knows how to keep old O.C. alive. Stroll along its weathered, wooden pier. Stop to pat “Slick,” the bronze sea lion, on the nose. The pier is a place where young boys reel in their first fish, look up at their fathers proudly and say, “Hey, Dad! Can I poke the eyes out?”

12 Civic Center Plaza. It might not look like much, but this Santa Ana address--the office of former county treasurer Bob Citron--marks ground zero for our infamous bankruptcy. The Board of Supervisors’ office building is nearby. Hey, in L.A., there are tours of places where famous people died. Consider this our offering for the (fiscally) morbid.

John Wayne Airport. After you help them collect their baggage, drag your guests over to the big bronze statue of the Duke. J.W. lived in Newport Beach and is remembered as a pretty cool guy in person. He once gave an impromptu pep talk to the Corona del Mar High cross-country team and was known to wave to kayakers as they paddled beside his bay-front home.

Watch the 1949 flick “The Sands of Iwo Jima,” to see soldier Wayne go face-down in the mud of Shark Island, an innocuous Newport Beach sandbar that became ritzy, guard-gated Linda Isle.

Dairy City. Few remember it, but O.C. once had a town that mooed. Dairy City--part of the so-called Moo Valley agricultural area--was the precursor to Cypress. In 1956, Dairy City had 1,600 people and 24,000 cows. The latter were herded to Chino. Make a pit stop at Midge’s Cal-Va drive-through dairy and have a swig of milk in their honor.

Irvine. Squeaky clean, master-planned, dull as a bowl of bran. Irvine is the county’s church mouse; it’s hard to believe it’s a college town. It wasn’t always this quiet, though. The city once was home to the Orange County International Raceway, so unbearably loud, the noise echoed around Orange County. In the ‘70s, OCIR was the place to be on Friday nights. Enterprising youths sneaked through storm drains that led to the center of the pits. When the races were over, people took to the track and danced.

Bark Park. If you love dogs, this is definitely worth a stop. Formally known as the Laguna Beach Dog Park, Bark Park is a place where pooches roam free. It’s a fenced-in strip where pedigrees mix with mutts in a tail-wagging free-for-all. Watch where you step.

Trunk Stop. Walter and Nancy Katin were busy making canvas boat covers in the late 1950s when a local surfer, tired of paddling out in cutoff Levi’s, suggested they create surf trunks instead. Nearly 40 years later, Kanvas by Katin on PCH in Surfside is hallowed ground for surfers young and old. Katin seamstress Sato Hughes is still turning out styles as she has since 1961. The shop dedicates a couple of clothes racks to surfing’s early days. Check out those lace-up styles and colors, such as day-old-coffee brown.

Little Saigon. No visit to the county is complete without stopping in Little Saigon for a steaming bowl of pho. O.C. is said to have more ethnic Vietnamese than anywhere outside Vietnam. Many brought their cuisine with them. Pho 79, in the Asian Garden Mall, is one of dozens of shops that specialize in this nourishing noodle soup. Its number represents the year the owners fled Vietnam for America.

The Coatimundi Cage. When we first heard the word, we thought Coatimundi might be yet another trendy restaurant by David Wilhelm, Orange County’s answer to Wolfgang Puck. But a coatimundi is actually a type of raccoon. This cute, personable critter, indigenous to Arizona, is now on display at Orange County Zoo.

South Coast Plaza. The mall’s done a fine job turning itself into a major tourist attraction, but we’ll never forget its pre-designer days. This monument to chic-dom once housed a sprawling, old-fashioned health-food store--Lindberg Nutrition--whose walls were Pepto-Bismol pink. And let’s not forget the Raj of India, where you entered through a Taj Mahal-shaped doorway to browse through saris, incense and finger cymbals.

Ronald W. Caspers Wilderness Park. The bulldozers haven’t been everywhere, thank heaven. Caspers is one of several local wilderness areas that, for whatever reason, Orange Countians tend to ignore. The park rises to 1,700 feet and allows camping. Overnighters can crawl out of their tents in the early morning to spot bobcat, fox and deer.

Knott’s Berry Farm. America’s oldest theme park is celebrating its 75th year, so brush up on your trivia: Visitors pan for (and keep) more than $70,000 in genuine gold dust each year. Bandits hold up the Calico Railroad 10,000 times a year. Cordelia Knott served her first chicken dinners in 1934 on wedding china for 65 cents. The Chicken Dinner restaurant now serves 15,000 biscuits daily. Montezooma’s Revenge takes you from 0 to 55 m.p.h. in five seconds.

Hard Rock Cafe. It has a 40-foot neon guitar out front, and plenty of prefabricated glitz. But realize this, rock tourists: This Newport Beach hot spot was originally the JCPenney Auto Center.

The Dreaded “Y.” It’s just a freeway intersection, right? Nah. The meeting of the 5 and the 405 freeways--from late afternoon to early evening--is nothing less than automotive hell. People make deals with God here. Panic attacks are not uncommon. Behind every red taillight, a tele-commuter is born. Tips: Travel this parking lot in the off hours; pack your Travel Scrabble.

The Wedge. When it’s pumping--which isn’t nearly as often as billed--the Wedge is one of the gnarliest bodysurfing breaks in the world. Don’t even stick your toe in the water if you’re unprepared. Not unless you like the feeling of being caught inside a Maytag.

Crescent Bay. If granted three wishes, we’d request world peace, an endless supply of See’s marzipans and a house overlooking Crescent Bay. This Laguna Beach beauty, tucked away like a treasure, can be enjoyed from atop Crescent Bay Point Park. Sea lions bask on the rocks below, waves crash into the cliffs. A lovely, meditative place. Don’t get too dreamy, though. These are some very steep cliffs.

Woodpecker Place. You don’t have to go all the way to Cape Canaveral to see the critter that forced the postponement of the launch of space shuttle Discovery. Orange County has the very same type of woodpeckers--called Northern flickers--right here. They’re pecking away at Tucker Wildlife Sanctuary, way out in Modjeska Canyon.

Jamboree Road. Two facts to consider while you cruise this thoroughfare: 1) It was named after the 1953 international Boy Scout Jamboree that packed 50,000 scouts into the area that is now Newport Center Fashion Island. 2) It was at Jamboree Road and the Santa Ana Freeway where, on June 17, 1994, an Orange County Sheriff’s deputy first spotted the now famous white Ford Bronco.

Saddleback. That “mountain” looming out of the South County haze is actually two peaks--Modjeska (elevation 5,496 feet) and Santiago (5,687 feet). Though few locals ever try, you can actually climb to the top of each. Be prepared for a brutal, all-day trek. And do carry lots of water.

Surf City. Those words are primarily a marketing ploy now--and a copyrighted one at that--but in its heyday, downtown Huntington Beach truly was a surfer’s city. Gritty, but full of soul. Today’s version is sanitized (“tourist-friendly”) with a trace of funkiness mixed in.

For a taste of the old days, visit the old surf shops--WindanSea, Robert August, et al. Ask an old-timer to tell you about the original Golden Bear. Plunk yerself down beside the pier and focus on the waves. Fortunately, nobody’s been able to revamp those.

Gilligan’s Harbor. Granted, most of the 1960s series Gilligan’s Island was filmed on a studio back lot. But if you keep a close eye on the opening credits, you’ll see the S.S. Minnow motoring through the entrance to Newport Harbor.

Presidential Digs. Naturally, Richard Nixon wanted to spend time in his home county even after he hit the big time, but when he set up his Western White House in San Clemente, it just meant hassles for everyone around. How could you surf Trestles with all those Secret Service guys lurking about?

If you’re looking for the inland Nixonia experience, visit the Richard Nixon Library & Birthplace in Yorba Linda. Those Wa . . . ter . . . ga . . . te tapes await.

Bus Stops. It’s true. Orange County has a public bus system (and a fine one at that).

Four routes, including Pacific Coast Highway-hugging Route 1, now feature buses with bike racks at no extra charge. One measly buck will take you practically anywhere you want to go.

The Magic Kingdom. Last but not least, Disneyland. We love it because it put Orange County on the map; we hate it because it put Orange County on the map.

Before Mickey and Minnie, before Donald and Goofy, before the Matterhorn ride, Space Mountain and Star Tours, Disneyland, the self-described “Happiest Place on Earth,” there were . . . acres and acres of . . . you guessed it, orange groves.