WHEN: Saturday, June 18, 2005

WHERE: Davis, Auburn, Auburn State Wilderness (or something)

DISTANCE: about 120 miles

There was one more day to do something outdoors before heading back home. Katie is not an early riser, but a friend of hers who is a serious cyclist like she is, wanted us all to get up early and have a nice 40 mile ride through some hills. About a year ago when visiting here, I had done a flat but windy 30 mile ride on a bike that wasn't really my size, and it was do-able but hurt my ass in a big way. At home I mountain bike infrequently, and my butt never hurts, even with all the bumps. So while I was game for this casual/brutal ride, I wasn't disappointed when Katie slept in long enough for us to get out of it.

I'm sure she would point out that I also slept in, but hey it's her house, she can get me up if she's rarin to get on the road. So instead of the ride, we walked downtown for a really elegant cup of capuccino prepared by just about the loveliest tall thin brunette girl I'd seen in a long time. Her hair was long and thin and extremely well combed for that hour of the morning. She wore a black long sleeved shirt that didn't quite make it down to the waist of her jeans, so in a non-slutty way it revealed her hips. Her hip bones pointed out from how thin she was, but in a sexy way not an anorexic way. She had a cute nose and fuller lips than you'd expect and they had a natural pout. Her face reminded me of a guy friend from high school, like they could be brother-sister.

The sun was warm that morning, but it was very windy, so fleece zip-ups were in order. The University had graduation the day before, and it was an odd morning because of the relative quiet as people slept in. There was the occasional balloon ribbon flapping away in an alley, the odd empty keg here or there. There was a chair tied up in a tree in someone's yard... some drunken creativity from the night before. In the coffee shop we saw some people that behaved so awkwardly and without social grace that they could only be professors. No students were about yet. 

The chocolate croissant was excellent. The name of the place was chocolat, and it lived up to it. On the walk home I saw the best bumper sticker of the trip... it was on an old 10-speed and said 'My other car is a pair of boots'. Classic.

Once home, we got ready and headed to Auburn, on the other side of Sacramento. For not a very long distance, it sure ate up gas and time getting there. In Auburn itself there is an old town and a down town and we tooled around both looking for lunch to take on our hike. At the very first stop sign - which it wasn't for me - I got honked at by the person behind me because I shouldn't have stopped. I hadn't been honked at yet in the previous 1800 miles. A few brights shined at me as I flew past other cars too fast, but no honking. Then within another minute some other driver showed disapproval at something. Okay so I don't know my way around town, but calm down assholes.

We stopped and got sandwiches at a deli. They touted something called Dutch Crunch bread. I asked about it and the teenage girl behind the counter said 'only the best bread in the world... i'm going to be so bummed when I go away to school.' I should have said 'well don't go then' but all I could think to say was 'well just take like 6 months worth when you go'. She didn't get the humor, probably because it wasn't funny. She's like 'I don't think it would stay good that long'.

We were going to hike along a fork of the American River to a waterfall. To get there, there was a few miles of narrow paved road, then a couple miles of one-lane dirt canyon road. That was fun. I had to pull over to let trucks pass from the other direction.

The river was impressive. Wide and deep and fast. We found a spot to eat and the dogs waded around drinking the river. My sandwich was tasty and I gave the last several bites to the dogs. They pooped as soon as we got back on the trail, and instead of picking it up in a poop bag and carrying it for miles, I just tried to remember where it was for later. We crossed paths with kids and families on this very narrow trail, and I felt the need to hold the dogs aside out of reach for the humans' sake. Tibbs likes to sniff or lick or sometimes nip at people's hands as they walk by, all sly. Petunia ignores people but sometimes goes nuts about other dogs. Like she has to get in their face and sometimes she'll snap and bark and go crazy. Usually in that case, Tibbs becomes the next best object of her violence, and they snap and bark at each other. It looks bad, but they don't hurt each other. As we were reaching the waterfall a mile and a half into the hike, a couple older women with a dog came by. We got Petunia well out of the way but all the dogs were barking like crazy at each other. Petunia made a giant shove and got past us and snapped at the other dog. Or maybe they snapped at each other. I yanked her away, and made apologies to the women, and as they started away I and only I saw that the other dog had blood on its lip. Bad Petunia! Why's she gotta be so crazy in one circumstance and so perfect in others? It was like one drop of blood formed on the lip, so I figured it wasn't serious... I hope.

The waterfall was really nice. Not wide or a long straight drop. It had several drops maybe 4 feet wide, and formed calm pools at the bottom of each. We and the dogs hiked all through them. It was scary watching the dogs negotiating the slippery rocks because they didn't seem to understand the dangers, but they were fine. We hung out for a while and then headed back.

At the car I said how about a couple cold drinks, and Katie was all about it. She's a fan of the big coke, for as long as I've known her. We tried to find one as painlessly as possible in Auburn. We tried a Quizno's - no, Pepsi. We tried a grocery store - no soda fountain at all. We finally ended up at a gas station food mart that served Pepsi products at the fountain, but sold Coke in the cooler. We each got a bottle and a cup full of ice, for the proper effect, and got back in the car. What does it take to get a coke? If it wasn't for McDonalds, would they be anywhere anymore?

Here's the weirdest thing about Auburn... I saw no less than 20 other Subaru WRX's there. Literally a couple times a minute I pointed another one out, as if I were joking but it was true. On the entire trip I'd only seen maybe 8 others in the whole state, but 20 in about 10 minutes in Auburn. The previous best sighting was in Half Moon Bay on Hwy 1... an STI sitting at a light, with the exact same wagon as mine, year and color, sitting right behind the STI. Are you kidding me, an STI on Highway 1?!?

We got back to Davis and went to the co-op that had a huge and uncommon wine selection. I got 3 bottles for people back home, and some peaches and sushi for my breakfast and lunch on the road tomorrow. I was looking at a 750 mile drive on Sunday, and back to work on Monday.

 

WHEN: Tuesday June 14 - Friday June 17, 2005

WHERE: Chico to Davis, CA

DISTANCE: 85 miles

CAR NOTES: Got only about 22 mpg driving hard & fast down 99 from Chico to Davis. It's 90 miles and I did it in an hour-fifteen. That's not impressive, but that road goes through several small towns and some traffic lights. I-5 would have been the better call there.

Sunday to Wednesday the dogs and I stayed in Chico at my grandparents' house. The days consisted of waking up early, having coffee, walking for more coffee, making a simple lunch of sandwiches, then a simple dinner or a restaurant. Bedtime was no later than 10pm. I had a guest house to myself and the dogs played rough in the grass a couple times each day. It was fun and relaxing.

Wednesday night, I drove down to Davis to see my friend Katie. Davis is a nice little college town near Sacramento. Chico is a nice little college town too - they're pretty similar in size and feel. Big cycling communities. We checked out all the coffee shops, and took walks around the downtown and also north davis.

I stayed with her and her roommate Julia until Sunday morning. They're some real down to earth women. They like farming and gardening, which is a big deal around there. They have a U-C school with a farm, and Katie just started working for the university.

We ate at a Thai place, a greasy burger joint, at home, and at a few delis around the student section. I spent some afternoons at a coffee shop called Delta of Venus. I thought that would be a good name for a lingerie store....

It was actually a better coffee shop than anything I've seen in Phoenix. For one, they have refills. For two they have a full breakfast menu and good lunch sandwiches. I had the pesto chicken on an italian hard roll. It was good, and everyone else seemed to order the same thing. They also play great obscure new wave music from the 80s & 90s. When I walked in they had Sonic Youth playing - "100%".

The coffee was good and strong, as was the wireless signal. I was supposed to move the car every two hours, but the first time I forgot and let it go an extra half hour, and got a $30 ticket. In the past, I would get pissed off about things like that, but I easily put it aside this time. What, a tank of gas? A bag of dog food? It was just another travel expense, and my own fault anyway. I moved the car, went back to the coffee shop, then went home when it was due to be ticketed again. I drove home and hung out with Katie and Julia. Tried to rent "Team America World Police" but they were all out. We got "The Yes Men" instead - a satirical documentary about the World Trade Org. Insteresting.

 

 

WHEN: Monday, June 13, 2005

WHERE: Grandma’s house, Chico

DISTANCE: 2 miles, walking

Woke at 730, walked with the dogs and Grandma to the coffee shop we like downtown, half a mile away maybe. Sat and had a "West Coast Americana" which to you and me is a 16oz coffee with two shots of espresso. Aka a blackeye in starbucks lingo. What's interesting is that this drink is actually on the menu. They don't have a one-shot in coffee listed, or a cafe americano which as you know is a single shot of espresso in hot water (pourquoi the dilution?)… but we like the place. They have superior pastries, cakes and quiches. I had a chocolate croissant that was very good. Gram had an apple tart and cappuccino. The dogs were behaving and attracting attention as they usually do in public. 

We left in another minute, and went to let the dogs meet this other dog that looked a little like a miniature Petunia. She was mini-Doberman and something else. The dogs went wild in a most embarrassing way, and the other dog's owner came out of the shop with her coffee. She was very nice about it, very understanding. She was very talkative with us. She told us all the places in town you can take dogs and let them run free, because you can't in the awesome park in the middle of town across the street from Gram's house.

So, we went home and I got online all day. Grandma and Granpa Jim and I had a pleasant lunch of cheese sandwiches in the back yard while the dogs sunned their bellies rolling in the grass. Later we had a good dinner of the two trout I had brought. All three of us ate from them, and I got stuffed. The one was a huge trout, and thick. It was like biting into a burger. I fried them in egg and flour batter, and they turned out great. But you can tire of fresh trout. They’re a little sweet tasting for fish. But I’m glad I caught them.

I don't follow horoscopes, and I have just a very little knowledge of the zodiac, but I read my horoscope today in the local paper. It said Leo: you're wonderful, it's true. But something something something...

 

This day, I walked up the steps and stopped to talk to two older men sitting on the porch drinking miller.

(continued from previous entry)

+++++++++++++++

We talked about the weather. It looked like rain, and one of them said 'probly get some snow up there'. I said really, and he shook his head no. But damn near. The other guy said regarding the long wet winter: 'this is the first normal year we've had in 20 years'.

I went into the bar and ordered a Sierra Nevada bottle. There was an older gentleman tending bar and a youngish brown stringy haired man sitting at the bar holding a water bottle. He looked all crazy, but I plowed ahead anyway. Sat next to him on a stool. He talked about music, and asked me if I knew of this guy Beck. He kind of looked like Beck, but with brown hair. Wow, maybe it was him. His gums were too big - or his teeth too short. He was all gums when he smiled. Made him look weird.

The more we talked the more normal he seemed, but still there was something off about him. He almost seemed to be putting on an act, either for the bartender or me, or something in between. He went from seeming normal and just drunk, to seeming crazy. This town has 153 people. What that must do to a person.

I left after one beer, because of him. And also the fish. I caught one in the first five casts, then another, and after a while another. All in the same spot, between 6 and 9 pm. I walked home fast along the bank in the near dark, and made a straighter trail than the deer had. My shins were lashed by the reeds but I felt no pain, and walked with a good dinner in my pocket.

The fishes' heads were already off and staring up at the night sky, half in and half out of the water, back at the beach where I caught them. All in the same spot. I roamed that whole beach, but the heads wound up in the same little side pool. They all got on the hook from me hurling the lure out into the current and letting it carry downstream for up to 30 seconds. They didn't hit in the first 2 seconds, but midway through reeling. The fights were good, they jumped out of the water. Lots of trout were jumping out of the water, and lots of bugs were hovering on the water. I cast too many times into the heart of the current, so that I had to go up or down stream to let the fish forget. But when I came back another one would grab the lure.

The killing came much easier now. The knife went in and the heads came off almost as if there was a special seam for it. They looked like fish at the butcher counter - all cleanly cut. I plopped them onto the kitchen counter and set about with garlic and butter in the pan. Three good size trout. The dogs got some too, but not so much as to expend a whole fish on them, as if that would be a waste of a fish. Some people would say so, but these dogs are family to me. I don't spoil them too much, but I take good care of them and keep them well. and they get lots of love from me and everyone else.

I fell asleep on the couch again with a blanket, and the fire slowly burning out in the iron stove.

++++++++++++++

The morning was a repeat of the coffee and the fire and the view. I got out to fish a little later, because I had no fear of arriving too late... I had caught that nice one at 10-something yesterday.

At the first rapid, I made a good cast and reeled it in without incident. Second cast rule in effect, I thought, and threw the lure out. I felt what seemed like either a big hit or a big snag. This was nothing new - just another cast wasted on a snag. I reeled it in with some difficulty, then when I expected to see the lure, I saw a white belly. It was a big fish. It didn't make sense, there had been no fight. A little bit coming out of the water, but once I held him over land, I started to see why.

The hook was a little deeper than usual, but instead of going down the throat it went through the gills in the arc of the lower jaw. It didn't look bad but the fish was bleeding a bit from the hook. It started flipping like mad and blood flew everywhere. It was a strong fish, I could feel it through the pole and through the ground from the butt of the pole.

I grabbed him on top of the dorsal fin. He was so thick I couldn't get my hand around him. The knife went in with more hesitations than the night before, but he died easily.

I thought of stopping then, only five minutes into it. I had enough for breakfast certainly. I decided to try for one more. It came at the second rapid, in the same spot as the night before. The killing was routine now.

+++++++++++++

Back at the cabin I decided to take the fish to grandma rather than eat a third meal of pan fried trout. I gutted them as neatly as I could and wrapped them with an accompanying ice pack in the cooler. I ate a peach and cleaned up the cabin.

Finally left at 2pm and had to go back out of the Feather River canyon. It was a rough drive, I almost had to pull over and hurl a few times. But I talked myself through it and kept the wind blowing in our faces. I was suffering worse than Petunia.

We made it to Chico in 2 hours or so - about 80 miles. Greeted the grandparents and had a shower. Dinner was steak barbecued by cousin Jake, 19, of Quincy.

He's a cool kid. Big man at his high school, now down at Chico State for his first year of college. Doing well. His sister Cassidy is soon to graduate from there. She's studying abroad this summer in Ghana.

I got to sleep fairly early and was very glad to be in a regular bed type bed. Mr Tibbs stole a pillow down to the floor in the night. Petunia slept on the carpet at the other side of the bed.

WHEN: Saturday, June 11, 2005

WHERE: cabin near Taylorsville, CA

I woke up on the couch at 630 and first priority was fishing. If you don't know, they tend to bite best around dawn and dusk, when the bugs are out, and the birds and all the animals. There are very few practical matters for a human to attend to out in the woods. Food, shelter, warmth - that's about it. It was cold in the cabin. The fire in the wood burning stove had burned itself out overnight, and it was down to about 60 degrees inside, and 45 outside. So I figured get a fire going, and the place will be warm by the time I get back with the fish. But first start the coffee brewing so by the time I got done with the fire it would be ready to drink. You start thinking pretty clearly when there are only a few things to think about.

A fire in the stove is ignited the same way as a campfire - light tinder, add logs. But it was designed to burn efficiently, so the fire leapt to life quickly, and by means of adjusting the cover over a window cut in the front of the stove, you manage the oxygen getting to the flame. If you close the window with the fire going pretty well, the stove radiates the most heat, and burns slowest. That's the overnight setting.

With the fire under way and coffee poured, all I had to do was get out the door. But when I sat down to drink the coffee in front of that window, I was mesmerized once again by the view. It's as good as the ocean. You can just sit and look at it forever. But I reminded myself about the fish, and got to it.

I needed to redeem myself after the unfruitful evening session, so I didn't go sightseeing along the banks, but straight to the rapid where I'd been lucky before. The water hadn't changed much overnight. Still running fat and fast. I made several casts upsteam, then downstream, with no bites. I started to remember my five cast rule. After five casts into the same area, the fish have seen it all they want to. If they haven't gone after it by now, they're not going to. They're not dumb, they can recognize non-prey if you plunk your lure in like a mack truck. You're also supposed to sneak up to the water. They can hear the crunching rocks and snapping branches, and see movement on the shore. Trout are visual hunters. Catfish go by smell. That's why you can catch them with a half rotted chicken wing that you sink down to the bottom of a lake. You have to hope it stinks enough to lure them from wherever else they may be. Trout you have to stalk. You have to figure out where they are and then present the lure in a convincing fashion - drop it in upstream or downstream of them and reel it through their territory.

But this is all just theory. In reality, most trout I've caught hit the lure within 2 seconds of it hitting the water. And some of them on very bad casts that splashed in like a small aircraft. It doesn't make much sense... the lures are designed to flash and move like a wounded fish or an insect once you start reeling. But until then it's just a chunk of shiny metal drifting in the water.

I moved downstream a quarter mile to the other rapid. This area is rife with deer, and it was morning grazing time. I spotted a male and female and froze in my tracks. Another uncle of mine is a big time deer hunter and he had told me long ago that if you don't move, they can't see you. Their eyes register movement more than recognize shapes. So I watched them and didn't move, to see how they behaved. They had seen me at first, and one of them faced me while the other watched with one eye, it's head turned. After a few seconds they lowered their mouths to the long grass and continued grazing. I stood still and they didn't seem to notice me anymore. I moved slightly and their heads snapped up, looking right at me. After a few more seconds they went back to their meals. I snuck up on them very slowly until only 10 yards separated us. Hunters always joke that the deer know when it's deer season. Maybe they're just more on-guard in the fall because of the time of year. Food is getting lean, the seasons are heading toward winter. Summer is a time of plenty and good weather.

After proving my point that I could sneak up on them, I stopped being cautious and walked toward them, as they were between me and my destination. They casually moved along, then trotted to get ahead of me.

I arrived at the second rapid, and it was a much more accessible spot to fish. There was something of a wide beach, with spots where the trees and bushes didn't encroach on the bank. So I cast from there, below the rapid, up into the rushing water trying one eddy or fast spot after another. Below the rapid the water didn't calm down all at once. The water in the middle of the creek flowed fast for a hundred feet downstream, with eddies on either side. Lots of fish like these margins of fast and slow water. I had the idea of casting cross-stream into the middle of the fast water, and letting it carry the lure a long way before reeling it in. This would cover a lot of territory. I had already lost two of the three lures, and this last one was light - one-eighth ounce. It wouldn't cast across to the other shore, but did make it to the middle. I let it play out and then reeled. No bites, but it did get snagged each time and bring in a chunk of moss and mud, rendering these long casts useless.

The lure had a treble hook - three hooks welded together around an axis. I had used pliers to pinch the barbs of the hooks down. My friend Alex had shown me this trick, and it had several purposes. It made for fewer snags and therefore fewer lost lures. It made hooking a fish more of a challenge, as the barbs would not automatically snag in the mouth. And if you did manage to land a fish and it was too small, it would be easier to remove the hook and let the fish back in the water.

One of the hooks had snapped off on a snag, and another one did shortly after. The remaining hook was bent out from a snag, and I couldn't with my bare fingers get it back in line. So after a couple hours of trying, I was losing hope of a trout breakfast. Around 10 am, I was getting mentally ready to head back to the cabin, making my final casts, when I finally got a strike from one of those margin areas. I jerked the rod to set the hook and started

reeling. From the fight and the white belly flash in the water I could tell it was a keeper, and this was confirmed when I got him on shore. I managed to grab it around the midsection and felt around for the buck knife in my pocket. I'd had this knife since I was twelve or thirteen, and despite some polishing in the past it had developed green tarnish on the copper-plated ends. Mr Tibbs in his youth had chewed one end of its leather case, but all in all the knife still worked after 20 years.

This was the part of fishing I dreaded. All the artistry of casting was great fun, and fighting a fish is pure adrenaline, but killing is not something I enjoy. I sometimes won't even kill an insect, but go out of my way to capture and release it outside. With a fish I had options of course. I could put him in the plastic bag I had brought and let him suffocate. I could string a nylon rope through the gills and let him dangle from my waist. Or let him wait out his demise in the water with the rope-end lodged under a rock. But why prolong the suffering? I took the point of the knife and tried to find the spot on top of its head where the brain could be most easily accessed. The fish struggled in my hand when it felt the blade touch its skin. I didn't want to make a mess of this, like I had a few times in the past. It makes you feel pretty bad to try and be humane but wind up torturing a fish to death.

I got lucky. The knife point went in easily, not finding bone, and I twisted it to make sure I got the brain. The fish twitched once, hard, and then went still. The spinal cord being severed I hoped. My hands were shaking and I was panting a little. I washed him off in the water, slid him into the plastic bag and put that in my coat pocket. Well, I thought, you've got your breakfast, and this late in the morning. I picked up the rod and headed back to the cabin.

The last time I was here, with my mom, she cleaned the fish. I didn't know she knew how, but she said in her childhood her male relatives would bring home fish and the women would clean them, and it hadn't left her. She was not squeamish like I was. She works in a hospital and has voluntarily viewed autopsies. I think she may have a bit of the morbid curiosity in her. But she wasn't here now, so I did the work myself.

I steadied myself with coffee, then set to it. There was a pointed dicing knife and a small fruit-cutting knife that were sharp. I chose the larger and poked it in just between the gills on the underside. It was a lovely fish - brown with spots on top and a white belly. Just a hint of pink luminescence to the small scales. The knife cut easily down the belly past the anus to the tail. I spread the flaps and looked briefly at the tidy package of organs, then scooped them out with a finger. I had to scrape the black blood from a vein that ran the length of the spine, then all that was left was pink muscle and bones. The head came off not very easily, and I decided I didn't choose the right spot to do it. But it was done, and the pan was hot and the onions and garlic starting to blacken, so I laid him on top of them.

It took 5 or 6 minutes to reach rare, the way I like all meat. I toasted some bread, put it all on a plate and sat down in front of that view. Wow, this is what I came here for. It needed a moment's pause, then I ate.

+++++++++++++

After breakfast I sat around for a while then started to think about the rest of the day. It was noon and I didn't want to fish again until 5 or 6. In the meantime there was a nice cheap 9-hole golf course about 10 miles away on the other side of town. I had tried to bring my full set of clubs in the car but had to pare it down to a skeleton crew of 5. Driver, 5 iron, 8 iron, lob wedge, putter. I would have rather had a pitching or sand wedge, but the lob served the dual purpose of being a good dirt club. That is, I have a modified game of fetch I play with the dogs where I hit a tennis ball with a golf club, and they retrieve it. We have the routine down well, and I figured on this trip we could play it on the beach, in the woods, wherever. So far we hadn't - just played fetch the old fashioned way.

The course is superior to most in Phoenix just because of the natural watering it gets. The grass is lush and the greens, like all I've seen in California, are soft. Nevertheless my swing was not quite on, and it was one of those rounds where I feel no need to keep score.

After golf I drove down the road to a couple other nearby towns. Crescent Mills is very small, but larger than Taylorsville. I stopped at the general store and bought two more lures - both 1/4 ounce Panther Martins. The heavier weight meant farther casts, and the larger hooks meant only big ones could bite it. The next town was Greenville. I was trying to find the roadside bar that my uncle had taken me to before. I thought it was in Taylorsville, but didn't see it as I drove in and out. Greenville had three bars. I chose the one with Harleys in front. It was dark inside with a long wooden bar and tattered vinyl seats that were a bit too low. I sat two seats over from a skinny old man, and at the end of the bar were 4 or 5 native american women. They were all locals. The two women tending bar looked like biker ladies. Or in Phoenix I would peg them as west-siders. I'm such a snob about east side and west side, having grown up just a little east of Central and now living just a little west of it. There was really not much sense to it, purely the prejudices of an uninformed youth. The west side I always pictured really started west of the I-17. White trash, to use a bad stereotype. But it's only some parts of the west side. Anyway the stereotype I always had was of women with leathery skin and stringy dirty blonde hair, a little too skinny from addiction to alcohol or amphetamines. Cigarette voices and too many miles, too many kids from too many boyfriends. But I try to be less judgmental now. I've known some and they tend to be good people, fun-loving and generous. Just living among of a different set of values than the yuppyish money-centric east siders.

I had a few short gin and tonics there and didn't really talk to anyone. Got bored, got back in the car and headed toward Taylorsville, where I was starting to think the bar I remembered was hiding off of main street. It was a whole new car without the dogs and luggage in it. They were back at the cabin, probably sleeping on the couch despite my efforts to keep them off it. I decided to try out that gas-and-brake style of mountain driving I'd witnessed. Yeah, it works. It's a hell of a lot of fun. You don't have to waste time reading suggested speed signs, because you can double them anyway. Just judge a turn by how quickly the road disappears behind the hillside. I've found this engine is happiest above 4000 rpm. That's where the turbo is kicking in and winding up to maximum horsepower at about 6000. On I-10 that first day across the desert at 100 mph, the rpms were steadily at 4000, and that was the best mileage I'd ever gotten. A little gas and the engine leaps in that range.

Back in Taylorsville I prowled the other streets lined mostly by dilapidated houses. No bar. Then I got back on Main and there it was - Taylorsville Tavern. My uncle and I had stopped here after a round of golf back in September. I had a Sierra Nevada and he ordered a jack and coke. The lady bartender seemed to recognize him. He lives about 20 miles away in Quincy but his work takes him all over the area, so he'd surely been in before. She poured him a generous jack. With a splash of coke. We chatted with her about small town stuff and had a second round. He grew visibly tipsy - and he's a big man. He was all ready for a third round that would have made us late to dinner with my mom and his wife, and it was I who made the decision to moderate. And regulate.

This day, I walked up the steps and stopped to talk to two older men sitting on the porch drinking miller.

---- TO BE CONTINUED ----

 

WHEN: Friday, June 10, 2005

WHERE: MacKerricher St Beach, Mendocino, Willits, Williams, Willows, Oroville, Feather River, Taylorsville

DISTANCE: maybe 250 miles due east across the entire state, almost all mountain roads, 6 or 7 hours driving

CAR NOTES: I like this car more and more every day, but today I learned that mountain people can drive fast in anything. I got passed all day, and at one point schooled by some guy in an old Nissan Sentra who would brake and practically get it sideways into hairpin turns at 60 instead of the posted 30. I was taking those at 40 or 45, but no one else was. My driving strategy in all mountains has always been to use the brake pedal little if at all, do all the deceleration with engine braking. This was how I was taught to drive, in older cars with worse handling, scared of the stench of burning brakepad that insinuated a slide into thin air. It leads to conservative driving because the difference between your high and low speeds should only be as much as you can accomplish with downshifting. Now I know better. For one, all that downshifting wears on the dyno-whatever in the transmission that helps the gears during shifting, and creates the engine braking effect. That's more expensive to replace than brake pads. For two, it's just not necessary to try to save the brakes in this car. It has four big discs that have yet to heat up or soften noticeably in any conditions. Plus that tight suspension, wide tires and very responsive engine, and it's really unfair to take this thing into the mountains and drive like I have been. But I can blame it on the dogs - they're not buckled in, and I can tell when they start to get nervous or carsick. I try to give them a smooth ride.

++++++++++++++++

This day started out in the tent at MacKerricher State Crowded Campground, rising at maybe 630 to try to beat the crowds. Last night at bedtime, the dogs acted like they expected to sleep outside the tent, under the wind guard. I think this tent was designed for Everest, it's so aerodynamic and low to the ground. It's great though. I see all these huge multi-room tents that you could swing a golf club in, forget having to crawl in on hands and knees. But it's just big enough for me and the dogs, and it fits in the backpack with everything else for camping, so it's perfect.

When we got up, the first thing was to find the beach and let the dogs run free. They really like the beach. As soon as the leashes come off, they run all out of control, playing tag with each other for a couple hundred yards down the beach. Then trotting back through the sea foam, running randomly up to the dry sand. Sniffing everything. Anything can be a ball, so we play fetch with a piece of opaque dull green seaweed with what looked like a hollow plastic ball at the end. By the time they brought it back it would be chewed apart from their tussling in the surf.

It was a black sand beach, made up of smooth pebbles a millimeter or two in diameter. You'd want to say it was course sand, but there was nothing course about it. So that must mean the sand is young and not broken up yet. And the blackness of the rock would imply its type. Glassy, volcanic? Or basaltic, from the ocean floor? What's around there, geographically? The headlands (aka sea cliffs) in Mendocino, 15 miles south, have sandstone or limestone in them. So is that the source of the sand at those beaches? Actually, the beaches there are made of big smooth rocks being pounded by rough waves. I guess I could google it.
Anyway the sand that morning was black, and I've never seen that anywhere before. With the rising sun behind us, the sea was a different color. There were patches of fog. The black dogs against the black sand looked strange and very cool. I took pictures - see below.

We walked the length of the beach in both directions and eventually came to the mouth of a stream that poured into the ocean. It may have been a tidal stream, because the water was really rushing out of it, as if it had just rushed into it. But it didn't last only as long as a wave, it kept running hard. I should have tasted the water to tell fresh or salt. The flow had carved the most amazing ripple effect into the sand that it passed over. See the picture below. It looked like ridges down an alligator's back. There were smaller ones nearby going in slightly different directions. Never seen that before either.
I put the dogs on their leashes because I thought for a minute that seals might be on the rocks beyond the little river mouth, and they were about to go over there. But I looked again and it was just some gulls, no seals blending into the brown rocks. Just then my eye caught a person a ways off walking down from the short cliff towards us. It was a park ranger, a woman. She yells "Whyja put their leashes on just now?" I remembered then that dogs were supposed to be on leashes in the state park and I guess on the beach too. "Uhhh, it just seemed like the right time."

Very smooth.

"Are you camping here?"

"Yeah"

"Well they need to be on leashes in the park." She's closer now, just across the river. She's kind of cute. Young, blonde, smiling as she squints into the sun. "They're nice dogs."

Got coffee at the Mendocino Bakery, which used to be the hippie coffee shop but is now busy with bay areans and manned by a bunch of nice looking kids and a european-looking woman in her 40s. They were really busy, but fast. I asked for a triple cappucino, in my big stainless cup. That was a dumb order. Three shots of espresso is the same as four to make, and twice the work of two. And with them all busy. Plus, how much hot milk is she going to have to put into that 16 oz cup? I have to drive, not go to bed. Got the best looking food in there, which was a not very good looking bagel and "smoked salmon cream cheese". I hate that. I wish you could get smoked salmon. And cream cheese. Only at some places, and it's like a thousand dollars.

I took breakfast out to the headlands, within sight of my grandmother's old house. What a place that was. I miss it. The last time I was there was the first week of June 2002, and one day it was 45 degrees at noon. This morning it was warmer than that. Shorts and tshirt, but windy. I parked the car and ate the bagel and drank the coffee and watched the ocean a long time, then got the dogs out and walked to the cliff's edge and down a little ways to a hangout spot. It was kind of a pensive time, which it always is there. Something about the ocean and spray and wind gets you lost in thought. I thought of the different girls I'd been there with, and how those relationships had ended and what they were up to now... having families and whatnot.

After that we took the road back to Hwy 1, 10 miles up to Fort Bragg and then on the 70 back the same way to Willits. That's 50 miles or so through the coastal range. I consulted the maps as I drove. That's hectic to do with those curves every 100 yards. I determined the most direct route and thickest line was the 70 through Willits, 15 more miles to Williams, then north 15 miles to Willows. What's with all the W's? Across a few miles of the northern end of the mercifully flat Central Valley, then into the Sierra Nevada for a good long ways to Oroville. There are a lot of lakes and fishing around there. I stopped in a hunting store and grabbed a Panther Martin lure, and some gas and chips and Sierra Nevada beer at a gas station. The gas was the same or less than in Phoenix. Everywhere it was the same or less than Phoenix - what's that about?

Back before Willits there was Clear Lake - a pretty big lake with all these little towns around it that were named after European cities. Lucerne, Nice. And they all in some way tout the connection with their namesakes, almost as if descendants from each place lived here. But that's ridiculous - how could small groups from around Europe decide to go re-create their cultures around a lake in northern california? That's one more thing to google.

In the Sierra they have another lake like that. Several actually, in Lake County. There's a picture of one below. From Oroville it's 70 miles to Quincy where my uncle lives, and the turnoff to the cabin was 10 miles before that. So while we're well past halfway, it was 3pm with the longest stretch in the mountains still to go.

But they are beautiful mountains. And the road follows the Feather River. It's pretty wide and running fast the whole way. It carves a mean canyon. I swear these were the sickest roads yet. Several tunnels and bridges that are one-lane. I started to feel woozy. Back when I was about 10 my mom and I drove through this canyon, and I did get sick a couple times.

At long last I arrived at the turnoff for Taylorsville, population 153, elevation 3585. Aunt Norma's cabin is 5 miles further, in no town at all. I've been there before, last September with my mom and we got to see the first snow in the mountains. One morning after a rainy night the sun came up and the mountains were white. Well, on June 10th, almost 9 months later, there was still plenty of snow. Not fresh, but still there. That side of the mountain faces north.

I found the dirt road leading to the cabin, parked and hauled some stuff down the path. Found the key, let us in. At last.

The place is remarkable for its location and especially its view. It has all the luxuries you could expect in a very rural area. Any more accomodations would diminish the rustic charm. Like I said before, running water but spiders in the bathroom. Hot water, toilet, shower, stove, oven, sink. Coffee maker. One wall is all window for the incredible view. Picture below from the porch.

Across that field of about an acre I'd say, there's a little drop down to a riverbed. The creek itself occupies not the entire width of the riverbed. The water is about 30 feet across. Trout live in it. Not everywhere though. Last time I fished every bit of both sides for a mile in each direction. The creek is lined with trees and bushes, so you have to poke around in them and sometimes walk in the cold water. It's fun. Last time it took all that to catch a few fish.

I started out like before, fishing up one side for a half mile. Mostly just checking out the creek itself. It's deeper and much faster than in September, which would be the longest it has to run before the rain and snow begin again. Everyone in this part of the state, in this town, in the entire west, reports this past winter was the wettest they've seen in a long time. Certainly true in Phoenix. As one guy sitting in front of the tavern in Taylorsville put it, "This is the first normal winter we've had in 20 years."

The banks looked the same, but the water was fast and deep enough that I didn't feel I could cross it except maybe at a couple places if I wanted to get all wet. Last time I could cross it almost anywhere. More water meant less rough water, which meant fewer places to even try to find trout. They like rough water. Makes for fun fishing. You cast, reel, cast, reel. Not like the kind of fishing where you let the line sit for as long as you can stand. Here you try to land the lure in a certain spot in the rapid, and predict what the water will do with it, and where that fish is hanging out, and which way the lure will run through the water, and how to change it.

It became apparent that the same places that had no fish before, really had none now. So I went to the one spot where I caught all the fish last time. It was just a little downstream of the cabin, the biggest rapid along this mile of river. It wasn't huge, but dramatic. Last time I'd walked across it on rocks only getting my feet wet. This time I definitely would have been carried away. I could get out five or six steps across it on dry rocks, and from that position cast above or below the rapid. It was like standing in the middle of the maelstrom, the water rushing by and roaring loud enough that nothing from shore could penetrate the sound. I caught a couple tiny brown spotted trout, far too small to keep. I tossed them back. There was one hit below the rapid that was big. I saw the white belly flash in the water and it looked as big as the strike felt. The fish was off before I could set the hook. But that said to me: here's where they are!

I fished the rapid and all around it til dark but came home empty handed. Dark comes after 9pm up here, and I only had energy to make hard salami & cheese on bread, melted in the toaster over. It wasn't bad at all, but I wanted fish. As I served it up I said to myself "This is dinner for people who don't catch fish".

 

WHEN: Thursday, June 9, 2005

WHERE: Palo Alto to MacKerricher State Beach, north of Fort Bragg

DISTANCE: 200 miles or so - 5 hours driving

I woke up at a decent 7am and after bacon, eggs & toast with aunt Norma and my usual procrastination, got off to my earliest departure yet at 11am. The weather forecast said no more rain after 9am, so I planned to get through the bay area and on to the - what else - insane country roads leading to Mendocino. I have a fondness for that town because my grandmother lived there during the 1990s. In 2002 she moved back to Chico - long story.

So we got on the road and made good time as far as San Francisco where I needed to get from the 101 to the 1 in order to cross the Golden Gate Bridge instead of the Bay Bridge. Boy, I was thinking, I'm going to blast through the bay area in record time. That's right when I got lost.

Now, I've driven in San Francisco at least a dozen times in the past 10 years, and I think I know the town pretty well. It's hard to get lost in a city only 7 miles by 7 miles with landmarks everywhere, right? Well, I found a part of town I'd never been before - Twin Peaks. I've seen it from other parts of town - there are two giant antennae on the top of these two hills.

Well I just kept driving in approximately one direction and eventually got to an outlook, where I took the first picture below. Nice view from there, and really really nice houses. Housing in SF is, as we all know, ridiculous. To rent a tiny apartment costs the same as owning a nice house in Phoenix. So to own a mansion in SF? Probably no one living in your family has ever had a job. And you probably have a phat boat in the marina too.

Anyway I just tried to head north, and eventually found myself on Ashbury. Ashbury, that sounds familiar enough, is that like Ashbury Park - or is that in New Jersey? Soon enough I had my answer as I pulled up to a stop sign and saw Haight St. Ah yes, the famous Haight Ashbury - Jefferson Starship, the smells of patchouli and pizza, hippie mecca. I'd been there and done that and was now in a hurry, so I hurried past and down a couple blocks to the panhandle of golden gate park. Whereupon I would be able to find the 1, which is not a highway but a regular street in the city proper. I turned, drove a few more blocks, then realized we were no longer next to the panhandle. Damn, took a wrong turn at Haight-Ashbury... in a corny moment I thought, how many people have done that in one sense or another?

Got to the 1, got over the bridge (see pic below), blasted through the rainbow tunnel into Sausalito - another place you don't want to be less than a millionaire. Within 10 minutes we were into the woods again, as if 5 million people didn't live and work a few miles away.

This point of the trip is where I deliberately left the PCH and took the faster road. It's just 150 miles to Mendocino from there, but on Hwy 1 it takes 6 hours. Those are some sick-making switchbacks. I didn't want to put Petunia through it, and didn't have the time either. The fast road, Hwy 128, still takes 3 hours through spooky dark woods. Even at noon you need headlights in there.

First though we stopped in Healdsburg to find bathroom and coffee. This town has been completely yuppified. I stayed there once in the late 80's, and there was a bed and breakfast on the town square. I don't remember any other businesses. In the mid 90's I went a few times to a restaurant owned by a friend of a friend. His was one of the first new businesses, and definitely drew your bay area types. Now it was unrecognizable with new storefronts on the main street. Oddly, everything seemed to be a wine shop, dog shop or bike shop. I mean, 3 doggie pampering stores in a few blocks? What's going on here? I parked on the street, got the dogs out and walked around the block searching for grass for them to poop on. We ended up on some train tracks just behind the main street shops. There was a body shop and a lumber yard, and after relieving ourselves in the tall grass, walking back toward civilization I saw the most beautiful blonde girl walking along. Easily the most attractive woman I'd seen on the trip. I tried to think of something to say, but was too stunned, and then she was gone. But wow.

Heading back toward the car I steered us by the first doggie store that had caught my eye, thinking these dogs have been so good I should get them something. They didn't have anything for dogs, they had little arts & crafts with dogs on them, for dog lovers. Pleeeaaase, so we walked on. At the next shop the dogs kind of disappeared in the doorway and when I caught up they were molesting some woman, noses in crotch as they like to greet strangers. But this lady was really friendly, and got them a bucket of cold water from a spigot sticking out of the building right on the sidewalk. She was a dog person apparently. We chatted for a minute, I thought about it, but we had to get going. You can really tell dog people from non dog people.

After Healdsburg the road takes you by the northern tip of the napa-sonoma wine country. It's called Alexander Valley, and some of your really nice wines are made there. The nearest town is Geyserville, where I had lunch and hung around one day in 2002. It's a one-intersection town, and I remember what it looked like 3 years ago. It's different now. Still one intersection, but all new businesses, all yuppie tourist businesses. The Geyser Smokehouse and the General Store are the two businesses that were there before. Now there's an Italian restaurant, two wine bars, a bed & breakfast. The locals who aren't involved in those businesses are all employed in the grape growing industry. The vineyards start across the street.

I recalled that a couple good tasting rooms were very nearby, so I took the most likely road and wound up at Murphy-Goode (see pics below). The dogs were good enough to rest in the car while I sampled the selection. I was served by a somewhat unfriendly bearded man with a Boston accent. He asked where I was from, I asked if he was from the northeast? England, he said. Southeast London. Now I know british accents, and this was a Boston accent. Maybe he'd been here a long time and it had morphed.

I bought a bottle of fume blanc there, called The Deuce, and got back on the road. It's a really nice drive through the vines. At one junction there was a road block and I asked what happened. There was an accident up the road so I could wait or else head further up to the next skinny grey line on the map, or go further north to Willits where it was a slightly thicker pink line. I'd driven the 20 from Willits to Fort Bragg before. It was winter and there was fog in the coastal range. I remember that time wanting to just stop the car, run out into the hills and find a big tree to live under. It's actually a national forest, so you could in theory do the mountain hermit thing.

But I continued on to Fort Bragg, which is not a military town but a logging and fishing fleet town about 10 miles up the coast from Mendocino. MacKerricher State Beach is a few miles further, and that's where I wanted to camp. I pulled into their parking lot before 5pm and inquired about campsites. Most of the beachside ones were taken but I could look. They were taken, mostly by big RVs with entire families at each spot. Not my scene. There were some hike-in sites, 8 total and only 1 car by them. I got all excited until I saw the no dogs sign. Damn. We settled for a site further back, a hundred yards from Hwy 1. I set up the tent and at this point it was getting too dark for a nature hike, and there was some stuff I wanted to check out back in Fort Bragg. This night of camping, I realized with mixed feelings, would be the most urban yet. I mean, I wasn't even going to start a campfire and cook, I was going to eat in a restaurant and then simply crash outdoors instead of in a hotel.

I knew where I wanted to eat - North Coast Brewing Company. They make Red Seal Ale that's sold at certain shops in Phoenix. This isn't the slightly more prevalent Anderson Valley beer that's brewed in nearby Boonville (where they speak a lost, bastardized form of Elizabethan English similar to how they do in parts of Appalachia). North Coast also makes Old Rasputin Stout, which is so high in alcohol that it tastes sweet from all the sugar required to make the extra alcohol. I had a sampler of their beers, as I had the first time I went there - with Sondra in about 1997. We ate the nachos that time, which had black beans and not enough jalapeno. As with most small breweries, I liked the IPA best. That and some fish and chips seemed like a plan. And then, lo and behold, I looked up and the first game of the NBA finals was on... what serendipity. 

I ate and drank and noticed the other customers. At one point a couple of gruff looking, leather clad bikers took the spots next to me. I had seen bikers all day long on the road. Mostly Harleys, if not all. They were unshaven and looked like in the cartoons when something blows up in someone's face - all black with soot. I imagined there was a big biker convention making its way up the coast with me and these were gnarly hells angels from Oakland or something. Boy was I wrong. Pure LA yuppies. They talked about what hotel they were staying in that night, about their jobs back in LA, and the part where I burst out laughing was when they talked about what golf courses were nearby. I butted in and said back in Mendocino there's a nice 9-hole by the ocean. Yeah Little River Inn, one of them says. Some bikers. At least I was camping that night.

Back at camp I made a fire - something I consider myself somewhat expert at now, given 3 pieces of dry chopped wood, 2 sheets of newspaper and a lighter. I went about it and got the tinder started, but the logs would not get going. Then I realized it was misting, and the dogs fur was a little wet. Oh well, I sat there under a tree while the dogs huddled around me for shelter or safety, I don't know, then turned in. I was tired.

 

WHEN: Wednesday June 8

WHERE: Half Moon Bay to Palo Alto

DISTANCE: maybe 30 miles

CAR NOTES: I have a second body repair to get done at home... this one came on day 3 when I was searching for a camp site. Before the 7 mile mountain road to get to Bottcher Gap, I first took a similar road that was unpaved. It started at the north side of Bixby Bridge, which spans a pretty large river mouth at a height too scary to estimate when you drive over it. The bridge was built in 1932, as were all the bridges in that stretch of Hwy 1. What a year that was for the region. This dirt road I took must have been the road before the bridge was built, and man what a difference that bridge made. The road went up and up and up for miles around sick turns, back into the coastal mountains. I was really thinking I could finally do some backcountry camping somewhere up there or down behind the first range. The drive was a lot of fun. I think the car handled it better because it was dirt. The WRX is, after all, a rally car. I think I finally saw what this car was meant to do.

 

Anyway I got to the top of the mountain and there was a sign saying it was private land on both sides of the road for the next six miles. I looked out and the next several miles were

downhill and further back into the mountains. It was of course very windy and the terrain was desert-like. Not very appealing as camping ground, and the hour was getting late. So I turned around. But this was a one lane road with crazy camber, and turning around was not easy. During my sawing back and forth I scraped the front left fender on the ground. I got out to look, and it was just a scratch on a piece of plastic. Not worthy of a repair in

itself. As opposed to the scratch on the rear right fender from the day before. That was metal, and took a few chips of paint off. So no big deal I thought, not to stress over, but

also not a trend to continue.

 

Fast forward to this morning, getting ready to leave Half Moon Bay. I gave the car a wipe

down to get the dead bugs off the front, checked the tire pressure and looked again at the

damage. The front left fender was a little loose. Not drastic, but more than I thought

previously. One of those ubiquitous plastic clips that holds cars together these days, had

broken and accounted for the extra play. I need to remember not to mess this car up any

more! But now there are three body repairs if you count the ding in the hatchback from the

second day I had the car.... enough work that now I can, as my friend Jason would say,

"batch that shit".

 

Starting over with this morning, I woke up about 7:30 to the sound of wet road being driven

over. At first it didn't mean much, but slowly it occurred to me how much the weather

affects the outdoor life I was intending to get back to today. Camping in the rain... not

fun. Not with dogs and a small car and borrowed equipment. But I have no more money, nor room in my supposedly all-camping trip for another motel stay. I pondered this from bed for a short while, and eventually the threat of the end of free continental breakfast roused me from the sheets. First I walked the dogs in the designated dog walking field next to the hotel. It was there we achieved the first synchronized peeing of the trip. It wasn't a desperate, long-overdue peeing. They took 10 or 15 steps into the field first, then Petunia assumed the female dog peeing crouch while Tibbs simultaneously raised his right hind leg. I was proud for a moment. Then they finished, took two more steps and performed the even more rare synchronized shit. It's moments like this that a dog owner feels it all come together. Is there anything more satisfying than killing two birds with one stone? How about four? All previous days of this trip, this would have required pulling over that many times until all bodily functions were performed by each animal.

 

After a quick breakfast of coffee, bearclaw and apple, I went back to the room and got

online for a bit. The internet was free and wireless in this hotel. Half Moon Bay itself is

the largest town in this small stretch of coast between Santa Cruz and San Francisco. On the map the distance from Carmel around the Monterey Peninsula to Monterey and then north round the bay to Santa Cruz, looks huge. But it takes less than an hour driving. Maybe more like half an hour. As opposed to Arizona where it can be hours between towns. It's so nice to have natural resources at your fingertips like this. You can live inland and still go to the beach any day of the week. In Arizona, the Grand Canyon is 5 hours away. In winter skiing is either 2 or 4 hours away. Everything is at least 2 hours away, even the other side of town sometimes, and none of it as cool as the ocean.

 

In my previous visits here I had always skipped over Half Moon Bay, opting to go

inland from Santa Cruz to the Bay Area via Hwy 101. So this was the first new territory of

the trip. It's nice, more beautiful coastline, but not even the nicest I'd seen that day. I

was trying to get into town and find a cheap motel that took dogs, but road signs tricked me onto a side road on the outskirts that led only to a Ritz Carlton fucking CASTLE and the adjacent Troon golf course. Man that looked like a nice course. Links style, with beach and deep fescue in play. Windy as hell. Sure looked fun. So that'd be a cool grand to stay the night and play a round. Not what I had in mind. The tone of the downtown was... tony. Niche shops that didn't look affordable. Italian restaurants, new buildings built to look old. And set off a mile away out of sight were the utilitarian stores... Albertson's, Home Depot, gas stations. Must be nice when a small town goes posh like that. Mendocino is much the same. Places where locals have lived in rural modesty until rich city folk designate it as a weekend shopping and golf destination. And then local kids get to work in those shops, but no one who lives there could ever afford to shop there. Not sure who wins out really. In Mendocino the local dive bar with a lot of character and history, I later found out, is now owned by the parent corporation of Circle-K.

 

But I got a blackeye coffee at one of those places today, and it was not bad. And it was not starbucks. I haven't seen a starbucks for days, just going on faith that other people can make strong coffee. They do make good espresso most everywhere - maybe I should switch to dry triple cappucinos for a while. That taste does transport me to another time and place.

 

So with a nice noon checkout that I had to rush to make, I was starting another day with it half over already. I have got to overcome that soon. But I was without a plan now. I wanted to head north, zooming through San Francisco on the 1, through Muir Woods and Stinson Beach on the long twisted drive to Mendocino. Maybe not all the way today, but camping somewhere along the way at least. But it was misting, and I needed to try to get in touch with my great aunt Norma in Palo Alto. It's her cabin I'll be at in a few days and respects need to be paid. I couldn't get her on the phone, so I took that coffee to the beach and gave it a half hour. Talked to my mom on the phone, and decided to just go ahead to Palo Alto and see what happened.

 

On the short but crazy drive over the coastal mountains I got a call from Norma. She gave directions to her house and soon we were having a sandwich and glass of wine for lunch. She anticipated me staying the night, though there was no obligation. We got out maps and looked at where I was trying to go. Looked at the weather online. It seemed a choice of either making 100 miles progress today and camping in the rain, or having a nice, free roof over my head and making up the miles tomorrow. Well I took the free room. Spent the afternoon assembling a night stand for her that had lots of screws and wooden dowels. I've put furniture together before, but man this was some work. For a night stand! Think if you were trying to put together a whole house full of furniture. But it was good to do something for her. Then we had some drinks and went out for ribs. She was using me as an excuse to indulge in unhealthy food, because all her friends are vegetarians. Always happy to oblige!

 

You can really tell this is Silicon Valley. First there was the HP campus I drove by, then

the dominance of Scottsdalish cars on the road. Beemers, Benzes, Suburbans with 20 inch rims. Lots of younger people - more than Stanford can account for. But the kicker was when we walked into the rib shack and there was a sign showing the local symbol for wi-fi. Man, doesn't your keyboard get all sticky from bbq sauce?

 

Norma said when the bubble burst in '01 the area lost 250,000 jobs. Can that be true?

Amazing. She said she hated to enjoy that, but it was the only time in her 23 years here

that traffic was bearable. She and my great uncle Preston have a nice house in a cute

neighborhood just off a main strip that they've been in that whole time. The very modest 3

bedroom 1 bath across the street sold last year for $950,000. In Phoenix a year ago that

house would be $130,000 tops. Property taxes here are assessed at 1% per year of the last sale price. How is that fair? You're basically punished for moving. You can pay $10,000 per year while your neighbor pays $1000. For what? You drive 10 times as much on the roads? Those schools need 10 times as much from you as from me? What if you don't even have kids and I have 5? I mean if the state wants money, take money. But base it on something more meaningful.

 

So once I decided to stay the night, the rain stopped. Forecast said this whole part of the

coast would have rain tonight and again early tomorrow morning. We'll see. Going to try to

camp tomorrow at Salt Point on the way to Mendocino or MacKerricher Park just past it. Both are highly recommended by Norma, who has traveled a lot. That will be the last day of camping, then inland to the cabin. It's actually pretty rustic there. Middle of the Sierras. Running water, but spiders in the bathroom. There's a trout stream right outside, where I plan to spend early mornings and late afternoons til Sunday.

 

WHEN: Tuesday, June 7

WHERE: Bottcher Gap campsite to Half Moon Bay

DISTANCE: maybe 100 miles. Total trip distance is around 950 miles now.

After awkening many times throughout the morning I got up at my latest time yet - 9:40. I kept waiting for the sun to become too bright, but this tent has a wind guard that's a good light guard too. I got up and the place was a little less creepy than at night. When I camped here two years ago I was actually a bit spooked, and so were the dogs. There was some animal rustling about in the leaves all night long, getting ever closer. In the morning I found it was birds. Birds! So this time I knew better, but still the place is not charming. You have to drive 7 miles up a mountain road, to the top of a ridge in the coastal range. But up there it's constantly windy, and the ground is just dirt and dried fallen leaves.

First thing this morning I took the dogs for a short hike on the trail that goes right by the tent. There was one other group of people who kept to themselves all night and hardly wanted to say hi as we passed on the path to the parking lot in the morning. On this hike the dogs and I came to a clearing and could see the ocean. Well, I could - the dogs weren't tall enough. We also came to a stream and the dogs waded around in the cool water. By now all I could think about was getting to a shower and clean clothes.

We left the campsite at noon. I intended to get coffee in Carmel or Monterey, the next towns, before doing anything else. Instead I found a beautiful beach that was actually public. There were a few cars and we saw the people right when we got there. It was a mile or two in length, this beach. We headed the other way, and magically I found the exact spot I had visited 2 years ago. We put the pack there, played fetch in the surf that was as ripping a riptide as they have on the north shore of hawaii... just waiting to suck you down.

We played fetch a long time and I did some yoga. The first real yoga I had done in several months, but I will always look back on this session. It was the most incredible view I could imagine for anything, and especially good for yoga. Each breath seemed to coincide with the wind. It made me feel one with the world for a little while there. Whoah, trippy. My feet sank into the soft white sand, which provided excellent footing for the balance-intensive moves. That'll make a good 'happy place' point of reference for those times when you want one.

After that we breezed through Carmel, Monetery, Santa Cruz and up to Half Moon Bay. It's all gorgeous, just the most beautiful scenery from mountain to sea you could imagine. What an honor, to live here.

In Half Moon I got some advice from a really nice cute plump girl at an RV park office and wound up in a Holiday Inn Express for $99 including pet fee. That's the price I'd decided earlier in the day I was willing to pay. I should have seeded the vibe with $50...$50... Now I figure a roof over my head every 3rd night is acceptable to my camping ethic. Otherwise there's more equipment to consider. And it means motels twice only, this being the last Which is good considering I just checked my bank account and I'm damn near broke already. Should be an interesting week and a half to come.

Once in the hotel and showered, I ventured out for food. The only places left open at 10 was Tres Amigos taco stand and Albertsons. I splurged and got shrimp fajitas at Tres Amigos, and a $15 bottle of Clos du Bois 2000 Zinfandel at Albertsons. I could probably spend less on wine now. It's very nice being in a comfortable room after a tent for 2 nights.

 

WHEN: Monday, June 7

WHERE: Kirk Creek Campground to Bottcher Gap Campground

Woke up in the tent around 6, then dozed til 7:40. The dogs slept under the wind cover, just outside the tent, and seemed to do okay. Not too freaked out, just resting and watching me whenever I checked. what a gorgeous morning. The first thing I saw was the ocean, much calmer than yesterday. We're a good 50 or more feet over the ocean here, on cliffs, and even yesterday it was not windy. And even after dark it was not cold until the middle of the night.

We got up, took a trail that leads down to the beach, but couldn't traverse one section where the ground was wet from the dew and sea spray. Took a couple pictures. This spot of land, if it were for sale, would surely bring millions of dollars. Like 10 million, just the land itself with no buildings or electricity or sewer. I've never had a view so good from any house or restaurant. There's a tarped-off area that someone set up as a poop station. I took my first nature shit there this morning. Well, first of this trip. It was good. The best view I've ever had from the crapper.

By now, time was passing. No coffee this morning, no breakfast, so I've proceeded with lunch while typing. The same crackers, irish cheese and italian salame that I've been working on for a couple days. I saw some banana peels in the trash up at the campground and thought maybe I should eat healthier, now that I'm out in nature and everything. Maybe we'll start that today. Fruit wouldn't be bad. I opened the bottle of viognier with lunch, that's fruit based. It's good stuff. I never spend $20 on a bottle for myself at home, but on this trip I figure I'm saving all this money on lodging (first night excepted), so I might as well splurge on the food and drink. And darn it, I deserve it. I guess I can be something of an ascetic in my normal life. At least, when I see how others treat themselves that's what I think. I've gotten about 5 massages in the past 5 years... and I really love massages. When eating out, I always choose my meal by the price. I don't even look at the right-hand page usually. Maybe I should change, so I'm doing a trial run now.

I compared my progress on the ground to what I had planned out a couple weeks ago at home, and I'm remarkably on track so far. I figure I can camp my way up the coast through Thursday night, then head to Aunt Norma's cabin near Taylorsville, way over southeast of Chico. That would be a 500 mile drive from Crescent City at the top-left of the state, but do-able. So no real limitations on destination at this point. Right now I'm going to pack up camp and head up the coast to the Henry Miller Library near Nepenthe where I hear there is free internet access.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Well it's like a day and a half later....
That Henry Miller Library was more like some dude's house. It was closed, two wooden fence

entrances with the gates drawn across them. So I sat outside in the car and tried to catch

some wireless. Some free map I picked up said they had free coffee, tea and internet, so I

sought it out. Nothing. Didn't pick up anything the rest of the day, except some cell phone

spot on a cliff on a turnout on the 1. I pulled into another turnout later because I saw a

big bird winging around all crazy down by the ground. I pulled over and it was insanely

windy. A big black bird with a red skin head was riding a whirlwind in a small gorge. I

grabbed the camera and by the time I got it turned on and aimed, the bird had risen to the

top of the canyon walls and was out of range. I had read that day about the Big Sur

California Condor reintroduction program, and thought of that seeing that bright red head

and black vulturish body.

Had to make a tough call and pass up Nepenthe due to being late... for what? For getting to

the next camping spot. I wanted to get there earlier than last night or the night before,

but I didn't know exactly where it would be. I had some ideas, but they didn't pan out and I

reluctantly drove up a mountain road to the top where there was a USFS campground that was

still as cheap as it was 2 years ago... $12. The previous night's $10 million view was a

bargain at $20. I had tried desperately to find a non-official campsite for night 2. I tried

to get myself and the dogs down a very steep trail through leafy bushy headland judt off Hwy

1. It was too steep, especially because I took the big backpack full enough to make camp

down by the wild windy ocean. I had directions from a local forest service dude to this

supposedly locals' beach, and I had followed his directions exactly, but it was like a joke

it was so impossible to traverse. I checked all around within a half mile, and nothing was

more accessible.

Now it was past 5, and again I felt rushed to get to a spot and put down some shelter. The

next place was no-dogs, so I called the next state park and got the scoop. Go way back doWn

1 to Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park or go a little north to a place I had camped before and not

enjoyed much... Bottcher Gap.

I got there, picked a spot, paid, set up tent in the waning light. Made a fire with more

difficulty than I had the night before in its windless coastal warmth. This night started

moderate and windy, then got cooler, then cold.  I held two hot dogs over the fire with the two-pringed tool I acquired the night before. After their skins were bubbling and blackened by fire I cut them up with dog food in the tin bowls and fed the weary dogs. You'd think they had run the iditarod, but all they did that day was hike a little and ride in the car.

The fire blew its smoke directly at the tent. That was my bad. At first I thought well look

at that, why would it do that? Then I thought, but it's not my fault, I set up the tent

first, then the fire. How could I know? Um, by testing the wind maybe? Good point. After the

hotdogs I stabbed the steak I had bought at one of the ridiculously overpriced but rare big

sur marts and cooked it the same way as the hot dogs. The embers are way hotter than the

flame, and I used both. The steak turned out darn near perfect. I ate it with knife and fork

from Josh's pack. That was dinner. But it's funny, I had a tinny taste in my mouth starting

earlier that afternoon when I had some tuna salad from the same place as the steaK.

Unlike last night, when I was gazing heavenward at the multitude of stars, this night I was huddled up to the fire, staring into the coals. I didn't have grand thoughts like the night before, I was just trying to stay warm. I let the dogs sleep inside the tent next to me.

 

WHEN: Sunday, June 5

WHERE: San Luis Obispo to Kirk Creek Campground, Big Sur

DISTANCES: A little over 100 miles, filled up tank in SLO - got 25 mpg on last tank, again.

This is in comparison to 19/20 mpg I get in Phoenix. But this is with no a/c and very little

braking or hard acceleration.

Car note: continues to drive and handle better than any car I've known. I did scrape some

paint off the rear bumper at camping spot - DAMMIT!

Got up at 7:30 in the motel in SLO. Had continental breakfast, which consisted of coffee

(Farmer's Bros. - not strong enough), OJ (possibly Tang) and various plastic-wrapped

Entennmann's pastries. Took my time getting ready and left at 10:50 am. Stopped at a camping

store for a headlamp that I don't need because Josh already loaned me one along with all the

other camping supplies. Big Thanks Josh!!!

Headed to Morro Bay to see the beach again and get coffee and internet. It was free at Two

Dogs Coffee House on Main St. Walked the dogs along by the marina, which is pictured below.

If you notice the flag whipping in the picture, you'll start to get an idea how windy it was

this day.

After not camping the first night, I was determined to make it happen the second. So Big Sur

was the plan - get away from people altogether if possible. It was Sunday, so the camping

demographic should be reduced to people on vacation, no weekenders.

But it was early afternoon and there was time, so first I wanted to take a little "Sideways"

trip toward Paso Robles on Hwy 46, cutting in from Cambria. The wineries start west of Paso

Robles and continue along 46 east of town. Not to mention the Santa Ynez region that's near

but separate from the Paso RObles region. This is where part of the movie took place,

although most of it was in Solvang, the next town up from Paso Robles.

I didn't want to spend a lot of time tasting, so I stopped at the first place I could pull

over in time for... Gray Wolf Winery. There were two older ladies tending the tasting room.

Dogs seemed to be welcome but I left mine in the car - they were resting comfortably in the

shade and I didn't want to battle them to stay put. The tasting fee was $2 and, as it turned

out, that meant unlimited tastes. They had no chardonnay, just riesling and a viognier. I

liked the latter. They had a rose, merlot, no pinot noir, zin, cab, and then things started

blending together. Not the grapes, just my memory of them. We exhausted the list with a the

Zins and Cabs, but she kept pouring, into the reserves apparently. Now I was just drinking

wine and chatting with the couple next to me, no longer "tasting". They were from Redondo

Beach and after a while I noted she had a sizeable rock on her finger. At least a carat,

with little diamonds lining the band. So holmes over here has a good job, I thought. Funny,

cuz he was dressed about as casually as I, in shorts and tshirt. Turns out they're both e-r

surgeons. She has an aunt in Phoenix, sounds like Paradise Valley really, and they'll be

there in a couple weeks, so we exchanged numbers. Nice folks. The last wine  I had was very

distinct, so I inquired and it was their Zin reserve. That would have been $24, so I opted

for a bottle of the viognier at an already inflated $20 and skeedaddled.

Backtracked to Cambria and then turned north on the 1. At the tasting I had mentioned

wanting to get as far as Nepenthe, the restaurant I went to on this same trip two years ago

and had a nice glass of gChardonnay in the sun on the redwood deck. As I was leaving the

nice older lady said, "See what happens when you come to a small winery? You might not get

as far as you want today."

Indeed, I got about 30 miles further on the notorious Hwy 1 switchbacks before having to

assess the daylight situation. I figured it would be dark at 8:15, so I wanted to be finding

my campsite by 7, which meant starting to look at 6, knowing me. I tried one, then saw info

on another that sounded better. It was Kirk Creek Campground, a US Forest Service operation.

Jurisdiction is an important matter in campgrounds, at least around here. State Parks cost

more and the campsites seem to be more closely set. This USFS one was excellent. I found a

hike-bike site where I parked the car on the highway and packed everything in - only a

couple hundred yards. There were some other people, but it was no bother. I had the choicest

spot - the furthest away and largest, with the closest cliff and forest access. There was an

alcove where I could have squeezed the tent in and had the cliff 10 feet away through a hole

in the windswept short pine bushes. But the more logical spot was near the designated fire

ring and picnic table area.

On my last trip in from the car, bringing the dogs, the two guys in the spot next to me said

hi. They're from Germany and New Zealand, pretty nice dudes. They are bicycling from

Vancouver to Los Angeles. Fuckin A that's a trip. Makes me want to do something like that

next time. The dogs both pooped in their camp and I had to make apologies while picking it

up with a plastic bag, and in the process because I had inadequate bags, got dog shit more

than a little bit on my hands. Nice start, not like there's proper washing facilities

around.

Anyway I set up the tent first, then built a small fire, and after coals were established 

cooked hot dogs and stirred it in with dog food for the dogs, then had two hotdogs myself in

a french roll I bought in Morro Bay at the shop where I had eaten an italian sausage hoagie

for lunch. I put some of the Irish Cheddar cheese in it, and it was alright for having no

condiments. I could almost identify each different animal represented in those hot dogs. A

little hint of chicken, then pork, maybe some beef too. Great stuff. I'm having steak

tomorrow if I can help it.

With dinner and everything else out of the way, I sat down finally and noticed the stars.

There are a lot out here, and it was a moonless night. What timing. I hadn't even noticed

what phase the moon is in when planning this trip. It was beautiful. I finished the bottle

of merlot from the night before, and went to bed around 11.

 

WHEN: Saturday, June 4, 2005

WHERE: Phoenix, AZ to San Luis Obispo, CA

HOW FAR: 650 miles

STARTED: 7am

FINISHED: 9pm

MUSIC: none for first 2 hours, then NPR news, Spoon, Led Zeppelin (Houses of the Holy), Blink 182, Sade, Miles Davis (Miles Ahead), 50 Cent, Bob Marley box set disc 4

FOOD: ham & cheese croissant from AJ's; hamburger/fries/soda combo from Primo Burger in Palmdale, CA; crackers/cheese/sausage/tomato bought at Von's in Morro Bay, eaten in motel in SLO

DRINK: redeye coffee from AJ's, cold water in car, Pepsi at lunch, Firestone 2002 Merlot ($14, Santa Ynez Valley) with dinner

SHELTER: Travelodge in San Luis Obispo near Cal Poly campus - $74 w/ tax

DRIVING:
Must've been in a hurry to get out of the heat. Averaged 92 mph from home to CA border. 140 miles in 1:40. That included stop lights in Phoenix & in-town freeway traffic. Once on the open interstate, averaged 97mph, and it felt like 65. Got 26 mpg for that tank.
Once over the border, averaged 80mph on I-10 til San Bernardino.

ROADS:
I-10 from Phoenix to inland empire - 26 mpg on fill up at Blythe
I-215 around San Bernardino to CA-138
CA-138 from San Bernardino, went kinda by Edwards AFB, to Palmdale
smaller road from Palmdale to I-5 at Gorman - fill up - 25 mpg for the tank
I-5 for 1 mile to continuation of 2-lane road thru Frazier Park, up to near Mt. Pines 8831 ft elev. That road was crazy - sheer drops of thousands of feet (see pics) with no railing. No other cars on this road except a few road crew trucks. Drove fast, 40 to 60 with the no rail. Turned out the lack of traffic was due to a fire that closed another part of the road temporarily. When I reached the road block, road guy counseled me to find some shade and wait a little while. Then he laughed, "But there aint no shade!" Very true. It was hot there. Drove a mile down a side road and relaxed, then a ton of motorcycles and semis (and no cars) came through. I think, well that was more than all the people I saw at the road block... must be open already.
Once out of mountains, Hwy 33 for a few miles til junction with CA-166, another mountain road.
CA-166 to Santa Maria. At one point, I came out of the woods onto a bridge and the view opened up tp show what I thought was a vast, wide river. Wow, I thought, that's a huge river after seeing all those dry river beds all day. Turns out it was a reservoir. Really wide rivers are impressive. The American River in Sacramento and the James River near Charlottesville, VA are the widest I've seen - like half a mile wide.
US-101 from Santa Maria to Grover Beach/Pismo Beach
US-1 from Pismo Beach thru Los Osos thru Morro Bay to Cayucos, then backtracked thru Morro Bay to further up US-101, to San Luis Obispo.

Driving conditions varied greatly throughout the day. Started with all-out blast through AZ on I-10. Got into desert 2-lane highways where you pass oncoming traffic at 170+ mph combined speed. Mountain roads were the slowest at about 50mph, but not bad. Last stretch of mountain roads were 80mph - so hard to say it slowed me down. The day was so long because of the stops. Lunch, gas twice, fire delay, backtracking looking for camping. Had to let the dogs out occasionally, and the first time in Blythe was a 40 minute excursion. The last, in Cayucos, was the first glimpse of the ocean, and really their reason for being on the whole trip... playing fetch with a tennis ball in the surf. But for all the driving at least we made some headway. Where we ended up is significantly past Los Angeles. Even Santa Barbara is 180 miles southeast. Basically made it all the way to the southern tip of Big Sur in one day. Last mountain range toward the coast is the Sierra Madre... same as in the westerns?

ACTIVITIES:
Tried to get camping spot in Morro Bay State Park & Morro Strand State Beach, but both were too crowded for me. With night falling, I resigned myself to a motel. May try Morro Strand tomorrow - it looks great there.
Took dogs to dog beach in Cayucos. They fetched a tennis ball out of the surf much better than 2 years ago. Never lost it, and Tibbs put forth a lot more effort than he does at home. This was after 12 hours in the car. Petunia was a woman possessed - wasn't going to miss that ball for anything.
Everywhere I went, beautiful young women. Blythe has particularly hot latin girls, Gorman too, at the Primo Burger, where the menu is mostly mexican dishes. The beaches have more of your white teenage girls. San Luis Obispo has a university...

THE DOGS:
In the car they have certain behaviors that have been consistent for a long time. I put them in the rear passenger seats, and in that situation Petunia stands and leans against the back of the seat, braced for my braking. She stays like that until she gets tired and sits down but continues leaning and bracing. She also panted the entire 12 hours until after going in the ocean. Tibbs tries to sit wherever Petunia isn't hogging space, moving every now and then from one seat to the other to accomodate her shifting. Then after several hours he lays down, but still has to move according to her whims. Petunia drooled all over the back of the seat since she had her face pressed against it so hard. So I stuck a towel between the seat and seat cover. It seems to work. Petunia didn't want to pee or poo or eat all day, but she drank water. Tibbs marked territory everywhere I walked him. He finally pooped at the Flying J truck stop in Gorman. Petunia finally peed there, and they both were very interested in the grassy area where I took them. It had been recently sprinkled and had nice thick fescue for them to walk on. Along the road to Palmdale I tried to give them a water/food/bathroom break, and all that happened was Petunia got a cholla ball stuck in her paw.

THE ROUTE:
Mapquest said this trip would take 9:20 or something. It took me 13:50 or something. I didn't follow their directions. I revised the route as I went, but in the end it was the straightest as the crow flies. But add in all the curves in the mountain roads, and there are some extra miles. I've never taken quite this route before, but I recommend it if you have time. You skip all of the LA traffic. San Bernardino, that's it. And you get some crazy mountain driving and huge views of the whole south end of the Central Valley. So why did I do it like this? Because this trip I'm trying to take different roads than I've been on. A little bit of an adventure. There's enough time to do that. I think my friend Alex inspired me to take that outlook, after something he said he did when he camps. Well, I'm not camping just yet, but you know I am so grateful for this room tonight. After that long a day, I'm plum out of get-it-done. The dogs are passed out on the other bed. I invited them up there even though it's a big no-no at home. I figured it was ok this time cuz, man, what happens in Cali stays in Cali! By the way, this trip is partly a big birthday present for them... they were born in June of 1998 & 2000, respectively. What zodiac sign is that for dogs?

 

Living in Phoenix, we eat a lot of mexican food. Seems like everyone I know loves hot spicy food. Some go so far as to put tabasco on literally everything, even ketchup. How are you getting the real taste of the food when everything tastes like tabasco? And as you can see below, tabasco isn't even remotely 'hot'. They have hot sauces that are 'spicier' than police pepper spray.

I used to think a jalapeno is hot, but it's actually near the bottom of the scale too. So why do some people love spicy foods so much? Because they cause the brain to release endorphins to stop the pain. The beauty of that is, as far as sources of pain go, spicy food is pretty harmless. Well, until the next day!

from Wikipedia... The Scoville scale is a measure of the hotness of a chilli pepper. These fruits of the Capsicum genus contain capsaicin, a chemical compound which stimulates heat-receptor nerve endings in the tongue, and the number of Scoville heat units (SHU) indicates the amount of capsaicin present.

16,000,000 Pure capsaicin, dihydrocapsaicin 9,100,000 Nordihydrocapsaicin 8,600,000 Homodihydrocapsaicin and homocapsaicin 7,100,000 Original Juan food's The Source Hot Sauce 5,300,000 Police grade pepper spray 2,000,000 Common pepper spray 1,500,000 Da Bomb! The Final Answer hot sauce 1,000,000 Frostbite Hot Sauce 855,000 Naga Jolokia pepper (reported & disputed) 350,000 - 580,000 Red Savina habanero (Guinness Book of Records) 100,000 - 350,000 Habanero 100,000 - 325,000 Scotch bonnet 100,000 - 225,000 Birds eye pepper 100,000 - 200,000 Jamaican hot pepper 100,000 - 125,000 Carolina cayenne pepper 95,000 - 110,000 Bahamian pepper 90,000 Dave's Ultimate Insanity Sauce 85,000 - 115,000 Tabiche pepper 50,000 - 100,000 Thai pepper 50,000 - 100,000 Chiltepin pepper 40,000 - 58,000 Piquin pepper 40,000 - 50,000 Super chile pepper 40,000 - 50,000 Santaka pepper 30,000 - 50,000 Cayenne pepper 30,000 - 50,000 Tabasco pepper 15,000 - 30,000 de Arbol pepper 12,000 - 30,000 Manzano pepper, Ají 7,000 - 8,000 Tabasco habanero sauce 5,000 - 23,000 Serrano pepper 5,000 - 10,000 Hot wax pepper 5,000 - 10,000 Chipotle 2,500 - 8,000 Jalapeño 2,500 - 8,000 Santaka pepper 2,500 - 5,000 Guajilla pepper 2,500 - 5,000 Tabasco sauce 1,500 - 2,500 Tabasco chipotle pepper sauce 1,200 - 1,800 Tabasco garlic sauce 1,500 - 2,500 Rocotilla pepper 1,000 - 2,000 Pasilla pepper 1,000 - 2,000 Ancho pepper 1,000 - 2,000 Poblano pepper 700 - 1,000 Coronado pepper 600 - 1,200 Tabasco green pepper sauce 500 - 2,500 Anaheim pepper 500 - 1,000 New Mexico pepper 500 - 700 Santa Fe Grande pepper 100 - 500 Pepperoncini pepper 100 - 500 Pimento 0 Sweet bell pepper

Hey-ya and welcome to my travel blog!

Basically I wanted to be able to be online during an upcoming road trip through California. So I borrowed my mom's laptop, then spent more than a week installing and reinstalling software and banging my head against the desk trying to connect wirelessly from home, work, starbucks, etc. Now it's finally come together and I can instantly update the vast wasteland of internet with my whereabouts just in case anyone cares.

So first I'll post my last trip, which was last weekend to visit my grandparents in Reno.

Reno is an alright town - the "Biggest Little City in the World" as the signs say. It's pretty high in elevation and latitude, so the weather's dry and cooler than say Phoenix. It's also further west in longitude than Los Angeles... for a little geography factoid. But more importantly it's close to Lake Tahoe. Scroll down to see a picture, because microsoft couldn't figure out how to let you post them in-line.

Isn't it beautiful? And this picture was taken May 20, 2005. Look at all the snow still in the mountains. Would've liked to snowboard, but there wasn't time this trip.

Lake Tahoe is at 6200 feet elevation - higher than the mile high city Denver. It's 99.8% pure water, and 1600 feet deep. Fascinating eh? Enough water to cover the US to a depth of 8 inches. So why is there claimed to be a water shortage in the area? The 2nd largest alpine lake in the world. No wonder they dumped Freido in there in Godfather 2 - ain't nobody gonna find ya brotha!

We just drove around part of the lake on Saturday. Looked at the expensive homes a little. I saw a dude blowing leaves and thought well blowing leaves is a shitty job, but at least he gets to live here! Am I better off with a 'better' job in Phoenix? Tradeoffs baby, what life gets to be about sometimes.

So back in Reno the most excitement we had was the morning quest for coffee. My mom is god's own coffee fiend, and I've inherited some of that. She drinks it black and as strong as she can find. I go with a little bit of cream when I can, but I'll take it black if there's no real cream or half and half. Never any sugar.

Starbucks is our standard of strength and quality. I know that's totally against my anti-chain, anti-corporate food philosophy, but what am I to do? Coffee is vital, and it's needed in the morning when I'm at my weakest. I have to be able to rely on something, and starbucks are plentiful. Not cheap or great, but they'll do as a baseline.

So from my grandparents house the nearest starbucks is an uphill walk of some miles. There's a local (aka unknown, untested, untrustworthy) coffee shop about a mile downhill, and that's where I went with Denny my stepfather at 630am Saturday.

So we checked out this coffee shop. It had ceramic cups instead of recycled paper. It had chairs & couches and newspapers that were free. At night bands play there. All in all they weren't trying to hustle us out the door like starbucks does. Oh they have cushioned chairs and couches at some of them, but you're not really supposed to loiter. If you were, the wireless internet would be free. Which it was at this place. You know what else was free? REFILLS. I had a redeye as usual, and even that was a free refill.

One time so everyone can get this straight, a redeye is a cup of coffee with a shot of espresso in it. Two shots is a blackeye. They understand this at Phoenix area starbucks, but not in Reno. We found this out Sunday morning when we did the 3 mile uphill walk. It was a great walk, but bad coffee and even worse chocolate croissant. At Walden's, the other coffeeshop, the chocolate croissants were large, fresh and warm. At starbucks it tasted like it was made a month ago somewhere far far away.

Not that I usually get a chocolate croissant. I always want to and go through the debate in my mind as I stand in line at starbucks. Boy that looks good. Yeah but it's another two bucks. You already spend enough at this corporate hellhole. And you're not supposed to eat yet. Cause you're fat. God I hate it when I'm this fat. Well all you gotta do is get back in the gym. Yeah but hell with the gym. Yeah so here we are. Look at this gut. Damn it's disgusting. But it's your own fault for being lazy and a glutton. Yeah but other people are fatter. So? You've never been this fat. And you drink way too much coffee too.

But this time I was on vacation so it was ok to get that chocolate croissant. Not once but twice. After the starbucks Sunday morning we walked down the hill, grabbed my mom and walked to Walden's. It was packed and I couldn't get the wireless to connect, so it wasn't as good a trip. Plus I got an iced coffee. So 8 miles we walked for coffee that day.