3122

Saturday August 13

Well, now entering the last week of the West Coast trip: I can’t believe how quickly time has gone; and I already had seen so much.

Last night, Bob warned me that he had roosters in his yard, and that they got up early, maybe due to the fact he has no hens. At four fifty five, they woke up, and were very good, waiting just enough time in-between crowing to allow me to doze before starting again. It was dark, but soon the glimmer of dawn would appear over the eastern horizon. I went outside to look for the meteor shower that should have been visible; but I had no luck: although, the starts were stunningly bright, and the Milky Way was able to be seen. I did see two satellites cross the sky, against the starry backdrop.

Bob was already up inside the house; I had stayed in an old trailer, which was comfortable. He made good coffee, and we waited for the deer; seems like they did not have roosters to wake them up, as they pulled in just before ten. All were bucks, including the alpha male, with his magnificent rack. Whilst waiting for the deer, I was looking out of the kitchen window, and flitting about was a brightly coloured hummingbird. Bob had hung a feeder containing sugared water to attract them. Bob asked if I had heard the coyotes last night; I hadn’t, as I fallen asleep straight away.

Bob had said that we should head up into the hills behind his house, as there were abandoned gold mines there. His friend came over, and we set off on ATV’s or quad bikes as I called them. I had practiced around his house before setting off, and it seemed pretty straightforward. We had to dress up in glasses and bandannas, s it was so dry and dusty; in fact it was doubtful we should have even been out in the woods as it was, with the risk of wildfires.

We headed up the dirt track into the hills, and soon were off the beaten track; it was great fun, as the old miners’ trails hugged the hills and climbed ever upwards. The first mine we came to had a huge steam rock crushing machine rusting in a dell below the entrance; quite how they got it up the mountain is another matter.

I was told to be careful as we passed a patch of poisoned oak; I heard yesterday how bad the rash from that can be, and how quick it can spread. At another mine, the tracks were still in place coming out of the entrance; but looking down the mine, a shaft disappeared straight down a few feet into the mine. We were whizzing along a track, I was feeling confident, and not being as careful as I should have been; a track branched off up the hill, and rain had washed stones and earth into a mound on the track we were travelling.

Not thinking, I did not slow down, and found myself getting ever near the edge of the track, and its several hundred yard drip into the woods below. I panicked, and tried to get off the bike while it was still moving; big mistake. My leg was dragged under the bike; and it was plain dumb luck that it did not break; instead, I got a deep scratch in my calf. I learned my lesson, and took my time after that.

It was time to come down soon, and we headed back down the mountain; not before we had seen piles of trash that some town folk had dumped; surely it was harder to drive miles into the woods to find such a place that just dump it properly in town?

I had to hit the road, as I had to be in San Francisco the next night, and it was 400miles to go.

I knew the way back onto 101; it was the same route I had taken last Tuesday. On 199, down the Smith Gorge, I got behind a dude on a hog; I followed him for some 30 miles. He had me beat on straight line speed, but I caught him up round corners. At one point, the road went through a short tunnel; the dude dropped a couple of gears, and revved; filling the tunnel with a huge roar. Traffic was light, and in fact we passed nothing all the way down; just how a trip in an open topped Mustang should be.

When I got to Crescent City, it was foggy again; so I had to stop and put the roof up. 101 was a four lane highway for most of the way now, and it ran for the most part beside the ocean; although it was misty, so, taking pictures was not really an option. By three o’clock I was getting hungry and wanting to find somewhere for the night. I stopped in a town called Arcata. In fact, all I saw was a group of branded motels, and a shopping mall; not very attractive at all. I booked into a Best Western again; and then headed over to a Mexican place in the mall.

It was nothing spectacular, but the food was ok, and filled me up; thankfully, I just had fajitas with no starter. I guess because I had been up since 5, I was not in the mood to do much that night; so I stayed in my room and dozed before dropping off. I looked at the mileage charts provided by the motel; and much to my amazement, we are still nearer Seattle than Los Angeles!

Sunday August 14

I woke up about nine; well rested. I opened the curtains expecting to see the forecasted fog; but it was just clear blue skies. I loaded the car, and more of the interior trim of the trunk broke; it was too late to worry now; and headed off down 101 again. Whilst checking out, I noticed a leaflet for a place called Avenue of the Giants; more redwoods. But it looked great.

I saw a sign pointing to a scenic alternative to 101; I though that should be good. Turned out it went back north; back to the town I had just passed. Also, the fog was thick again, and there were no views to see.

I turned off onto the Avenue of the Giants; and pulled over to drop the roof again; it was getting warm, and I was away from the coast now. Within a few hundred yards, the first of the redwoods appeared; and these were much bigger than the ones that 199 passed through. Seems like these were preserved some years ago; a good job to, as these were up to a thousand years old.

I stopped every few miles to take pictures; but I’m not sure if these give a true impression of just how big these trees actually are. There were the usual tourist places, but not overly so; I bought some turned wooden ornaments for home, and for gifts. Nearby was a tree called the eternal; it used to be 300 feet tall, until a lightning bolt robbed it of its top 50 feet, and a thousand years old. Lying alongside, was a cut down tree, with a hollow in its centre, large enough for several children to climb inside.

Further along, there was a drive through tree, where as its name suggests, you can indeed drive through it. A woman watching took my picture as I drove through. It is not the only tree like it, but one of many. Still, its not every day you can say you drove through a tree, is it? Whilst taking a picture of a long, straight avenue a classic European sports car when by just as I snapped the shutter, giving the right illusion of speed and size of the trees.

The avenue was 27 miles long; and soon it was time to head back onto 101. This time, it went through several groves of redwoods, and narrowed to a two lane road; weaving through the massive trunks.

Slowly, the country changed, this time for the last time; the trees thinned out, farms were scattered about, mostly cattle and stud farms. It grew warmer; soon the occasional vineyard went by, their vines heavy with ripe grapes. And in valleys, riverbeds were bone dry.

As we neared San Francisco, the traffic got heavier and heavier. Near the city itself, the mist closed in again. To the east, glimpses of the bay could be seen. The road climbed, and I realised we were going to enter the city over the Golden Gate Bridge. I had bought a map, and it seemed that the road where my hotel was marked; I turned off 101 and headed past the marinas, stretching for mile upon mile.

Thankfully, at each intersection, the road crossing was well marked; and after a while we came to Van Ness where my hotel was. Halfway up the hill, there it was, and luckily for me, there was an intersection allowing me to pull over to it. Magically, the reservation was good, and I checked in. All had gone like clockwork that day, and I felt pretty pleased with myself. I went to my room, and grabbed a shower and brewed some coffee before thinking about heading into the city for dinner.

I had gotten into the habit of not eating until the evening; and I was now beginning to get hungry. There is really only once place I wanted to eat there, and that was Fisherman’s Warf; so, my map tucked into my pocket, I set off.

Walking around the city is easy; there’s water on three sides, so if you keep walking long enough you will come to water. Halfway down Van Ness, I came to a homeless guy; he wanted no money, and told me to go down to the waterfront, and about half a mile along I would come to Jefferson Street, which ran through the Fisherman’s Wharf area.

As I walking alongside the maritime museum, a group of people on segways glided past; seems like this is the latest way to do walking tours; but then this was California. The museum had been made to look like the superstructure of a ship; which worked.

Jefferson Street is the heart of tourist ‘Frisco; it is full of bars, restaurants, gift shops and the occasional dock. And above it all, was the smell of cooking seafood. Around the square at the heart of the area, were stalls cooking crabs and lobster in huge pans of boiling water. At the base of the hill, a cable car waited to pull away; it’s bell sounding a warning to the people hanging on to the handrails on its outside.

I went to a large modern restaurant overlooking the bar; I got a seat in a booth, with great views. Across from where I was sitting, a large group of Brits, presumably from a cruise ship, were slowly getting drunker, and louder. Out in the bar, Alcatraz sat in the gathering gloom, its lighthouse winking occasionally. I had clam chowder, followed by bay shrimp in breadcrumbs; all washed down with another half bottle of Pinot Noir. As dark clouds gathered over the bay, in the distance, over where Napa Valley lay, the clouds broke, and the last rays of sunshine broke through.

I wandered back along Jefferson; its shops ablaze with neon, and crowds of tourists and the homeless mixed. Not wanting to get into trouble on the way back, I grab a taxi; and in an unusual turn of events, the driver is local.