A Short Stay in San Francisco

So, having decided that I am categorically not a city girl, my stay in San Francisco was to be brief. I had a friend from Vermont who had recently traversed the United States in almost 3 days... trying to show me up... he landed in San Fran, so I wanted to meet up and see a piece of Vermont in this bustling city.

So, I meet T at Haight/Ashbury. It was great. That's a fun area. Lots of homeless, freaks and miserable there, but at least this was a city-city, and those kinds of people are expected.

I can't stay, I'm done with the madness and need to head back into the forests. I spent one night on a couch and watched T do some surfing the next morning. Well, 'morning.' I have no idea what time it really was.

Nice, T.

Cool scene. Too cold for me, too expensive for wetsuits, and I'm too ready to head North.

San Francisco: You make my stomach weak and my body tilt slightly to the left. Cool.

Now, as I'm leaving, and headed into the woods, I have one regret. Where the hell are the seals? You could hear them barking at the marina from the main streets of Santa Cruz in the middle of the night... But ask a GPS to take you to the Marina and you get waves and volleyball. So, bummed about this, and looking over an astonishing view of the Pacific (Golden Gate Park, I believe?), I hear one of those slimy buggers barking below! Can't see a darned thing...maybe a shadow... so I take two pictures anyhow. Turns out...

Santa Cruz and the Redwoods

I'm making my way past Monterrey Bay and headed to Santa Cruz, first to see what the hub-bubs about, second to meet up with an old high school buddy. Third, fourth and fifth, to meet his funky friends, see his funky band and sleep on his funky couch.

No, it was a fine couch.


Santa Cruz was a great little Californian City, with the same problems as all the rest: too many people, too many transients. And I didn't have a problem with Cali Trannies until I came here - In Santa Cruz, their signs aren't funny, they really don't try hard, and they clutter the main streets of downtown - making family outings uncomfortable if not impossible.

I've been sure to call them "transients" or "trannies" because they aren't like the homeless or hobos you sometimes see scattered along the Northeast. At least, they're not like the ones I've seen. You could draw some similarities between these beach bums and the bums of Burlington, I suppose. But no one wants to be wandering in winter months; at least not where winter means something more than scattered rain showers.

Midway during my visit to Santa Cruz I needed to escape into the redwoods. Which, thankfully, was not too dificult. I'm glad I don't have an RV - those windy mountain roads with "Log Truck" warning signs are spooky in the Suby alone, forget anything in tow.

There was, of course, another run-in with raccoons. All signs will warn you of this. And I typically keep my trash well-stowed. But for this evening, while I was strumming the guitar in my driver seat, door open, small trash bag on the ground by my left foot, three of those little buggers charge me. I wave the neck of the guitar at the brutes, and two of them stare at me while the other grabs the bag and runs. I almost felt like giving up - I'd literally have to jab at them to get the goods back, and lord knows what kind of bite (or what kind of rabies) they have... but then I imagine the mess they're going to make, and the person who's going to clean it up in the morning (me), so I grab a stick and chase after them. And, amazingly, I got the bag back. Later on that night one wondered back up to my site and looked at me for a while, maybe four feet away, so I yelled some cursewords, he got offended, gave me the finger and took off.

Wait, what?

So, feeling rested and rejuvenated, I came down from the woods the next morning and showed back up on my friends' couch. Good people there. A long haired biker hippy with short hair (it happens), a bouncy surfer-teacher type, my buddy the keyboard-harmonica-accordion maestro (Mylodican?), and some awesome heart-felt chicas who were a blast to dance with. Went to one of my buddy's shows; they play some excellent music. It was a sea of hippies, of course, but the band was jamming on motown classics, so it's good stuff for anyone, really.

So, it was great to catch up with an old High School buddy, but what's more is his job. Not his job, really, but the location. University of California, Santa Cruz. Oh My God. What a campus. I had to cross a footbridge over a ravine to get to the library from the parking lot, no joke. While driving around the campus roads I saw more deer than people - which is astonishing, considering the amount of people.

So far, I'd just gotten a peak of the Redwoods, from Big Sur to Santa Cruz... I've decided I'm definitely not a city girl, so tromping around Redwood National Park is on my list. And not my "objects to buy from WalMart so they don't give you a hard time" list. Have we talked about WalMart? Oh boy. That'll be a later discussion...

Goodbye, Santa Cruz! I'm gonna make up reasons to take higher ed classes just so I can walk that campus again!

The Real California

So, I messed up. Instead of taking the Pacific Coast Highway, I failed to merge and ended up traveling back through the wine country on 101. When I got to Monterrey, I doubled back and traveled southward toward Big Sur and the Pfeiffer State Park. I was not disappointed.

I think I've failed to mentioned that, on my last day in Santa Barbara, my dear [new] friend Laurel had scribbled out about 5 pages of notes for my journey northward. It was pretty much an essay of unforgettable sights and hot springs. God bless'er.

Silly me, I hadn't looked too closely at the notes yet, but I did remember her mention 'Big Sur,' and fate brought me the rest of the way.

(squish)

After a[nother] glorious sunset, I finally found a campground I could afford, situated quite pleasantly in the redwood forest. Julia Pfeiffer State Park Campground was closed due to some 2007 fires. Again, fate.

So after signing in, and giving my preliminary "put me away from other people because I am going to play the guitar - badly," I settled down at my site and started poking at a fire. Hours later, the hippy behind the registration desk shows up at my car and invites me to his cabin to play guitar badly together. Bored, and craving some socializing, I follow the fellow. Bad music ensued, and he convinced me to find Pfeiffer Beach with him in the morning. Okay, whatever; unsure if I'll ditch out or not, I head back to my car and sleep.

Eventually I decided to follow the hippy. He seemed harmless enough, and I couldn't exactly sneak out of the campground - I slept in, of course, and still needed to shower. And he'd already come-a-knockin' on my window that A.M.

I tell ya, I learned something that day. Following hippies can be quite the worthwhile adventure:

(hippie)

(small, sketchy little break. awesome height, questionable landing...)

(natural bridge)

(purple sanded paradise)

(why we follow hippies)

(more hippies!)

(the view from above)

Then we were joined by even more hippies! What a life. And to add to the glory, it was such a gorgeous day, almost too hot; at this point I'm totally psyched. This is a wonderful place, with good people - this is how I always imagined California. Well, Northern California.

Obviously I'm happy I went back to check out "Big Sur" and all of its nooks. As it turns out, Pfeiffer Beach is the first item on Laurel's list of sights. And now I know why.

The walk back to the car was similarly fantastic, as the sun was just beginning to creep towards the sea:

California is finally starting to live up to the legend.

Then what happened?

After Santa Monica, I traveled up to Santa Barbara. I took the 'PCH,' (as the trannies had warmly referred to it), and it was just gorgeous. I left at a stupid time. It was a little after 4. So there was some pretty bad traffic for the first hours. BUT, it was also a great time, because I got to see yet another spectacular sunset over the Santa Monica Mountains and wide Pacific shores.

I caught this picture, and I simply love it; it looks like a mistake, but it illustrates very nicely how I feel about California:

California is beautiful, that's for sure; the only thing that detracts from said beauty?
All the damn people:

People are everywhere. Wall-to-wall. I know it's a sweeping generalization of the few areas I've traveled through - and let us not forget the desert - but it was incredible.

Although, to their credit, California is home to some of the nicest drivers I've ever been priviledged to drive alongside. The streeets are terrifying, sure, waaaaay too narrow for two lanes; but the people were great! How surprising! Everyone is waving me in, giving me room, giving others room; it was a nice change from the rest of the country.

So, I had a contact in Santa Barbara - yay! But the first day-in I couldn't handle anymore damned cities, so I drove straight through downtown and headed into the mountains. Played guitar all night. That was wonderful. The next morning I went to check out downtown - even entered my first outdoor mall; and promptly exited. Some thrift shopping aside (and a late start to begin with!) I go to meet my friend at her apartment, around 4:30/5:00 PM.

Parking on the street, I notice lots of people looking above and beyond me into the Montecito hills. Well, I'm sure you've heard the rest. Oprah's neighbors and all that. I know I should have busted out the tri-pod, but it was all so exciting. Here's the best I came up with:


You could see the flames licking up the sides of the mountain - and off camera, above and to the right, the moon glowed orange behind the smokey clouds.

• Glown orange? Glowed? That's some crappy English, someone please correct it for me...

My contact in Santa Barbara, nice lady by the name of Laurel, was great for me to find. A fellow traveler, she'd seen many sights in her days abroad, and had some wonderful recommendations. By the end of my stay, she had basically wrote me out an essay of places to go, things to see, and hot springs to dip in on my way up California. Unfortunately for me, I was not inclined to travel 4 hours to Yosemite when there was still so much left to see of the coast - but I did follow a couple of her leads with magnificent results!!!

Back to the fires - oh, wow, was the air terrible the next day! I had to get the hell out, and actually headed south to recapture some of the areas I overlooked on the nighttime ride up. Ventura and Oxnard, mostly. Just to go thrift shopping, really. There's this great place called the Buffalo Exchange, dotted across the West Coast, so I've been scouring the Goodwills on my ride to find some awesome items to trade in for even awesomer items. Spellcheck doesn't seem to mind that one...

Anyhow, something powerful is driving my heel, and I'm constantly feeling the need to up-and-out. I want to love California - it's everything I ever thought it'd be - but there's just too much going on. I am categorically not a city person. I guess. But I'll keep trying. Meanwhile, Santa Barbara is not the place for me. So I've got to go check out some of Laurel's recommendations...


Thanks, Laurel! That was a helluvalotof fun!

Oh, and let's not forget wine country! She took me out-and-about the Santa Barbara countryside to see the vineyards and communities found in the movie Sideways. These photos are dedicated to my buddy Dietrich, who had to cross the Atlantic Ocean to feel grapes between his toes.