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!