Track 22: Shoreline Highway

As the hip kids say, OMG! So much to write about. This will probably be a long post, so settle in with a nice mug of tea. Or glass of wine. I'm sure it'll be much more interesting after a glass of wine, so you should go that route.

Anyway, I left Eureka early yesterday morning (around 7:30, after a stop for coffee). The town was so quiet and pretty, still drowsy beneath the light fog, and I was sad to leave. But once I got on Highway 101, I remembered what was ahead of me: Avenue of the Giants! There are few things more humbling than redwoods, people. Avenue of the Giants is a 31-mile scenic drive through several groves of them. Remember what I said about those moments of beauty that make you want to cry? Picture me, blinking back tears, my mouth agape, trying to watch the road and stare up at these enormous towers at the same time. Thank goodness no one else was on the road, so I had a nice, leisurely drive without any oncoming traffic to swerve at.

At around 10:00, I turned onto historic Highway 1 (the Shoreline Highway). Highlights: hairpin curves (I'm getting good at them by now), the sun streaming through the trees and illuminating the last bits of fog still clinging to the road, and listening to Leo Kottke. At 10:41 (yes, I looked at the clock and wrote it down), I reached the coast. I think I audibly gasped. And there were more tears. Honestly, you'd think I'd never seen the ocean before. But it was so blue, and so vast, and so...well, beyond words. There was a place to pull over (as I imagine anyone who reaches that point does), so I grabbed my camera, hopped out of the car, and was greeted with the sound and smell of the Pacific Ocean crashing on the rocks below. In my head, I heard the opening strums of "Into the Mystic" and started to choke up all over again.

As I continued to drive, it was hard not to stop at every vista point and turnout. I have yet to upload and go through any of the photos I've taken over the past couple of days, but I'm sure I went a little overboard. The weather was just perfect: blue sky, a bit of fog softening the bluffs and rocky shore.

I made a couple of stops to walk around. At MacKerricher State Park, I walked along a wooden promenade and saw a few harbor seals (they were pretty far away, though). In Fort Bragg, I found Glass Beach, which was a little underwhelming, but I did manage to snag a few little pieces that will make nice earrings. There was no one around to scold me, and there were a few other people stooping to pick up the glass as well. Back on the main drag, I happened upon a great little organic restaurant and had one of the best salads ever.

And then -- Mendocino. Shannon, if you're reading this, I owe you even more for directing me to stop and spend some time there. It is the cutest place in the world. It is impossibly quaint, in an only-people-in-movies-live-here kind of way. The village (and it truly feels like a village) was started by hippies, I've been told, and they've put a ban on any new development, so there are no condos, no Dairy Queens, and one gas station (which was selling the low grade for $4.04 a gallon. I'm serious.). I walked around the village, longed to live in one of the cute little houses (I can't stop using the word 'cute'), wished I could buy something in every store, and then made my way to a good spot on the beach to watch the sunset. Everyone, my family especially, knows how I love Sunset Beach in Cape May. But honestly, it doesn't compare to watching the sun drop into the Pacific. More tears. I really have to work on this crying thing. I stayed there watching the sky grow deep with colors until I had to leap up and run to my car for my tripod. I had fun playing with longer exposures, trying to capture the fiery pink clouds and the brightening crescent moon. It was truly spectacular.

I stayed the night in the cutest (sorry) little one-room cabin at Jughandle Creek Nature Reserve. It had a wood stove! Unfortunately, I'd never built a fire in a wood stove before; I think I missed that Girl Scout meeting. Luckily, I ran into Lou, who is staying there while he makes repairs to the farmhouse, and he helped out. The fire was great, until I got distracted by my book and the yummy local beer I had bought in Fort Bragg, and before I knew it, I was down to embers. I clumsily tried to rebuild it with some more wood, and although it took me forever (plus a lot of newspaper and matches), I managed to get it going again at about half-strength. When I woke up around 4 in the morning to a chilly cabin, I vowed to take a community ed class in firebuilding.

Today, I stopped to buy gas in Gualala, just because it's so much fun to say. Gua-LA-la. Hee!

Here's what I love about driving in California: turnouts. Californians have no qualms tailgating you even though it's clear you're not familiar with the roads (hello, read my license plate!) and the roads have more curves than Jessica Rabbit. Turnouts are places where I can pull over and let the impatient bastards zip by me on their way to somewhere obviously more important than my safety.

I'm a big believer in soundtracks. They can turn a bad movie into a semi-okay one and a good movie unforgettable (a la Almost Famous and The Big Chill, two of my favorite movies). I also like trying to match the music I listen to in my car with the scenery outside my car, like the soundtrack to my life, as hokey as that sounds. Kind of accidentally, I put in my Classic Chillout compilation just before my drive through the redwoods, and I swear it made it that much better. Ditto with Leo Kottke and the winding forest roads at the top of Highway 1. This morning, I started with Bebel Gilberto's Tanto Tempo Remixes, then Van Morrison's Moondance (I had to listen to "Into the Mystic" rather than just singing it in my head), which were both very enjoyable and fitting, but it wasn't until I put in U2's The Joshua Tree that I hit the motherlode. If you can hear the beginning of "Where the Streets Have No Name", with those quiet organ notes leading into that steady drumbeat, and then picture Highway 1 twisting and curving above the waves of the Pacific crashing into the rocky shoreline and NOT get goosebumps, there's something wrong with you. That whole album was the absolute perfect soundtrack for my drive today. I'd have listened to it over and over again, but I didn't want to wear it out with so many days left in my trip. David Gray's White Ladder was next, followed by Tori Amos and Scarlet's Walk. I have no idea if all this is boring you to tears, but the music played an important role in my drive today.

In a really well-timed move, I got to San Francisco smack-dab in the middle of rush hour. As I got closer to the city, I noticed that a thick fog blanketed the coast (it was really cool, actually), so I wasn't sure when I'd see the Golden Gate. I followed the signs to get back on 101, which goes through a short tunnel. Upon exiting the tunnel, I was practically ON THE BRIDGE. More tears. I don't know about you, but I'm a sucker for seeing an oft-photographed icon in person (remember Half Dome?). I just get starstruck, and after two days of being in constant pinch-me-I'm-dreaming mode, I'm an emotional mess.

Then reality hit: a $5.00 toll? Are you KIDDING me? Just to drive across one of America's most recognizable icons? Fine, but I take back my tears of joy. I really should only have to pay $2.50, because half the bridge was completely enveloped in fog.

After a foggy, misty, trafficky (is that a word?) drive through SF, I arrived safely at Point Montara hostel, which is actually part of the keeper's quarters of a lighthouse. For those who don't know (or haven't seen my collection of refrigerator magnets), I HEART lighthouses!! It's a short and squat baby lighthouse, but I'm still charmed. I also stopped at Point Arena lighthouse earlier today to snap some photos. Forgot to mention that. Two lighthouses in one day!

Seriously, if you're still reading at this point, you deserve a medal. Or another glass of wine. Go ahead, treat yourself. I've got photos to upload!