Six in the morning seemed like a good target hour to be on the road. I made it with one minute to spare. I had dinner reservations in San Fran at 8. It's a happy coincidence, and not any indication of meticulous planning on my part, that I almost made that.
I was kind of looking forward to watching the sun rise to start the trip. Unfortunately, the first shots of the rainy season may have started landing in the Pac NW the day I blew out of town. There was a solid gray roof with moderate to heavy rain all the way down to southern Oregon. It's actually impressive to think about how large a chunk of geography was actually one big rainstorm. When I'm sitting at home, I don't think about the extent of the weather. It's just that it's raining where _I'm at._ Traveling all through it gives one a unique perspective.
Around Grant's Pass, Oregon a strange thing happens. Fir trees and ferns give way to fir trees and scrub brush. And more-or-less just like that...the rain stops. Welcome to California.
North from Grant's Pass. Note ominous clouds
Contrast with southerly shot...and blue skies
As I had just done a long road trip through Oregon and Northern California as far south as San Francisco with my friends Marc and Viet in April, I decided to have my first day be a fairly brutal straight shot through to the bay. My leisurely road trip would start when I headed south from there. Accordingly I blazed quickly through the Mt. Shasta area of the northern Sierras. I did stop long enough to take this shot of the volcanic sentinel of the Golden State's northern border
Unfortunately, my hell-bent-for-leather approach to the opening leg of the journey shortly thereafter attracted another kind of California sentinel, in the person of a helpful California Highway Patrolman. See, evidently they have these planes.... You can guess the rest. They nabbed about four motorists in what I can only describe as a well-coordinated and highly proficient speed trap. Or maybe "speed sting" would be a more charitable term, since I was in fact hauling derriere. The ticketing transaction was painless as these things go, very business-like. And my own CHiP looked like he could have been somebody's grandfather. Only he had a rocket-powered super high-tech interceptor car that I'm pretty sure could launch rockets and control the broadcast of an NFL game based on the number of antennae the thing had.
I should have asked him if I could take his picture. Maybe best I didn't...could be awkward. You'll have to imagine him. Think Willford Brimley only 75 lbs. lighter.
Anyhoo, I'm not going to let a minor infraction and bill to the great state of California deter me! So I push on. The northern valley is a great and fertile wasteland. Fertile in the sense that there's all kinds of agri-business. A wasteland in the sense that I don't want to spend any more of my time there. It's a necessary terrain that separates the bay area from the Northwest.
Approaching my target, I had to plan an alternate route. Seems California's second impediment to easy visitation today is that the Bay Bridge is closed for Labor Day weekend. Probably a good choice of timing...it's not like a big travel weekend or anything. It's ok. I got to take a route I've never taken, across the 580 bridge to get to Mill Valley, then down across the Golden Gate. This added some hassle, and some extra tolls.
They only charge you toll going in to San Francisco. They don't care when you leave. If you could spend your whole life only driving north, you'd be golden. I can't decide if I like what this is saying. Maybe it should be like putting deposits on bottles. They could charge you a toll to get into the city, but then pay you to leave. I could get behind that approach more easily.
I made it to my dinner engagement with old WotC friends Andrew and Robert and Andrew's wife Rachel. I was about 40 minutes late, but I'm fortunate to have friends of the patient variety. We had a fine dinner at a nice Brazilian steak place on Market St. Robert lost the credit card game. Or maybe I won, I can never tell with that game. I'm typing this entry from a Best Western in South San Francisco, resting up for my first easy drive tomorrow, down through Monterrey to Southern California.All in all a fine first day. It makes me wonder if I missed something, though. Was I supposed to rush through the first day? I want to do new things, not repeat the same things, to be sure. And my time, while open ended, is not infinite. But then again, who am I to try to define when the "real" journey begins? Did I plow past something that could have been important, could have given me some kind of satisfaction? How much am I supposed to be in control of the journey, and how much am I just supposed to have the journey happen?
I should have asked Wilford. He looked as if he might have had some wisdom to hazard an answer.
Only one ticket, and still just 40 minutes late? That's pretty good--as I remember, the Stanford-to-Olympia jaunt was always about 14 hours (and that with two drivers).
ReplyDeleteDon't forget to take it easy at some point. Remember, it's not just about the getting to the next motel...it's also about the seeing what's along the way.
Slow the F down! And I mean this in a "smell the roses" kind of way. No reason to be within an hour of your promised arrival times. Toss your watch out the window or some such. You'll get there when you get there. Or should I say "if"?
ReplyDeleteI can only hope these entries get shorter and less coherent. Here's the last one: "Gerggh. North ... Soufh ... Who cares? Is that a cicada? Tatses like chicken. Cant cache me copper ... wah ahha hahha!" How you get there is up to you.
You totally missed the hotties in the "roadhouse" near Mendocino! Ah well, it wasn't really a roadhouse anyways. Say hi to Rick Neuheisel when you're in LA for us.
ReplyDelete- V