Our Own Private Idaho

Day Thirty Three: Vale OR to Craters of the Moon National Monument, ID

The sun blasts over the ridge promptly at 6:30 am. As I am now reluctantly awake, I stroll around the reservoir and find a quiet place to sit and watch the morning shadows move along the hills. Big, yellow fish are jumping, and there are fishermen already poised to catch them. I meander back to the camp and find the Pirate is awake now too. He's been really good, so I make him the treat of egg-in-the-hole for breakfast. If you're unfamiliar with this delicacy, it's a thick cut piece of bread with the center torn out. Add that to a fairly hot pan with butter or olive oil, crack an egg into the hole and cook it for just a sec before flipping it. It should be kind of dark crispy brown on each side, and the egg should be easy. Sooo good.

After breakfast we pack up, have a swim and then hit the road. We hope to do 300 miles today and traverse half of Idaho.

It turns out that the western half of southern Idaho is devoted to big onion farms. Their stalks are dark green and wave in the wind. All of the river valleys are a striking green, as this is the only source of irrigation. The irrigation seems to be done via extensive ditches with hoses attached. We're taking a route that skates the southern border of the Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area, a totally hot and arid situation. We're pretty close to Nevada on this route, so it has the particular hot-as-hell desolation of that desert.

By Grandview we're ready for lunch, and the only place in town is a stark cinder block building called Selina's Cafe. It turns out to be a treat, southwestern/Mexican home cookin'. The clientele is mostly hispanic, and I spy on their plates to decide what to order. We end up with our usual favorites: tamales and taco. The Pirate is excited, because they have lengua (cow tongue) tacos. We are not disappointed with our order. In fact, it's so good that I declare that if I had the time and money I would stay in this tumbleweed town until I had eaten everything on the menu.

There is a gain in elevation between Mountain Home and Cary. We ride through beautiful rolling green canyons with enormous gray rocks jutting from the ground. It looks like a rock-worshippers sacred grove. The air cools down a bit, a we can see snow capped mountains in the distance. We can also see signs for Sun Valley, skiers heaven, right? This is by far my favorite ride of the day.

Past Cary we approach Craters of the Moon, a not-so-distantly cooled lava bed that is a hell shade of black. Or, perhaps, it is an ant's eye view of an Oreo cookie crust before it has been patted down. Either way, it's fathomless black crumbles, and we decide to camp in it. It's only $10, and they've been kind enough to scrape the black gravel around in such a way as to create campsites. This must be on the 'must see' list for foreign travelers. We have French-Canadians on one side, Japanese (who actually used a level to get their tent right) on the other. There is a slide show about life on the crater that we're excited to see, but we fall dead asleep at 8:45 and miss the whole thing. I did wake up in the middle of the night to hear a pair of coyotes calling back and forth. I never get tired of hearing them.

Butte-iful

Day Thirty Two: Bend to Vale OR

We clean up our hotel room in only 2 hours, a miracle considering it's Haz Mat status. The Girl looks so pretty with her gear back on and her fancy new duds. I'm so ready to get on the road I can't stand it. Settling onto my “throne”, as I like to call it, is soothing second nature by now. I feel like I have cowgirl ass. The weather today is clear and dry, and the temps will stay in the mid 80's. This is riding weather.

The Breakfast Club

We stop at a Goodwill and a Military Surplus store before finding breakfast. On 20 E heading out of Bend is The Breakfast Club, advertising famous 75 cent coffee. It looks and feels like the locals' place, so we're extra happy. The coffee is actually really good, and the servers are about as nice as they come. We order the breakfast sandwich with hash browns, a seriously good choice. First, there is a hunk of rosemary foccacia which has been sliced open and then grilled to crispy, crater-y, golden perfection. The grilled portion goes on the outside of the sandwich so as not to get soggy (it blew my mind too). Then, a fried egg, a fresh tomato, a spicy piece of sausage and some grilled spinach are layered within. Yowzah. The hash browns were also perfect, especially when garnished with a little orange puddle of Cholula.

From Bend to Burns we are back in high desert. Meadows full of sea foamy sage perfuming the air and hot, dry, sunny weather. The sun is to our backs now as we ride, helping prevent the afternoon sunburns we were getting on the first leg of the trip. After Burns, we ride through a beautiful canyon with hills ranging from cinnamon to cayenne to paprika. That may sound contrived, but truly, some of these colors are familiar, yet placed differently than I am used to seeing them. I have to stare at the thing and think “what is also that color”? Anyway, accompanying this spice colored canyon is a sweet garter snake of a river, providing cool green contrasts to the warm hills. This is another ride that I would put on the “to do” list of any biker.

Three Sisters

We roll into the Bully Creek Resevior right around cocktail hour. This is a county park, and seems to be a locals only place. I found it because I am becoming a clever navigatrix. It's literally a giant pool that serves to irrigate all of the corn and onion fields in the deserts of eastern Oregon. It's deep and dark blue, and looks totally refreshing. Folks are mainly fishing and riding around in motorboats, and grilling out at night. We have a sweet little picnic dinner of sourdough grilled in olive oil, guacamole and some local grass fed tenderloins. Perfection. It's only $15 to camp here, so we settle in for the night. Long eared hares graze nearby, blackbirds goof around in the trees, and as we fall asleep, some coyotes sing in the distance.

Bender

Day Thirty One: Bend

This is our second full day in Bend. Considering that we blew all of our money yesterday, we've decided to hang out at the compound today. We take advantage of the free breakfast, make coffee in the room and plan to bug the mechanic every couple of hours all day until R. Girl is ready.

The motel has a pool out back, so that's where we spend the afternoon. I bask and the Pirate posts blogs. We are determined to get caught up with this, even if it's on the last legs of the trip. I had intended to write and post at the end of everyday so that ya'll could be right here with us. It just hasn't worked out that way, and I have to let that go.

By 4:30 we get word that the Girl is finally being worked on. She's ready by 6. Apparently the spokes that were broken are just a result of age rather than an overload, which was our fear. Her new back tire is that of a sport bike. In the midst of all this, she also got a bath. I have to say, with her shiny new spokes, tough back tire and gleaming body she's quite a sight; ready for the ride back east for sure. With our two days of rest, I think we might be just as impressive.

This little adventure of ours has not been much of a vacation, as one might imagine. We are usually exhausted by the end of the day, and tend to sleep an average of ten hours a night. We are always packing, moving, enduring, seeking, searching, compromising and making due (with constant bouts of joy, enthusiasm, excitement and giddy euphoria, of course). Our experience is most certainly the journey, and never the destination, as is the case with many road trips. After riding through a beautiful desert or along a coast all day, I could easily spend the night in some parking lot, you know? When we're in a hotel, we love to catch the adventures of Anthony Bourdain. He probably spends 4 days just to get an hour of TV show. I feel the same way sometimes. There are so many hours in day, and just about a page worth of writable stuff.

Bend has one of those restaurant delivery services like Gourmet valet or Blue Ridge to Go. We decide to stay in on our last night and enjoy the TV and luxury of being half naked and eating in bed. We order from the Flat bread community oven: beautiful Sicilian meatballs swimming in a bright marinara, and the Quattro Formaggio pizza, a crisp thin crusted pizza with just a hint of pomodoro, four cheeses and hunks of fresh basil. It's the best meal eaten from a bed that I can imagine.

Tomorrow we officially head east.

Seasons in the Abyss (a death valley pictorial)

Bend Over

Day Thirty: Bend

We got R. Girl to the shop early this morning only to discover that they don't open until 10. I have never heard of a mechanic that didn't open until 10. Anyway, the Girl's official diagnosis is that her back tire is worn and needs to be replaced, and the shimmy we felt is coming from the back wheel. Some of the spokes have broken. This is not good news. They have over nighted the new spokes which, as speedy and convenient as it sounds, delays us an unexpected day. We will have to have our room another night now too. Bend has suddenly become expensive. The upside is that there is no sales tax in Oregon, so perhaps the parts will at least be cheaper.

We are lucky enough to have a bus stop in front of the motel. By the afternoon we're ready to hop on and hit the town. We prepare to spend the rest of the day and evening in downtown Bend, only to discover that the buses only run until six. Dammit. While waiting for the bus, a local sells us 2 day passes for $2. We saved 3 bucks!

Downtown Bend is sweet. It's tiny, and you can walk the entirety of it in a couple of hours. We have fun strolling around window shopping, the Pirate buys some sunglasses and I contemplate little leather wallets. We find McMenamins, an Oregonian institution that seems to pop up in most hip towns here. It's a beautiful day, so sitting out on the patio that's a jungle of umbrellas and plants suits us fine. McMenamins is genius in that they offer not only wine and beer flights, but liquor flights as well.

Scotch Flight with an ESB back

It was a tough choice between the Irish whiskey flight and the scotch flight. We went with the scotch. For $14 we got 3 little shots of beautiful golden liquid. The first is a delicious peaty 10 year from the Isle of Skye called Talisker. Then, Highland Park, a beautiful green floral 12 year from West Highlands. Last, from the Orkney isle, a 14 year called Oban. The Oban was hot and sharp with hardly any flavor, just pure alcohol. My initial preference was the Talisker, I like the rich earthy aspects. It would go down like a dessert. In the end, I think I would have the Highland Park in my decanter.

On to the Pine Tavern, a little place that the Pirate visited when he was here years ago (shout out to Jes and her Mom and Dad). The Pine Tavern is aptly named, since it has a couple of actual pine trees growing right through the middle of the restaurant. We are seated at our second lovely patio table of the afternoon, this time with a view of the river. We start with a couple of martinis made with gin from the local Bend Distillery. Whoa, the Pirate was right. This gin tastes just like fresh juniper berries crushed between your fingers. It's clean, bright and fresh. There will be a decanter for this, too. To accompany this distilled work of art, we have some shrimp tacos; delicious crispy shrimp and cabbage nestled between 2 thick corn tortillas.

Shrimp Tacos and Bend Gin Martinis

We now have a tough decision to make. We have to either leave to make sure we catch the bus, which means missing out on dinner and spending the rest of the day at the motel, or stay and feast. Well, we're the Pirate and the Mermaid, so it's a no brainer. We order a couple more martinis, a rare prime rib and a Caesar salad. OK, a note about the salad. Many places charge a fee when you split an entree (ridiculously insulting when you're already $40 in the hole for cocktails alone). I've discovered that if the Pirate orders the entree, and I feign daintiness and order a salad, we actually come out ahead.

Pine Tavern

The prime rib is as pink and tender as they come. With a salty, dark jus and a creamy horseradish sauce, this is a plate of classic American beauty. The salad is really good too actually, crispy and bright green with just a hint of dressing. The Pirate might have mentioned to the server that we were food bloggers, and so our server comped us a gigantic piece of Mud Pie. Mud Pie is not something I generally order. It's usually a pile of undecipherable frozen sweet stuff that is more often than not shlepped off the Sysco truck. Not so at the Pine Tavern. First, this thing is no less than six inches tall. The Oreo crust is house made, silky coffee ice cream is the “meat” of the pie, then rich caramel sauce, then fresh whipped cream, then slivered almonds. We're over the edge.

Mud Pie ain't no joke

Good thing we have a long walk back. In need of a digestive stroll , we enjoy the beautiful weather, get a surprise glimpse of a speckled fawn and an Osprey right beside the road, and a are back before we know it. I drift off to the sounds of a That 70's Show marathon on Nick at Night. It's been a great day.

Hell Bent

Day Twenty Nine: Selma to Bend OR

We're packed up and on the road at 11. Once we get to the nearest place with cell phone service (Grant's Pass) we confirm that we can get the Girl in to see a mechanic tomorrow. It looks like we'll be spending a day in Bend.

Our ride is gorgeous. We're riding through wide, sunny valleys of farms nestled in green mountains. Since we've been out west, I've noticed that the mountains often remind me of the southern Appalachians, except out here, the edge where the mountain meets the sky looks serrated, like a Birch leaf, because of the abundant conifers. The edge of these southwestern Oregon mountains are softer, suggesting more deciduous trees.

We're on a series of lovely back roads, angling north east to get to Crater Lake national park. It's on the way, and it will make a great lunch spot. As we approach, it begins to get colder, though the sun it still out. We notice a patches of snow here and there. Then we're on pavement surrounded by 3 foot drifts. We've obviously gained some elevation. At the fee booth (my favorite) we show them our Grand Canyon and Mesa Verde receipts and get $39 knocked off an $80 unlimited national park pass. That'll come in handy if we go to Yellowstone or Mt. Rushmore. My Mom would be so proud!

Crater Lake is amazing. When we arrived, the water was so still that it was reflecting the sky, the clouds and the surrounding mountains perfectly. Crater Lake is essentially an enormous high sided bowl filled with clear, deep water. The deepest point is around 1900 feet (the elephant seals would not have even hit their stride yet). We plunk down on a rock wall that looks out onto the lake and have lunch. We busted out some garlic-y guacamole that had the other tourists intrigued. I guess most people don't travel with kitchen knives and cutting boards at the ready? There was so much snow on the ground that kids were having snowball fights and climbing huge snow mounds. We exchange picture taking with another couple, buy some postcards, and head to Bend.

It turns out that there is a reasonable hotel beside the motorcycle shop, so we book a room for 2 nights. This is so luxurious I can't even tell you. Usually, if we're lucky enough to have a hotel room at all, we have to high tail it out early in the morning. This will allow us to catch up on the blogging, get some rest, and get a feel for Bend. And, R Girl will be all spiffed up and ready for the ride back east. Bend is our farthest point west. We had hoped to get up to Seattle, but time and money aren't allowing. That will be another trip, we've already promised the Girl.

Haulin' ass outta Humboldt

Day Twenty eight: Humboldt to Selma OR

The weather looks like it's clearing, we can kind of see the mountains across the valley now. I fix the fellas a little breakfast, and we're off. The road is precarious due to the 2 days of rain we just endured, and the Girl struggles to get up the road.

We are riding once again through cold fog. After talking with some folks that live around here, it seems that we hit a week-long patch of shitty weather, and that usually northern California is heaven. This is reassuring. The coastal redwood groves continue to be magnificent. The understory of these groves is lush with bright green ferns and moss. The sequoia groves were more dry and piney, like South Carolina.

As we approach Crescent City, our final CA town before we take 299 to the northeast, the sun comes out in a way that feels like “see guys, it's nice here! The sun does come out!”. Whatever. The beach is Crescent City is wide and sandy, most of the coast has been rocky cliffs. We're starving, so we pop into Red's diner. You can't miss it, it's red. They're slammed for lunch and our food takes a little while to come out, the server was sweet and comped us some onion rings. We ordered their world famous burger with secret sauce, and fish tacos. The burger was boring, and if I were to guess, I would say that their secret sauce is mayo mixed with raspberry salad dressing. The fish tacos on the other hand...3 tacos stuffed with perfectly golden fried fish, crispy thin sliced cabbage and a tangy crema. The tortillas were amazing; thin like crepes, grilled and glistening with oil, and full of delicious corn flavor. The service at this place is wonderful too. Oh, and across the street is the Continental Bakery that looks like it has some pretty serious house made doughnuts, and I would have bought dozens of had they not closed at 2. Dang.

Our ride improved immensely after lunch. We rode along the Smith River for about an hour. The sun was shining, the road was full of fat winding curves, and this river took my breath away. The road perches way above the river for most of the way, so you can see down into the water. This is not the muddy chocolate milk river water that I'm used to seeing back home. This is perfectly clear, and when it gets deep, it takes on a brilliant aquamarine. It's like (bear with me) those hobbyist electric train sets that get really elaborate and include mountains and water features? It's the weird translucent blue-green of the motionless water features of electric train sets.

R. Girl has developed a shimmy that has us concerned. It seems to have happened on our way up the dirt road in Humboldt. Plus, we have nearly worn through that back tire. Our mission in Oregon is to get her to the spa for a day. We think we've done over 4000 miles, so she's due. Our time online today has been devoted to finding a motorcycle mechanic. It seems that we will be routing to Bend now, which is great. The Pirate visited there years ago and promises that there is a local gin distillery there that will knock my socks off.

We're camping near Selma, Oregon tonight. We stocked up with food at the local grocery, so dinner is Washington cherries, California avocados, crackers and wine. We got a bottle of the Bohemian Highway Merlot, we think that this is the winery that we could see from Raina's porch. We stay up past dark laughing and talking. A neighbor comes by and lets us know that they've just seen a cougar headed our way. Awesome.

Holed up in Humboldt

Days Twenty five-Twenty seven: Ft. Bragg to Eureka

The Pacific fog has finally penetrated my brain. If I were a priestess journeying to Avalon, I would have left the shore only to be swallowed whole and forever adrift in the mists. It's cold, clammy, thick and relentless. Riding through it on the bike is unpleasant. It seems that we have traveled through extremes, the unbearable oven of the west Texas desert and now the damp of the northern California coast.

After leaving our campground, we notice that about 10 miles up the road is a KOA that allows you to camp right on the beach. I wish we'd done that. The 1 is done. It has been swallowed by the 101, and will be a big fat boring highway the rest of the ride. This does nothing to distract me from the uncomfortable weather.

We got spoiled the last several days by all of the little adorable towns on the coast promising espresso and pastries. We keep holding out, hoping for breakfast or at least good coffee, but no. We stop to get fuel near the Cook River, and end up with gas station coffee and hot dogs. I totally feel like a North Carolinian. As luck would have it, there is a HUGE reggae festival happening in this tiny town starting the very minute we were indulging in our gas station gluttony. We settled in for some entertaining people watching; chubby girls with cowboy hats and too-too short shorts, twenty somethings with the predictable 420 wardrobe, musicians, locals, cars crammed with camping supplies and kegs. Looks like fun.

Back on the 101, we are given the option of taking the “Avenue of the Giants”, an alternative route that brings you through the Humboldt redwoods. Choose this route if you have the time. As I now understand it, Sequoias get big and broad, while Redwoods get tall. We rode through grove after grove of these soaring giants. Being on a bike is ideal, I spent most of the time with my head cocked all the way back, gazing into the staggering height.

By the time we get to Eureka, every bit of charm has drained away from the coast. Eureka is disappointing. We learned that several cities in California shipped their homeless populations here, and then the local state mental health institution closed and released the patients to the streets, and there's a meth problem. So, we headed out of the city as soon as we could.

For the next few days we are staying with a friend of the Pirate's. I have learned that friends-of-Pirates are often best keep anonymous, as you can imagine. This particular friend has settled onto a steep mountainside deep within Humboldt county. He lives in a camper down an impossibly steep dirt road. I'm surprised the Girl got down it. As we arrive, the weather worsens, and so it seems best to rest here until it clears.

For two days we cook, watch tons of movies, help with the farm and the camper, and listen to the rain. There is no internet, or phone service. I've lost count of days, and I feel pretty off course. I'm enjoying the rest, but I have an itch to keep moving. For me, this trip is about movement. I want to see the country from this bike, moving moving moving. I can visit and hike and camp and sight-see and shop on another trip. This stillness is unsettling.

The Sun Only Shines In Sebastapol

 

Day Twenty Four: Sebastopol to Fort Bragg

Wild Flour Bakery

We slept until 11 am. I guess we were tired. We didn't unpack a thing last night, so we're pretty much ready to go as soon as we're dressed. Raina works at the Osmosis Spa, which is on the Bohemian Hwy about a mile from her house. Conveniently across the street from the spa is a wood fired french bakery. I think it was called the Wild Flour? They have bowls brimming with samples of all of their breads and pastries, which change daily. They asked me if I wanted to try something sweet or savory, I said “yes”. We tried everything, rich seeded breads, a delicious faggouse with Gouda, the sticky bun loaded with walnuts and raisins, olive bread, rosemary and garlic bread, whew. We settled on a sticky bun and an Asiago green onion scone topped with poppy seeds.

Katie and Raina

At the Wild Flour, you are welcome to walk through their blooming gardens and find a picnic table. We chose a seat next to a fence filled with blooming sweet peas and tucked into our gluten feast. The offerings at the Wild Flour constantly change, so I can't recommend what you should have when you're there, but if they have that savory scone, get it. The sticky bun is as big and every bit as heavy as The Complete Works of Chaucer. We couldn't finish it. I suspect it might actually be better cold, the sugary glaze needs to solidify a bit.

After breakfast, Raina showed us her spa. It's beautiful, and I wish our budget were different so we could indulge in their offerings (we need it, that's for sure). Alas, we had to settle for their stunning Japanese gardens, tea room and a peek at the “massage pagodas”. If you're ever at a loss for where to live, or where to be, find Raina. She's always at the best spots on the planet.

Osmosis spa

Raina directs us out of Sebastopol via the Bohemian Highway (appropriate) and Coleman Valley Road. This is a beautiful pastoral route, and it had me convinced that we were in for a lovely sunny ride. No such luck. That thick Pacific fog rolled in within 8 miles, and we drove in the wet sop for the rest of the day. I'm over it. The Pacific is a strange lady; frigid and fierce whilst keeping you constantly in her soggy embrace.

I'm intrigued by the coast of California. Cattle graze on ocean front property. The houses are not the over-the-top-hurricane-insurance-money mansions we have back east. They are modest dwellings with natural wood shakes that have been weathered to light brown or soft gray perfection. I think this might be what Nantucket would feel like. It's incredibly quaint, more the climate for shawls and hot cups of tea than motorcycle touring though.

Parking Lot Lunch Rocks!

In Gualala we find fuel and food. There is a grocery store was called the Surf Market (I think), and on Fridays only (lucky us!) they set up a grill in the parking lot where they will fix you oysters and b-b-qed meat sandwiches. We decided on some creamy clam chowder from the market and a tri-tip sandwich from the parking lot. We sneak out to the ocean front to eat. The chowder is rich and super clammy, not all potatoes like it often is. The sandwich is perfect, grilled french bread filled with tender, tangy meat that has just a little heat.

By the time we reached the famed Mendocino, we were cold and tired and needing to camp for the night, so we didn't stop. As it turns out, the Mendocino Music Festival is this weekend, so the state parks are full and the motels are practicing unabashed extortion. We settle on the Green Acres campground in Fort Bragg. $20 gets you a site with a fire pit and a picnic table, and access to clean potties. This campground has the added charm of planters involving antique farm equipment and seafaring implements. You know those fuchsia hanging baskets that you can buy at Lowe's and the hummingbirds will come? Well those grow in the ground here, like 5 foot tall shrubs, and the hummingbirds that come are downright chubby. This campground also has a sweet trail out to the ocean. We walked out during low tide, perched on a cliff and gazed at the foggy water. One day, this Mermaid will live somewhere, however brief, where I can stare at the expanse of the sea everyday from my couch.

We meander back to the camp and settle in for the night. I bang out a blog or two (see? I'm totally on it), and then promptly fall asleep to the sounds of rowdy campers playing mainstream hip hop.

The San Francisco Treat

 

Day Twenty Three: San Francisco

It's another chilly day in the Bay. Sparkle has to get to work early, so we bust out a typical Pirate/ Mermaid breakfast and enjoy it in the garden. It's always sad to leave our hosts.

R. Girl gets packed up, and she's very happy with her fresh oil and tight load. We have rearranged our “easy access” packs. Where there were once shorts, flip flops and skirts, there are now thermals, wool gloves and silk scarves. It's just plain cold out here, which is fine as long as we have on enough layers to keep the wind out while we ride. As a life long east coaster, I associate the shore with sun and warmth. I believe it may be the opposite here.

It's $4 to get back across the bay (San Francisco only enforces a toll as you come in the city), and then all of a sudden we're in a big city. Our first glimpse is of the downtown business district with skyscrapers and suits and ties, then over to China town, then through the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin is the, how do you say, red light district. Sparkle told us about a cooperatively owned peep show place called the Lusty Lady, so we stopped and, well, peeped. The sign outside claims that it's the first worker owned strip club in the world. “Ain't no shame ladies, do your thang, just make sure you ahead of the game”-Missy Elliott.

Of all of the tour options there are in San Francisco (trolley, pedi-cab, ferry, open topped tour bus, etc), I had the best option: The Pirate and R. Girl. For about 4 hours we whizzed all around the city, speeding down the hilly streets, dodging cab drivers and adreneline-junky-shoppers. I love that the city is so small, and each district is so dense. The Haight-Ashbury district is over if you blink, you're in and out of China town before you know it.

The Slanted Door

A cone of meat

We parked the Girl at the Ferry Building and went in search of lunch. The Ferry Building is an eater's dream. There are restaurants, and also “stalls” with mushrooms, cupcakes, cured meats, wine, bread, chocolate, you get the idea. We ate at The Slanted Door, a Vietnamese place that prides itself in using local ingredients. We sat at the bar (of course) and feasted on chilled mussels in white wine and chile, and lemongrass roasted pork over rice noodles with tiny fried hand rolls, mint and cucumber. Dee-lish.

After lunch the Pirate had to go feed the meter, and I was left dangerously alone to shop the building of food. I behaved, all I had was a rose geranium infused caramel covered in white chocolate and dusted with cocoa. Once the Pirate joined me again, we stopped into a place advertising “tasty salted pig parts”. That sounds promising, doesn't it? We decide on a snow cone of salami and a lard caramel. You read that right. They take a paper snow cone cup, stamp it with their logo, and fill it with slices of four of their cured meats. The caramel is simple, rather than using butter, lard is that fat; “Oh My Lard” as one of the t-shirts said. The Ferry Building is totally fun.

Next up: the Golden Gate bridge. Once we actually find it, the traffic to cross it is terrible. I think maybe rush hour starts at 4 pm here. It it truly majestic though. The Bay is full of wind surfers and kite surfers, the sun dazzles across the water, it's clear and sunny with no fog in sight. Crossing the bridge is a thrill. On the other side we get some more layers on and head up the 1 toward Sebastopol.

The 1 takes us right along the coast as usual, and then brings us inland to ride along side a sound that's within Pt. Reyes. The water is calm, and we're right beside it rather than up on the cliffs looking down. It smells sweet and briny, the way the sea should. We pass a town called Marshall that looks like it might have small town character rich similarities to my beloved Marshall back home, only with sailboats instead of Subarus. There are farms with cattle and sheep quietly grazing the golden hillsides. The full moon is rising, and it looks like a gold coin against the twilight-y purple of the hills. It's still cold and foggy. So far, Northern California feels like a perpetual southern Appalachian autumn.

For Damian

In Sebastopol we find Raina, one of my dear friends, a sister really, who I haven't laid eyes on in 6 or 7 years. She was my first tenant at Rippling Waters, the healing arts co-op I had in Boone. We worked together doing massage for about 3 years and developed a life long bond. Plus, my very first Cabbage Patch kid was named Raina Gael, so it's cosmic. I'm so excited to be able to stay with her on this journey. She's not home yet when we get to her house, so her landlord greets us and shows us around. We get to take a long hot shower to knock the cold off, and by the time we're out, Raina's home. The reunion hug is sweet and teary for me. She's just as bright and beautiful as ever, still wearing Kirsten's jewelry and flashing her gorgeous smile.

We spend the evening catching up. Both of us have had dramatic changes in our lives, and yet so many things are still constant. Since it's cold out, we get tucked in to their home theater for the night. I've never been in, much less slept in, a home theater before. Shout out to Frank Lombardo: it has couch bleachers, just like you always talk about, except they also went through the trouble of putting movie theater carpeting down. We should totally do that at MHS. Anyway, we are grateful to have somewhere so perfectly dark and sound-absorbent to lay our heads for the night. We listen to owls and coyotes as we drift off to sleep.

Blogstipated

 

Day Twenty two: all day in the East Bay

Today we have to do chores. We are wearing weird-ass outfits because all of our other clothes are dirty. R. Girl needs some serious attention in the form of an oil change and a bath. There's a ton of online banking to be done. And, as ya'll know and have let us know, we need to post some blogs.

Katie and Sparkle

The thing is, we're blogstipated. All of the entries are written, the photos are on standby and it's all waiting to be posted like a line of impatient off schedule airplanes at JFK. Several factors must align in order to get a blog out. We have to have internet access, either electricity or a full battery, Mariposa has to be agreeable and we have to have the time and energy to make it all happen. In many cases, these favorable factors must be devoted to looking at weather and lodging in the coming days (crucial shit).

When the blogs finally do flow, I'm sure I don't need to point you in the direction of the proper metaphor for you to understand the feeling of relief.

Aunt Mary's

Now that that's out of the way...we had a lovely day in Oakland/ Berkeley. We started the day at Aunt Mary's, a groovy “southern” place where the waitresses are rocking a cool retro look with bright red lips, cat eye glasses, little sweaters and aprons. It seems that the Pirate and I are bar/counter sitters. We like to sit next to each other since we usually share food, and we like to spy on the cooking. We have the “southern bubble and squeak” with a side of their house made sausage. Dang, this is some good southern-by-way-of-northern-california stuff. We have a big pile of cooked greens, crispy potato cakes topped with 2 eggs over easy and some “pot likker” (that's them being southern I guess) gravy that rivaled anything we've had back home. The sausage is “holy crap spicy” according to the Pirate, and is fantastic when slopped around in that gravy. After we licked the plate, we had a piece of cold buttermilk pie. If I lived in the East Bay, I would wear this place out.

Off to do laundry now that our bellies are full and our nerves are quaking with coffee. It's within walking distance, so we get to poke in to a few shops and get a feel for the neighborhood. I like it. It's both funky and quaint, a little like a college town and a little like a city.

The rest of the day is devoted to getting our chores done. The Girl gets some fresh oil, the clothes are folded and re-packed, some blogs are finally posted. In the evening we ride around Berkeley and get to see the snooze-y night life. We have some run-of-the-mill pizza and then head back to our cozy trailer. Mariposa is nice enough to let us watch a TV show, a perfect cap on a day of domesticity.

Big Fun on the One

Day Twenty One: San Simeon to Oakland

It's a misty morning, Mermaid weather for sure. We have just enough fuel in the stove to make coffee and some eggs. Sweet neighbors offer us their fire if we need to warm up. We are actually reveling in this weather after the last 3 weeks of desert travel.

Three miles from San Simeon (we skipped Hearst castle, by the way) is “Elephant Seal Beach”. I think, yeah right. But, sure enough, the seals are on their southerly migration, and so the beach was full of them. They are all juveniles, and will grow to be twice their current (enormous) size. We are spellbound watching them snuggle and snore and spar. A park ranger tells us that they migrate as far as 2500 miles to the north, and that they are solitary swimmers. They typically dive 5000 feet for food. A Navy submarine can't even dive that deep. They are used to these fathomless, black waters so they have to throw sand over themselves as sun screen, even on this overcast day.

Hwy 1 (“the 1”) is fabulous. The roadsides are covered in succulents, and they're almost all in bloom. It's like the most perfectly orchestrated living roof with all of the crimsons, chartreuses, bright yellows and cool greens arranged just so. The highway traces the coastline exactly, weaving back and forth through canyons and heaving out over the cliffs. The coastline is rocky, allowing for dramatic crashing waves. After a foggy morning, the sun comes out as we ride through Big Sur. We round a corner, and the cliffs are carpeted with yellow all the way down to the bright lapis and turquoise water. It's stunning.

The Big Sur Bakery is a definite stop. It's perched on a cliff and surrounded by amazing gardens. All of their goodies are wood fired, so the air smells not only like buttery baked goods, but like a campfire too. We chose a walnut chocolate strudel and an almond croissant. The strudel and the croissant have exactly the same dough, but are delicious none the less.

The 1 gets busy just past Carmel as you're coming into Santa Cruz. It swells up and feels just like any other 4 lane. We decide to take a break in Santa Cruz. Alix recommended a Sri Lankan restaurant there, which is either now out of business or is too elusive for us. We found our way out to the harbor area which is a bustling downtown with equal parts chic boutiques and homeless people. We meandered around for awhile and then popped in to a Salvation Army thrift store. I found an awesome pair of jeans that actually fit (it's hard to get a Mermaid into jeans) and were only $4. I gotta shout out to my girl Mary, my all time favorite thrift store comrade, she would have loved this one.

Anyway, feeling triumphant with my denim booty (pun intended, I couldn't resisit) we head to Pizza My Heart for a slice. This is a sweet little pizza joint with trumpet vines growing all up the outside of the building. The inside is covered with vintage surf stuff, including a motorized surf board. They also have a self serve bar of pizza toppings with the standard Parmesan and red pepper flakes and also ground cumin and local hot sauces. It almost felt like home for a sec when an adorable dread locked blonde came in looking for scraps for her brand new hemp adorned puppy.

Back on the 1 and headed north to San Francisco we pass big artichoke and strawberry farms, and farm stand selling these things for cheap. Like 7 artichokes for $1. The air here smells like strawberries. Soon the road narrows again, a heavy, wet fog rolls in, and it gets cold. I can tell that our daily riding gear will be changing to suit the California coast. The Bedouin desert gear gets stowed, and out come the hoodies, scarves and thermals.

The 1 ends into 280 in San Fransisco. We are entering this town at the tail end of rush hour and in freezing cold, fairly dense fog. I'm navigating and the Pirate is captaining, and it's graceful. We cross the Bay bridge into Oakland like pros, and start to look for Sparkle's place.

Big Sur Bakery

Sparkle is a graduate of ASMY. She moved from Asheville about 6 months ago, and has easily found her natural niche as yoga instructor and showgirl in the Bay. She is kindly putting us up in her back courtyard (our second back courtyard!) in an old camper trailer compete with fairie lights. We take hot showers to warm up from the fog, then head out for late sushi dinner. It's happy hour after 10 pm, so dinner is cheap. We catch up over hand rolls and hot sake, then head home and nestle in to our sweet little Bay area abode.