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.