Vacation 2009, Day Fifteen: The End of the Line

Today was mainly a travel day and my last real vacation day. I only had to return to Terry’s and Kimberly’s house in time to watch the Texas vs. Texas Tech game. Although Point Reyes isn’t far from Pinole as the crow flies, it could very well be in a different world. Speaking of which, I decided to visit Muir Woods on the way back to Pinole.

Today was the first day the fog didn’t lift around 9, so it was a bit of a cloudy, cool day all throughout the area. Apparently someone’s having a wedding in Olema and the Lodge is full of white people. Oy! I haven’t seen so much LL Bean, comb overs, and cotton sweaters in one place since I stayed at the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas (and saw Burt Bacharach in the elevator). Aunts, cousins, nephews, and frat buddies. It reeked of Elaine Robinson’s wedding to Carl Smith, makeout king of his fraternity, in The Graduate.

After packing and checking out, I first visited the Point Reyes Farmer’s Market, held weekly at Toby’s. This was, to put it mildly, a freak show. Guys playing bongos and tambourines, women dancing with scarves, the local NPR station broadcasting live. What is going on here? On the other hand, the various sellers were interesting. There were five or six excellent purveyors of outstanding looking produce. Also representing were companies or farmers selling oysters, honey, milk, eggs, cheese, tea, other kinds of shellfish, and yarn. One of the chefs at a local restaurant was giving a lesson on shellfish cooking, though when I walked by he was meticulously making toast. As I walked over to the little Point Reyes Community Garden, a hippyish, yet attractive, young mother gently spoke to her daughter, who was at that moment pounding a little boy mercilessly with her fists, saying “gentle, Clementine, gentle.” Right. Madam, you, quite frankly, don’t have a clue. I thought at that moment that Miss Birdie would absolutely have handled her business in that situation. The pounding would quickly have stopped. No “cajoling” or “persuasion” would have occurred.

After leaving, I leisurely headed south past Point Reyes to Muir Woods. Basically, you take Route 1 (the Pacific Coast Highway) further south, then take Muir Woods Road just after the PCH turns east right after Muir Beach. This stretch of road was even windier and twistier than the sections I encountered last Tuesday. To make it worse, fog was battling to take over the sky the entire drive. Sometimes it would push far inland and envelope the entire area. Keep driving another 10 minutes, however, and you leave all trace of fog behind and its clear blue sky. Fog kept coming and going all day long. You could even see it moving across the sky, like some cloud-like creature bent on destruction in Star Trek. On top of that, hordes of suited up bicyclists insisted on riding in the outside lane, which has no bicycle lane (as do many other Northern California streets). If you didn’t pass them, you’d have to go incredibly slow, particularly on uphill segments. If you did, you had to worry about oncoming cars and trucks at turns. These factors made an already drive much more treacherous.

As I approach Muir Woods, I can tell from a couple of miles away its packed. Cars were parked far outside of the entrance gates, with families of all shapes and sizes walking to and away from the park. This has me dumbfounded. I’d have thought that San Franciscans have incredibly interesting things to do during the day other than drive out to Marin County and hug trees. You know, a busy San Francisco life, filled with animal sacrifices, watching snuff films, sniffing paint fumes, badmouthing America, and leading that week’s Gay Pride parade. On the other hand, at least these parents aren’t taking their kids to Chuck E. Cheese or the mall, so I can’t be too upset about it.

When I arrived, it was still kind of gloomy, clammy weather, which is perfect for visiting Muir Woods. But throughout the couple of hours I was there, it cleared up, got cloudy again, cleared up, got foggy, then cleared up. Pretty typical. Muir Woods essentially is a small (295 acres) old-growth redwoods forest valley on the side of Mount Tamalpais, a really scenic point in Marin County, with other trails and attractions. Its original owners purchased it initially to preserve it from logging, and when a local water utility was prepared to condemn it to build a dam, the owners convinced the federal government to accept the land as a gift to protect it from further threats. It’s a really special place. Something about the light and the air give it a time stands still sort of feeling. I’ve been there before when salmon have been swimming in Redwood Creek, which runs through the middle of the park. Being at the park in person really makes you understand why Hitchcock filmed some of the Carlotta Valdes scenes for Vertigo here. Muir Woods, with its two thousand year old redwoods, perfectly complemented someone who supposedly had come back from the dead. The place has long been a favorite, but I have to admit that after having spent so much time in a much larger old-growth redwood forest up the coast, Muir Woods has lost a little of its oomph. Don’t get me wrong, its still maple syrup wrapped in chocolate and covered in hugs, but maybe now it doesn’t have candy sprinkles like before. Muir Woods is a little tidier, a little more orderly, and a little more accessible to the tourist hordes than the redwood forests to the north. But it still retained much of its wonder, particularly when the clouds rolled back and sunlight streamed through these magnificent trees.

After finishing at Muir Woods, I tried to head to Pinole via the city so that I could pull off at the Marin Headlands and get a great photo of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city. First I went through Mill Valley, perhaps the whitest of the white liberal, hot tubber areas of Marin County. But they were having their Fall Arts Festival and the town was absolutely packed. So I decided to head on to the city. Very oddly, however, fog had completely socked in the entire city even though Mill Valley, just a few miles up the road, was very clear. One could not even see the bridge from just a few hundred feet away on the 101. Yet, right up to that point, it was still a clear, bright shining day in Marin County. So I decided to head into Sausalito and look around for a bit. Sausalito is sort of a weekend getaway destination for Bay Area residents. It has numerous shops and restaurants right along the main street facing the Bay. Today, however, it was so completely packed I didn’t even try to park, but just drove straight on through to loop around the city and hit the 101 headed back to the north, where I’d take the 580 East through Richmond, garden spot of the universe, and loop into Pinole where Terry and Taffy were waiting on me right as kickoff began.

Next-coming home and vacation highlights.

Vacation 2009, Day Fourteen: Hangin' with the Locals

Having blown it out hiking more than 20 miles the last two days, today I decided to spend my last full day in Point Reyes as a tourist and see the local sights, but from my convertible. The highlight was the famous Point Reyes Lighthouse.

Today was a bit warmer than the last few days, so I was glad not to be taking another hike. Late in the day the lady who owns a shop where I bought a shirt was complaining that today had been a scorcher (the official high for Point Reyes Station was 77). Yeah. 106 degrees in Austin thinks you people are a bunch of pansies. I decided to have a proper breakfast this morning, so I drove into Point Reyes Station to the Pine Cone Diner for a cheese and mushroom omelet, and chicken apple sausage. Sidebar: this whole state is crazy with chicken apple sausage. Its almost like getting chips and hot sauce in Texas its so plentiful. Fortunately, most places its really good and healthier than normal sausage. Anyway, the Pine Cone Diner isn’t quite the real thing, but it’s a pretty good substitute given that I’m in Marin County. Plenty of diner kitsch, including chrome and formica tables, vinyl covered booths, and a genuine diner counter. The menu, however, was “diner-esque” but with a more upscale twist. You get your has browns alright, using organic potatoes and cooked with sparing trans fat free oil. Though there were a few other customers, everyone by and large was content to be quiet and peaceful on this Friday morning-no guys in suits texting or talking on the cell phones. Ah, to be in the country. All in all it was a really good breakfast experience.

Part of the breakfast experience is reading the paper, and in this case that means the San Francisco Examiner, purchased for $1.00. As if that fact alone isn’t appalling (paying $1.00 in this day and age for already stale news), I notice that even in an age of thinning newspapers, the Examiner is extremely paltry. I guess that what with budget crises, health care, the Giants in the pennant race and the like there’s not much news to report. Its one thing to jack up the price, its another to give people less for that increased price. The airlines think newspapers aren’t giving people their money’s worth. And what was on the front page of the San Francisco Examiner? Mayor considers imposing “soda tax.” This is yet another measure to protect the public from itself, by making cokes more expensive (you see, the money raised will go to combat youth obesity, and there’s no way it’ll ever be diverted to other programs. What, you don’t believe that? What about all those anti-smoking ads you saw after the government got all those settlements with the tobacco companies? Oh, right.). Great. Still more nanny state legislation. Will politicians allow us to make any of our own choices? What’s next on the tax or prohibition list? Taxing people who wear white after Labor Day? Who chew gum and forget to bring enough for everyone? Inadequately publicized coming out parties? Misspelled banners at football games? And don’t get all smug Texas Republicans. You people are just as bad as the Democrats. Here’s a thought. Try letting adults make up their own minds about some things. Not everything. Just some things. Just a few things. And let us spend our own money instead of deciding how to spend it for us.

Back to this day. First on the agenda was to make the 45 minute drive to the Point Reyes shoreline and visit the Point Reyes Lighthouse. The Lighthouse Service, later absorbed by the Coast Guard, built this lighthouse in the late 1800s. Point Reyes was one of the most treacherous points on any American coast, with an incredibly high number of shipwrecks. The combination of fog that can suddenly appear, as well as currents and the deceptive nature of the Point Reyes coast have turned Drake’s Bay into what the Park Service’s official literature calls a “ship graveyard.” But building and maintaining a lighthouse here was difficult due to the rocky terrain and steep cliff right at the point. The lighthouse itself has been automated for some time, blasting a fog sound every 30 seconds or so. The old lighthouse is still functional. Most impressive is the massive magnifying glass used to reflect light out to sea. When I visited this place a few years ago you could get up to that level, but they have it blocked off today. Other buildings include the generation station, a cistern for catching rainwater, and the lighthouse keeper’s residence. The lighthouse has incredible views of the ocean and Drake’s Bay, of Point Reyes South Beach, and of the nearby bluffs. You could hear seals barking below (but not see them as the cliff was too steep). A baby elk was also apparently marooned on a ledge near the top of the stairs, but it didn’t seem like anyone else noticed. It was a clear day and a lot of visitors were roaming around the area enjoying the sights. Its about 320 steps from the parking lot down to the lighthouse, and a sign at the outset advertises this as the equivalent of a 30 story building. Just like the line from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, going down the mountain is not the problem. The problem is coming back up. Having gained some “hiking legs” over the past two weeks, I was able to make the climb without stopping. I mention that not to point out that I’m an incredible stud (that’s a given…was there some doubt), but I continue to marvel over the things I can do after my heart surgery. So I notice things like this a lot more than I used to. The drive itself was pretty nice, passing several dairy farms, a lagoon, and “Drake’s Estero,” a relatively large inlet leading into the Bay.

After making it back to Point Reyes Station, I looked around the town and in the few shops. Point Reyes Station basically is a three block section of a three street town, but it’s the largest community in the area. Most of this area is agricultural, so a lot of the people live on farms. Highlights include Cowgirl Creamery, an excellent local cheese-making business that makes cheese right in the store that you can watch (and gives out plenty of tasty samples). I bought a wheel of “Pierce Point,” a light, mild, firm white cheese (which I devoured about half of later that night). Toby’s, a sort of Marin version of a general store, is another interesting place around town; a combination produce and sundry foods store and local interest store. I had lunch at an excellent (and apparently new) restaurant named Stellina. This place has an Italian flavor, but uses only organically grown foods and specializes in dishes with Marin County ingredients. I had a truly outstanding saffron stew, with shrimp, mussels, clams, chicken apple sausage, fingerling potatoes, chicken broth, olive oil, red chili flakes, garlic and saffron. It reminded me of yet another movie line, from Big Night, which is “to eat good food is to be close to God.” That is so true. They were playing Al Green’s Greatest Hits on the speaker, and the room had lots of windows with great light and street front views. A really fine experience.

After dropping off the cheese back at the hotel, in the cooler that Kimberly had allowed me to borrow, I headed out to the park for a brief walk on the Earthquake Trail. The San Andreas Fault runs right along Route 1 and just inside the park as it heads southeast towards San Francisco. The Earthquake Trail runs right alongside the fault line. Although you can’t actually see anything on the land itself, you can see an old fence from 1906, that the Great San Francisco Earthquake split in two and moved one section about 16 feet north. Apparently during that quake, the whole Point Reyes peninsula moved about 16 feet. They also have markers showing the fault line and various interpretative signs explaining various facts about the fault and earthquakes generally. It runs past a nice little creek, and right on the fault line I saw the second snake of the vacation. There were no snakes in Lake Tahoe or Redwoods, but already I’ve seen two in Point Reyes. I couldn’t tell what kind of snake it was, but I did put a photo of it on flickr.

After doing an in-room workout, I got changed and went back to the Station House for dinner, this time steak. Also got to catch most of the second half of the Boise State-Fresno State game on the TV at the bar. Final score Boise State 51, Fresno State 34. Was that a college football game or a 1966 AFL game? I half expected to see Joe Namath or Daryle Lamonica throwing passes to Don Maynard or Fred Biletnikoff. Hey non-BCS schools, there’s this new thing, its called defense. That’s where you get in the way of the offensive team’s player holding the ball. Same could be said for you too, Texas Tech Red Raiders. Try stopping even one kickoff or punt return for less than 10 yards.

Next—the Point Reyes Farmer’s Market and Muir Woods

Vacation 2009, Day Thirteen: To the Top

Today’s objectives were to climb Mt. Wittenburg, highest point on Point Reyes, and see the Arch Rock, whose imaginative name derives from the fact that it’s a rock just off the coast that looks a little like an arch. This was my longest, and last, hike of this vacation. Not particularly the best, but it was the most physically challenging.

As true of the last few days, this day started out fogged in, but it lifted around 9 or so and turned into another incredibly beautiful clear day. I’ve really lucked out on the weather; several Bay Area visits at different times of the year have shown that September and January are just about the best times to visit from a weather standpoint. Otherwise, you’re subject to high chances of unrelenting clammy, overcast weather. In other words, gloomy weather. Seattle is the same way; July through September are ok; the rest of the year can make you suicidal. This probably accounts for all the coffee and heroin consumption up there.

This hike starts at the main park visitor’s center, located in a really beautiful meadow and home to an incredible concentration of bees, gnats, and swarming flies. They really make a mockery of the picnic tables near the center, which is quite a shame because otherwise it would be a perfect area to picnic. If that’s a verb. So after “applying” (sunscreen), I headed out into the wilderness once again. Terry made what turned out to be an astute recommendation, to take the trail backwards from the way my hotel and at least one guidebook recommended. This trail has some very steep hill sections. Terry’s way took me uphill for about the first hour, and mostly downhill for the rest. Had I gone the other way, I’d have started out going relatively flat for the first two or three hours, but uphill the rest of the way until the end. This way I got the hard part out of the way while I was strongest and most hydrated.

As I mentioned, the first hour (about 2 miles) is an 1,800 foot gain in elevation climbing to the top of Mt. Wittenburg, the highest peak on the peninsula. Thankfully it goes through thick trees offering ample shade, because I was pouring sweat like [insert tasteless ethnic, gender, regional or college joke here]. It was pretty tough, despite the occasional cooling breezes. But after about an hour I made it to a clearing just before the top. I did go to the summit, only to find that its just a little clearing surrounded by some pine trees that completely block all views from the top. How do I know it was actually the summit? Well first, you have to go through this weird hall-like section, comprised of pine branch cover so thick it blocks out a lot of light. It made for a sort of walking through the hallway of the Wizard’s castle to see the Wizard of Oz-type effect. The other is that there were two US Geological Survey markers in the clearing, denoting an important survey mark. The only other place I can remember seeing these is in Lafayette Square in New Orleans, across the street from the federal courts building in one of the very oldest parts of the city. They should just clear all those trees out of there because they’re blocking an incredible view of Drake’s Bay. Uh, just kidding, tree huggers. Maybe we could relocate them somewhere else that doesn’t have enough trees. A tree relocation program. Like to Phoenix. So right there, all that effort to get to the top seemed a little wasted except as exercise.

From there, the trail joins the Sky Trail, which runs diagonally through the heart of the peninsula. I took it for some ways until it reaches a trail leading to the coast (the Woodland Valley trail). The Sky Trail ran through a number of clearings that finally did provide those great sea views I was hoping for. It also led through some impressive woods, including a substantial number of redwoods. The Woodland Valley trail ran though thicker and more primitive woods, as one would imagine, and the flies began appearing (and buzzing me) in greater numbers. I think the lack of much breeze let the flies have their way all day long. The Woodland Valley trail finally made it out of the woods (“step into the sun, step into the light”) revealing itself on one of those fantastic Marin County headlands sloping down to the ocean bluffs. In this case, the trail began a steep descent through some rocky ledges, and it was exactly at that point that my right ankle, in which I tore some tendons last summer, started acting up. I felt a knife-like pain shooting through the ankle and suddenly couldn’t put any weight on it. I hadn’t misstepped or anything obvious like that. It just got tired of walking I guess. After stretching it out and trying different ways of walking, it finally felt normal again when the trail leveled out a bit. As I was making the steep descent, limping along, I saw a black Elk scramble across the trail from above, and snapped a quick photo.

I then made it to the coast trail, which, as you can guess, goes along the coast. I was hoping it would be close enough to the water to pick up a strong breeze like yesterday, but no such luck. The section I was hiking, which led south along the coast, was just far enough inland that no breeze was had. Instead, I found myself, shoulder deep in more brush like yesterday. Above however were more headlands. A good number of redwoods were there, but were dead from what looked like fires. I’m not sure what spared the remainder of the forest, and the fire damage seemed limited to the lower elevations. It was a 3.5 mile hike from where I hit the Coast Trail to Arch Rock. I tried to eat lunch under the cooling shade of an enormous and old eucalyptus tree, but the flies were so bad I just had to move on. This trail was basically level, so I busted it as fast as I could to get to Arch Rock, where I assumed there’d be enough breeze to keep the flies away for me to eat. I made it in about a hour and a half, which is pretty quick even for me. And sure enough, the ledge jutting out into the ocean that gives you the view of Arch Rock did have a good deal of winds, thereby making it an ok lunch spot. Instead of flies, I had a single seagull perch himself just out of reach the entire time. He never tried to swoop in and take any food, but I’m sure he was waiting for me to stop watching. Arch Rock itself was nice, though not necessarily awe-inspiring, as depicted above. It was well worth the effort to reach it, however. While there, perched high above the Pacific, I noticed the water was unusually still and green. The rare calm day accounted for the lack of breeze (and the flies no doubt).

OK, so this was about four and a half hours in, and I needed to take another three mile segment to get back to the visitor’s center and my car. This was the Bear Valley Trail, which runs through what they call a “canyon.” Its really just some elevated rock that runs up to Bear Creek. The rock walls are lined with ferns and redwoods, giving it a sort of mini-Fern Canyon feel from up in Redwoods National Park. But here the trees cover the trail almost entirely, and the creek and the “canyon” walls are much smaller. Nonetheless, its relatively flat and made for the nicest part of the hike until, once again, my ankle started acting up. I brought a brace with me for just such an event, and had been taking it with me on each hike until today, when I forgot it. Some luck. The ankle pain hit right at the crest of a hill, and after I started walking downhill again it suddenly subsided. I took this as a sign that I’ve pushed my body too much these last few days, and resolved right there that tomorrow I’d take it easy.

I did finally make it back to the car, for a six and one-half hour hike of about 13 miles. Once getting back to the hotel, I put ice on my ankle, took a little nap, then wen to the Point Reyes Station House Café for dinner. This should have been nothing worth mentioning, but this place turned out to serve a really memorable dish of lamb osso bucco over creamy polenta. They use only organic ingredients and support local Marin County farmers, so the food itself was fresh and high quality. That’s probably more important than whatever the chef does with it. Though I’m no chef, I’m a great eater, and have always thought that the key to a good meal is getting good, fresh ingredients. No sauce ever made can hide a bad piece of meat or iffy fish. The bartender also regaled us with the tale of his proposal to his fiancée, which was kind of difficult to swallow, but that’s for another day.

Next-earthquakes, diners, lighthouses, and cruising.

Vacation 2009, Day Twelve: It Should Say "Spinal Tap" First, THEN "Puppet Show"

Well today was the assault on Tomales Point. Point Reyes basically is a triangle jutting out from the California coast north of San Francisco. Actually, to reveal my inner Star Trek geekishness, Point Reyes is shaped a little like the insignia for the starship Enterprise crew, you know, the bending over backwards triangle? Anyway, as you can see from this map, Tomales Point is the northernmost edge of the triangle, and today’s hike was from the historic Pierce Ranch north to the very end of the peninsula, which juts into Bodega Bay.

The day started off foggy, but around 9 it rolled back out to sea and for the rest of the day it was absolutely gorgeous weather. About 65-70, clear sun, with a constant breeze. This hotel (the Point Reyes Seashore Hotel) is pretty nice. Kind of a glorified motel actually, but they have nice furniture and settings, and the back courtyard is elegantly landscaped with lots of flowers (and looks down on a creek at the property’s edge). Breakfast was a carb fest reminiscent of the typical Argentine “hangover” breakfast-various forms of breads and fruits. No eggs! After racing back and forth to the Laundromat to clean enough clothes to make it the next three days, I headed out to Tomales Point, a 30 minute drive through the heart of the Peninsula. It started clear, but around midway a thick fog descended on the road, like it was Brigadoon and Cyd Charisse and 500 guys in kilts were about to surround me. Just as quickly, the fog lifted and it was clear again. That must be how Northern California rolls. I passed a number of dairy farms (Point Reyes is not only directly on the San Andreas Fault, it’s the epicenter of the Bay Area organic farming movement). Yeah, this romantic idea of dropping out of corporate/money culture and starting your own farm? Count me out. I can still smell these places about 48 hours later. Practicing law may be a prescription for an early heart attack, but at least it doesn’t smell bad at work. Usually.

The Tomales Point trailhead is located at the site of the historic Pierce Point Ranch, site of one of the largest dairy businesses in Marin County in the late 1800s and through the early 1900s. The Park Service has preserved the historic site, consisting of the main house, barn, creamery, tool building, chapel and a couple of other structures. It makes for an interesting 20 minute interpretative walk.

A sign at the trailhead warns about the endangered Tule Elk herds that live on the Point. It warns that these elk “need extended periods each day to graze, ruminate and rest,” so don’t harass them. Well no kidding. So do I. Do you think if I hung a sign outside my office door, or put in an automatic e-mail response saying "Chris Reeder needs extended periods to feed, think and rest," I’d get any reaction? I’m thinking not. I’ve tried everything else I can think of though, and nothing works.

The photos will do much more justice to the hike than this description. The first and last part of the hike (you go out and then come back) go through grassy hills without much tree or brush. All along the trail you have good Pacific views and I mentioned the near constant breeze. There’s a number of hills, but none terribly imposing until you pass the “Lower Pierce Ranch” site, which basically consists of a Monterey cypress grove. Shortly before that, however, I ran across two elk herds, the latter numbering about 40 to 50 elks, watering at stock tanks. They looked at me but otherwise ignored me and the few other hikers out on the trail this morning. Sure enough, they were mostly sitting around ruminating. I guess they were contemplating the meaning of life, or whether Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, or Judaism is the true religion…or maybe whether there’s any mountain lions ready to pounce. On the way back from the Point, I’d see two more herds larger than these first ones.

A short distance after the cypress trees, the Park Service doesn’t maintain the trail, so it becomes kind of helter skelter. And its mostly sand, so its hard to get good footing on uphill portions. Plus at this point, what appears to be some form of sage bush takes over the landscape, so you’re basically hiking on sand trails around sage bush until you reach the Point. The views are amazing the further you go. To the right, you can see Tomales Bay and the mainland. Ahead of you is Bodega Bay (as well as the town) and the entrance to Tomales Bay. To the left is the Pacific, and as you approach the point, some really interesting bluffs and ocean rocks below. I apparently interrupted a “sunbathing” European couple right at the Point itself. They were right there in the bushes and I almost stepped on them. These people were not that great to look at. Lets just say the frigid Latvian winters really don’t do much for the physique. The Point, however, was splendid. I took several photos and encourage you to look at those.

After having lunch right there at the land’s end, I turned around and hiked back from where I came, reaching the Pierce Farm at around 4:30 for a roughly five hour hike (9.7 miles or so roundtrip). When I got back, Kimberly and Taffy met me at the hotel. We got caught up briefly and then met Terry at the Olema Inn. This is a fantastic old hotel right across from my place, which has the best restaurant. We’ve eaten there a couple of times together on a past trip, but this time the Inn was under new management and has a new chef. We were interested to see what had changed. The dining room remains the same. On the other hand, the kitchen and service appear to be suffering kinks. They brought Kimberly a soup appetizer she didn’t order, and served me the wrong entrée. The food itself was still quite good and our waiter was friendly and well-informed. A pretty boisterous table of about six women (and a couple of men) were seated behind us, and as the night wore on (and the wine flowed), they broke out the marionettes. Yes, you read that right. The marionettes. It was the freaking “Lonely Goatherd” show right there behind us. Oh, and a couple of the women were dancing to the piped in music over the dining room speakers. Now, being from the People’s Republic of Austin, this is nothing. Unless people actually bring farm animals or start doing a rain dance, I hardly notice things like that any more. But I do have to admit, the puppets were a very creative touch. Props for originality in weirdness. Somewhere Frank Oz is thinking “God these people are annoying.” It was quite amusing watching Kimberly get more and more flustered by these people.

After dinner Kimberly and Terry returned home, while I walked across the street back to the hotel.

Next-a monster hike through the heart of the park.

Vacation 2009, Day Eleven: The Golden Road to Unlimited Devotion

Today I took one of the most famous drives in the country, the Pacific Coast Highway, from Leggette to Olema, California, virtually the entire leg north of San Francisco. It took most of the day, starting out of Klamath at 9:30, and arriving in Olema shortly before 8 p.m. It didn’t fail to impress, although let’s just say California is a much bigger state than I had in mind.

When I woke up this morning, it was crystal clear and on the cold side for the first time since I arrived. Its perfect weather, but I decided not to change plans and hang around. This reminds me of the time my friend Kimberly went to Hawaii and it rained every single day, and then on the ride to the airport to go home the skies cleared for the first time and she left in beautiful sunshine.

The first part of the drive, along US 101, is through something I read is called the “Lost Coast.” This is the Northern California coast between the Oregon border and the PCH. I understand for the most part why its lost. Its pretty remote from any sizable towns, and difficult to reach from the main highways. The first town you hit, Arcata, is a pit, as previously mentioned. It didn’t fail to disappoint as I drove through, with bad smells, ugly inlets, various urban type debris, and the like. Its as if though an entire town consisted of the stretch of US 59 between downtown Houston and the airport. Think of it; an entire town that looked like East Mount Houston drive. Yikes!

But shortly thereafter one goes through the Gold Rush port of Eureka. This is a somewhat larger near-city, that has a nicely preserved old downtown, several Victorian buildings, including the extremely ornate and attractive Ingomar Club. The more modern sections are relatively clean and the town appears much more prosperous and lively than anything I’ve seen the last few days. Driving further south one passes through the Humboldt Redwoods State Park. This appears to be more sizable than the park where I visited the last couple of days, although in reality its slightly smaller. More seems to be accessible from the highway, however. If one lives in the Bay Area, this park might be a little easier to visit. You could drive up the 101, visit the park, spend the night in Eureka, then come back the next morning and take another turn through the park on your way home. Or come home via the PCH.

Eventually, you reach Leggette, which is just a couple of stores and a gas station, where Route 1 begins. The first part of the PCH actually runs the some really attractive woods, making very twisting, tight turns for about 25 miles as it winds its way to the coastline. The mix of redwoods, eucalyptus, and cypress trees plays havoc with the light and shadows on a brilliant sunny day like today. It spills into the coast around Rockport where it basically heads south all the way to Muir Beach. The first town of any consequence is Fort Bragg, a fairly non-descript town with a few interesting pubs and shops along the highway, where a number of Mendocino workers and artisans live. Fort Bragg has its share of hitchhikers, panhandlers and vagrants, however, and has at least a touch of Arcata to it.

Shortly Fort Bragg, the fog has rolled in and driven out the sunny day I’d been enjoying up to that point. As I learned however, the fog and sun would battle one another all day, all the way down to Point Reyes. It would roll in and look like the Irish coast for about 10 miles, then just as suddenly I’d drive right into a clear sunny day. These changes were generally quite abrupt, occurring all along the way. You can even see ahead or behind where the fog has taken over but not reached your location yet. It was quite a show.

Several factors make the PCH quite a difficult drive. The road is fairly narrow and in most places the lane nearest the coast has almost no clearance; a steep drop is waiting on the other side of the road. It makes numerous hairpin turns, and if you’re going even slightly too fast, you could veer off a cliff, or into oncoming vehicles. Dozens of cyclists are also on the road, and if you go over a crest too quickly you could hit them before you knew it. Passing them often requires going into the oncoming lane, making any passes on curves out of the question. The scenery is nearly always spectacular, but enjoying it for any appreciable length of time risks veering out of your lane. Finally, the road runs through any number of small towns and hamlets, so pedestrians can come out of nowhere along the way and present their own obstacles. Nonetheless, you can appreciate the drive enough. With the top down, I could smell the surrounding country, which often meant I could smell the fragrant pine and eucalyptus trees, and the ocean breeze (reminding me of the Seinfeld episode where Kramer came up with a perfume that smelled like the beach).

After Fort Bragg, the next significant town is Mendocino. The Sir Douglas Quintet, famously led by Austin’s own Doug Sahm, had the hit “Mendocino” in the late 1960s. Mendocino started as a whaling town, with whaling ships from all over the world making calls, and whalers living in the town when not at sea. Much of the architecture echoes Nantucket’s gray, simple shingled houses. When whaling played out, the town thrived on the logging industry, which also played out. Of late, Mendocino has catered to the summer tourist trade, with lots of well-heeled shops, art galleries, quaint inns and B&Bs, and restaurants and bars. Its situated along the Mendocino Headlands, which resemble in small measure the larger Marin Headlands immediately north of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge. This gives it impressive sea views and lots of interesting hikes and walking options. I got off the highway to drive around town a bit. On the September Tuesday afternoon I drove through, the main streets were full of visitors, parking spaces were difficult to find, and the town appeared hopping even though the summer season had officially ended. Such is the lure of this attractive town.

South of Mendocino, the highway runs through any number of smaller towns. One interesting place I did not visit was the Fort Ross State Historic Park. This was the site of an old Russian fort, built in the mid-1800s by Russian explorers. The original no longer exists, but the state has recreated the buildings on the same grounds.

Somewhere around here, ironically, I hear on the radio that the Ukraine has prohibited Elton John and his domestic partner from adopting an HIV-infected baby orphan, on grounds that he is too old (62) and does not have a sufficient family unit. Let me give you some background on orphanages in this part of the world, courtesy of my Dad’s mission experiences in nearby Moldova and Transnistria, also former Soviet Republics. Orphanages and mental asylums are about on par with one another and often orphanages house adults with either mental or physical disabilities. They generally are located far from the cities, so the orphans have little outside contact. Buildings generally are dilapidated at best. Meals are inadequate, as are winter clothes. Bathroom facilities are appalling and wholly unsanitary. Orphans have very little access to education. In short, the government basically warehouses these little children, barely keeps them alive, then turns them loose on the streets without any connections or chance for betterment when they grow up. So for this Ukrainian official to assert that this kind of life is preferable to life as an adopted child with extremely rich Elton John, albeit his age and situation may not be the norm for adoptive parents, really says a lot. It tells me that Sir Elton didn’t bribe this guy enough. Life in Elton John’s guest room is 100 times better than the average non-HIV infected person in the Ukraine. As for the age thing, why, Hugh Hefner has cared for young blonde girls at his home well past the age of 62, and no one’s complaining about their “mistreatment.” Hell, those girls get their own TV shows out of the deal. Elton, with whatever faults he may have, real or perceived, could surely give this little child a better life than what awaits in some Ukrainian orphanage.

South of Fort Ross lies the little town of Gualala, which is just north of the Sea Ranch development. Those of you who read this blog closely will know that the Sea Ranch is a residential/commercial development where Kimberly and Terry will often rent a small house, or bring other friends for a weekend trip. I’ve written before its an extremely peaceful place with inspirational ocean views, and with numerous interesting and challenging hiking trails. It was fun to go through there again.

South of Sea Ranch all the way past Jenner, the road becomes much more twisting and winding, making driving even more difficult. As I headed into Sonoma County, however, the road actually was above a fog bank sitting right on the coastline with a brilliant late afternoon sun beating down on top of it. This resulted in the above photo , which clearly is the shot of the entire trip. I timed it perfectly, and just pointed the camera and clicked. No photography class needed for that one.

Again, several small little towns are situated between Sea Ranch and the next town of note, Bodega Bay. Alfred Hitchcock made The Birds in Bodega Bay, so it has something of a familiarity to it. Otherwise, however, its just a little bit bigger small town along the coast.

South of Bodega Bay, the land changes into rolling, grassy hills, with few trees. It resembles much of the remainder of Marin County just a bit down the coast. Farming takes over in this area, with nearly every property having grazing cattle or sheep. This area is still attractive, but not nearly as scenic. More importantly, you lose the coast until the road hits Tomales Bay. This is near the beginning of Point Reyes. As I shall describe tomorrow, Point Reyes basically is a triangular peninsula jutting out from the mainland right along the San Andreas Fault north of San Francisco. So the PCH runs along the bay side right into Point Reyes Station and Olema, where I’m staying as I write this. Darkness fell quickly as I left Bodega Bay. So too did my gas needle. I coasted on fumes, with white knuckles on the steering wheel, all the way into Point Reyes Station where I made it to the one gas station in the entire area a little bit before it closed. These two factors combined to ruin what would otherwise have been an extremely scenic and enjoyable drive along the bay coast, enhanced by getting to listen to one of the finest baseball play-by-play announcers, Jon Miller, calling the Giants-Rockies game on KNBR radio.

That made for an extremely long travel day. It was dark when I arrived at the hotel, which I’ll describe in tomorrow’s post. The remainder of this night was just settling in and getting something to eat, and fighting with the hotel’s internet.

Next-Tomales Point

Vacation 2009, Day Ten: Names, Hills, Rocks, Rivers, Sunsets and Shortcuts

Today was a bit of a letdown, because the particular section of the park where I hiked was not nearly as insular and other-worldly as yesterday. Had I gone to this area first instead, I’m sure I’d have enjoyed it immensely. As it was, it was a bit of a comedown from yesterday’s amazing spectactle

It rained through the night. The good news is that when I got ready for bed, the dogs weren’t barking. The bad news is some guy was hurling rather loudly instead, for at least 20 minutes. It was what Wayne Campbell (of Wayne’s World fame) would call “peristaltic vomiting.” A really special vacation moment. Oh, and silver lining: once the guy stopped, the dogs started barking again. Tomorrow night it will probably be road construction, or an elk orgy, or some native fire-walking ritual. So I had no choice but to shut the windows, and get hot during the night. And not the good kind of heat in the night either. It was still drizzling in the morning, and the fog/mist would stick around til mid afternoon.

Today’s hike was north of where I’m staying, closer to Crescent City, CA, the last town of any real size before the Oregon border. The object is the “Stout Grove” in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, which the innkeeper has assured me is a really attractive spot for redwoods. “Jedediah” reminds me of this apparent trend I’ve noticed lately among 20ish suburban white couples going to these modern “relaxed” churches to give their kids obscure bible names, like “Caleb” or “Ezra.” 1876 called, it wants its names back. It’s just so FLDS or Branch Davidian. Like the young ones should be wearing scarves and looking for Uncle Dad somewhere. You’re not getting into heaven any faster by sticking your kids with one of these names, but you are making it a lot more certain your kid will get pummeled at recess. This is really just the new wave Protestant church version of the Hollywood kid name, or their version of “Apple,” or “Lourdes,” or “Chastity.” What’s wrong with the classics, like “Chris,” or “Mark,” or “John”? Or “George Foreman”? This is on par with giving your kid a first name that’s really a last name, like “Hunter” or “Austin.” Hey, you’re not in a soap opera, and neither is your kid. Its also about as bad as creative spellings of actual names: “Krystal,” or “Klohe.” Its like Sarah Jessica Parker’s character in LA Story, Sandee (spelled SanDeE, with the last “e” having two dots over it).

So. Anyway.

Today’s hike to the Stout Grove started in the drizzle, which cleared up just a bit into the hike. The Stout Grove is located near the Smith River, which runs right through the middle of the park. There’s a half mile loop trail that runs through the grove, with trails leading off that loop. The grove itself is quite lovely. Tall, old growth redwoods, but fewer in number. It was a much smaller area than yesterday’s hike, though, so it lacked that closed-in, insular feeling. Also, as the sun came out, sunlight hit the trees above and later in the day cast some interesting shadows and light rays. Several people were out on the trail, and even more were driving on the main road leading through the park. Quite interesting for a Monday at a place in the middle of nowhere.

I first took the River trail off of the loop, which extends for nearly a mile up the Smith River. Unfortunately, it really didn’t offer any views of the river, or access to the river, so I did something parks always tell you not to-I cut off the trail and made it to the river. The “river” consisted of a medium-size stream running over hundreds of thousands of rocks of all sizes. Maybe in the spring with snow melt there’s a lot more water, but for now, the river wasn’t very imposing. I sputtered around for a bit, enjoying the view of the treeline and bluffs above, lined with redwoods, and took in the views before finishing the trail. Then, after eating lunch, I tried to take the Mill Creek trail for a distance. This is a smallish creek feeding into the river, and was lined with somewhat high banks, although not nearly as high or narrow as Fern Canyon from yesterday. The “trail,” however, did not really exist. There was no trail in the sense of something having been laid out that hikers can follow. Essentially, the trail was just the river stream, which at many points could not be followed without getting up to knee deep in the water. Personally, I wouldn’t have minded that, but I’m extremely wary of blisters anyway, so immersing my boots just doesn’t make sense. But try as I might, I splashed twice trying to maneuver around the creek, so I bagged that trail after about 45 minutes.

After trying my best to wring creek water out of my boots and socks, I drove a bit and hit something called the Bald Hills trail. This trail led south and generally followed the river. The trailhead marker warned of strenuous and difficult conditions on the way out, with an 1,800’ elevation gain. Sure enough, the trail was more like doing the stairmaster than hiking along a trail. Although it led through a redwood forest, this was a “new growth” or replanted section, meaning that the redwoods were not nearly as imposing, and other trees such as maples (whose leaves were beginning to turn) have intermingled with the redwoods. There was much more open space so this section didn’t have that same “Land That Time Forgot” quality as yesterday. So really it was just like walking through the woods. Woods with tall trees mind you, but the woods nonetheless. As I wrote earlier, had I not been through the Prairie Creek park yesterday, I’m sure this park would have been much more impressive. Having done so, today just wasn’t as special.

I’d brought a change of clothes so I could go out to dinner later in Crescent City, so on the drive into town I found a place to change, and got to town around 6:30. Figuring it was still a bit early to eat, I drove around town a bit and found something labeled as a “scenic drive.” Sure enough, it led me to a fairly long road right next to the water, giving great views of the shore and some of the large rocks out in the water. The street was of course lined with surprisingly small and modest homes facing the ocean. Although I’m sure these houses are quite expensive, their remoteness from Portland or San Francisco means they can’t be anywhere near as expensive as further down the coast. There were several points to stop and enjoy the scenery, and at Fort George Point, I could hear seals barking on the rocks below. I stayed until sunset and got some great pictures, which hopefully one day I’ll be able to post.

Crescent City in some ways reminds me of Galveston: a town whose glory days are long since passed but it keeps hanging on, trying to find some reason to justify its continued existence. Crescent City came into prominence as a port town to ship logs down the coast. When the lumber industry dried up (due to the forests playing out and Congress’ creation of the national park), there was nothing left but tourism. Some of the news accounts suggests the people here aren’t exactly thrilled about the parks in their midst. They recall the glory days of mowing down the forests. Likewise, Galveston hasn’t had any real purpose since all the commercial interests fled to Houston after the 1900 storm. For the most part, shipping goes to Houston, not Galveston. The town tries to get its share of Houston tourists, but after Ike that may be problematic. Plus, rising incomes have given Houstonians more vacation options than just driving to Galveston. Each city has a kind of bleak feel. In Crescent City, its all the hitchhikers, panhandlers, and guys walking around without shirts. But they do have a Wal-Mart!

Next-the Pacific Coast Highway!

Posting problems

The place I'm staying in Point Reyes appears to have the world's worst internet connection in the world, so the posting is going to be delayed. I'm doing this on a blackberry, but that's impractical for one of my "War and Peace" epic posts. Will try to get this fixed ASAP. Also affecting photo posting. Stay tuned.

Vacation 2009, Day Nine: Another World

Back to the trail elevation report.

Last night when I went to bed I heard several dogs barking loudly and incessantly. This morning, at 6:30, they were back at it. What a great way to wake up. Early. On vacation.

If you're looking for a quiet spot at the Requa Inn, however, you might try the dining room. Four couples are sitting at four different tables, yet no one is saying a word to each other. So while I'm traveling alone, apparently I'm not missing out on any great conversations.

The Requa Inn otherwise is pretty nice. It was built in 1914, as I think I wrote yesterday, yet has been updated with most modern conveniences. One thing it lacks is sinks where the hot and cold water come out of the same spout. The last time I saw this was at Kathy Farroba's house in Wellington, NZ. Before that, at my Grandmother's house in Galena Park. The Inn is at the mouth of the Klamath River, in Klamath, CA. On the opposite bank is a forested rise, part of the national park. The Inn has extensive antique furnishings, and a sort of Laura Ashley design concept. My room has lace curtains and a white teddy bear on the bed. A sort of RV/tent camp is located just a bit up the river, and on Sunday when I passed by it looked like some sort of modern-day Okie transit camp, a la Grapes of Wrath. At breakfast, an older lady came up to me and introduced herself and said she's from Lakeway, and she and her husband were also staying at the Inn (the front desk has a sign that lists the towns from which all that night's guests come, so she knew there was someone from Austin and asked the clerk). They were in Point Reyes (she recommended visiting Cowgirl Creamery-I enthusiastically agreed as Kimberly and Terry have taken me there once already). They're going on to Oregon, then coming back to Napa, where they're going to French Laundry. I felt so sophisticated to be able to tell her "you're going to love it!" Then, her husband came over and introduced himself and we talked for a bit about our trips. This proves once again, there's no people like Texans (or Louisianians). No matter where you run into each other, you've got something in common, in a way that two people from New Jersey or Rhode Island don't. Texas is the best. And Louisiana.

Today I basically hiked in the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park from the visitor's center to the ocean, along "Fern Canyon," then back along a creek to the visitor's center. Prairie Creek is one of the constituent parks making up the Redwoods National and State Parks. As I learned the next day, its the superior portion of the complex. Without waxing eloquently again on every detail about redwoods, here's some more impressions. The park was "other worldly." With the moss, ferns, slugs, spiders, chirping birds, towering redwoods, fallen and crashed redwoods, and other ground cover, and all of it blocking light, I expected a tyrannosaurus rex or brontosaurus to plod by any second, or a pterodactyl to swoop down from the sky, or a mastodon to lumber along. It had a distinct million years ago in the primordial ooze feel to it. No traffic sounds, no one talking, no bikes whizzing by, no dogs barking, no teenagers giggling, no slobs trying to figure out how to make it to the Cinnabon. You feel concealed within a closed world, somewhere else in time or place, without cities, lawsuits, elections, defective products, credit reports, and all the other trappings of our modern civilization. Its the most contained place I've ever been.

Hike wise, today's hike was about six hours, much of it through drizzle that started when I made it to the beach. It started out clear and somewhat sunny, prompting me to take dozens of photos. For much of the hike, I was climbing uphill (and carrying a pack). But as I approached the shoreline the trail went downhill, as you'd expect. Not long after I made it to the beach and started eating lunch, the fog and then clouds started rolling in quickly. I figured I'd better get back under the tree canopy quickly, so I cut lunch short and ate while hiking over to Fern Canyon. This is a really interesting area in an extremely interesting park. It literally is a fern-covered canyon through which a creek runs to the sea, cutting into the park for almost a mile. Its pictured above. Hard to say how high the canyon walls are, but you can get an idea from comparing to the man in the photo. After Fern Canyon, I followed a trail back to visitor's center, along the same creek that later runs through Fern Canyon. The drizzle continued and actually picked up on the way back. It made a really peaceful sound as the drops hit the broad leafed plants on the forest floor, a rushing sound that along with the constant creek sound was almost like a natural static. Boy did it make me have to use the bathroom every 15 minutes. (Sorry for that detail, but hey...).

Again, words can't do justice to this place, not even photos. You really have to be there, and experience the solitude and the majesty of the place firsthand. To give you some idea, parts of Jurassic Park 2 were filmed here, and Redwoods National Park was Endor in Return of the Jedi. You know, the forest planet where those creepy Ewoks lived.

Next-day two in the redwoods, and sunset hunting

Goodbye Patrick Swayze

Interrupting the ongoing road and trail elevation and tree and bird species reports to say a few words about Patrick Swayze, who as you probably know passed away today at the young age of 57 from pancreatic cancer. This year's Summer of Death claims another victim.

Swayze was one of those few movie actors that you liked no matter what the role or movie. While a lot of television actors can connect with the TV audience like that, few movie actors do. Its something about the medium. But a few movie actors bridge that gap. James Garner is probably most known, though he was more of a television actor later in his career. Travolta is another. Something about Patrick Swayze was just appealing on a personal level. Part of it may have been that he never turned into a douche like a lot of other action stars. He never jumped up and down on Oprah's couch. He never went on Arsenio and complained about the President or saving the whales. And he didn't trade in his wife for some 20 year old on the party circuit. He also readily poked holes in the image. He starred as a drag queen in "To Wong Foo," and famously starred with Chris Farley in the Saturday Night Live Chippendale's dance-off sketch. He may not have been the greatest actor of all time (signed having about three different accents in Dirty Dancing, sometimes in the same sentence). He may have been in some pretty horrible movies and been forced to slog through some highly dubious lines ("Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" or "Pain don't hurt"). But he always sold it, and you always liked him.

Maybe less well known is that Swayze, and wife Lisa Niemi, are lifelong Houstonians. Unlike stars who hit it big, he stayed connected with Houston and was always active in numerous Houston charities and other pursuits.

Swayze first hit it big in Dirty Dancing, but never really pursued roles featuring his amazing dancing talents thereafter. Swayze started in the Joffrey Ballet Company in 1972. He starred in a Broadway production of Grease, and of course you saw him dance in Dirty Dancing. He had an amazing gift for dance.

And in his final days, he fought pancreatic cancer doggedly, never giving up, continuing to make future plans and even starring in a TV series, The Beast.

So goodbye Patrick Swayze. You left far too soon.

WOLVERINES!!!

Vacation 2009, Day Eight: Into the Woods

"I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree."

--Joyce Kilmer, 1914

"A tree is a tree. How many more do you need to look at?"

--Ronald Reagan, 1966

Ordinarily I have to go with the Gipper on just about everything, but here, with reluctance, we have to part ways. You see, Dutch was forgetting the Cheerleader Effect, or in this context, not seeing the forest for the trees. The Cheerleader Effect, as explained by Barney Stinson on How I Met Your Mother, is "when a group of women seems hot, but only as a group. Just like with cheerleaders. They seem hot, but take each one of them individually….sled dogs!" Yes, if you look at tree after tree after tree, eventually they tend to blur. But put thousands of acres of the tallest trees in the world together in one place, throw in a dizzying variety of ferns, wildflowers, and other plants all thriving in balance, you have something far beyond the aesthetics of any particular tree. In short, the Cheerleader Effect for Trees.

Such is the case with Redwoods National Park, one of the last remaining old growth redwood forests. A national and world treasure on the Northern California coast.

But first I had to get there from Redding, CA, which is somewhat less than a national and world treasure. Redding is more of a treasure on the drag racing and cage fighting circuits. Its craptacularity stands in stark contrast with the wonders I saw today.

California State Highway 299 goes from Redding to the Humboldt County Coast, through about four different areas. Highway 299 itself was an unexpected gem, one of the best drives I've ever taken anywhere. It first heads through the Whiskeytown-Shasta National Recreation Area, west of Redding. This includes Whiskeytown and Trinity Lakes, as well as Shasta State Park, a collection of preserved 1800s California gold rush buildings. After the Lake, the road quickly climbs in elevation to around 3,000 feet, at which point the temperature drops about 10 degrees and the evergreen, fir, and pine forests reappear. The road hugs the mountains, resulting in tighter and more hairpin turns than even the Pacific Coast Highway (where I'll be driving in almost a week). It eventually spills into Douglas City and later the charming little town of Weaverville. The latter is a small, well-preserved town with a historic downtown including several B&Bs and antique shops. Unfortunately, on this day, the historic mill was on fire. As I drove past, it looked like half the town had turned out to watch the fire department battle the blaze, with helicopters and all. Past Weaverville, the rolling hills eventually give way back to steep forested slopes. The highway joins the Trinity River at Helena, and follows it for many miles. A photo is shown above. The river and surrounding canyons are incredibly beautiful. Several rafting outfitters were leading groups down the river, enjoying the trip over the numerous rapids along the way. The road runs fairly gently downhill until Willow Creek, after which it takes a steep climb to 2700 feet. Beyond that point, it turns quite brisk, with the temperature dropping around 15 degrees as one heads back down the other side of the crest. Fog and clouds begin to roll in, and we're finally inside the California coastal weather zone I've come to know so well. By the time the highway reaches US 101 at Arcata, its cold, clammy, and gray. But on the whole, 299 is one of the most enjoyable drives anywhere. It was hard to make good time because I was stopping so often to take pictures.

Arcata is just an exit. Actually, its similar to that mill town in Officer and a Gentleman where Debra Winger and her blonde tramp friend that tried to trap David Keith into marrying her lived. You know, the kind of industrial town where every kid grows up waiting for the day they can leave. (Known in the Central time zone as Bastrop, LA). You can see the smoke plumes pouring out of the Arcata mill for miles away. And the Raiders bumper stickers, of course. And an impressive collection of vagrants, hitchhikers, and other unfortunates. Austin has its share of panhandlers, but I've never seen so many vagrants, and hitchhikers, as in Arcata, and the roads leading into and out of it.

The 101 takes you to Redwoods National Park, and the Requa Inn where I'm staying. Its not a superhighway, but it is a main artery cutting along the coast. It leads north past some beach access properties, then into the park itself. Redwoods National Park, and three sister state parks also containing redwoods, has a long and politically complicated history. It resulted from some tortured compromises between the federal and state government, environmentalists, and the lumber industry. While old growth redwoods originally covered over two million acres, the Park only covers 40,000 acres of that old growth forest. More redwood fun facts tomorrow. I made it to the Inn around 4:00, having left Anderson around 10:30. The Inn was originally built in 1914, and has some 20 or so rooms. The innkeeper is very knowledgeable about the area and suggested some good hikes.

After getting settled in, I headed back to the scenic road running through one of the state redwoods parks with a lot of trails. Although it was starting to get a little dark and cloudy, I set out for a two hour hike along one of the trails. As I'll repeat tomorrow, words really fail when it comes to describing the incredible beauty inside the redwood forest. There's a magnificent stillness-only the birds chirping or creeks running pierce the silence. Mountain bikes and pets aren't allowed on the trails, and there's no hikers on the trails themselves. The trees themselves are like skyscrapers, the tallest trees in the world. Ferns and other similar plants grow abundantly at the base of the trees and surrounding areas. Quite a number of the redwoods have fallen and crashed into other living redwoods, creating spectacular destruction scenes, but just as fantastic is that in most cases, newer redwoods and other plants commonly grow out of the roots of the dead redwoods. I'll post pictures of this tomorrow. Redwoods can grow in the ground, and out of the remains of dead trees. The trails are all well defined and soft, owing to the collection of leaves and redwood dust that have created a fine silt-like dirt. Trees often have crashed along the trail, in some cases requiring hikers to duck under suspended logs. In the late afternoon, with darkness and clouds slowly creeping in, I noticed that the whole scene was unbelievably peaceful, with no traffic, planes, or voices. The enormity and abundance of the trees suggests a sort of natural cathedral.

After a thoroughly forgettable meal in the thoroughly forgettable Crescent City, CA, where I watched about the last four minutes of the USC-Ohio State game, I drove back to the Inn and settled in for the night.

Next-through the redwoods to the beach.

Vacation 2009, Day Seven: The Yuba County Republican Women's Club Will Have Its Monthly Breakfast and Social at the Waffle Barn this Coming Wednesday

After looking back over today's post, which follows (thankfully without anything resembling yesterday's political harangue), I have to acknowledge it comes off as a curious mix of elitist snobbery and self-loathing. But to those who know me, that should be nothing new. The trick to dealing with me, I guess, is to catch me at the midpoint between these extremes. So apologies in advance to the long list of people and towns potentially insulted by today's post. Your chambers of commerce can keep the hate comments to yourselves. (No, really, I got one a couple of years ago when I lit up Bremerton, Washington on this blog. I didn't allow the comment to post, but it was like someone cut and pasted from the official Bremerton travel folder and then put 12 different "did you see this?" cross-examination questions. I don't get paid for this stuff you know, I just pretty much am sure that whatever I think is, in fact, the case and type it up).

Where was I?

Today was a travel day so there's not much adventure to report, though I did see some sights that remind me that no matter how I may pity myself from time to time, I'm living in Shangri-La. You know, the People's Republic of Austin.

Because I packed last night, getting checked out was a simple matter of bagging the trash and putting it in the trash cabinet (?) safe from bear pillaging, loading the car, and heading out on the highway.

But first I made a return visit to the Old Post Office for breakfast. This time, however, as I sat at the counter along with about five other coots, watching them hustle the waitresses for free coffee and some mild acknowledgement flirting, I realized I got an uncomfortable preview of my possible future. Though the ghost of Chris Reeder Future isn't here, not backing off (because that may work with the ladies but not with me), I nonetheless can see it from here. Hangin' out with the fellas at the barber shop or Denny's. Talking about how great things used to be. Trying to flirt with waitresses, counter clerks, hostesses and the like without getting an "awww...that old man is so sweet" reaction. Wondering when Steve's kids will tolerate yet another visit, or whether I'll get a Christmas card from someone not my brother, insurance agent, or politician running for office. Bothering little kids and their parents who pass my house. Becoming the old lady in To Kill A Mockingbird who was especially proud of her camellias and had a Confederate pistol under her shawl who would kill you as quick as look at you. Talking incessantly to repairmen. Of course, other than hangin' out with the fellas, that's pretty much how I am now. One of the two old guys in the balcony on the Muppet Show. No use crying about it now I guess.

After wallowing in self-pity, I tried getting out of the Lake Tahoe area but ran into road construction that had turned SH 28 into a one-lane road. Naturally, even though California is technically bankrupt, I noticed about eight people holding flags or stop signs to every one person actually doing road construction work. Some things are the same no matter where you go; I imagine in some Pacific island atoll nation populated by pygmy warriors undiscovered by the rest of the world, there's like 10 guys beating drums or waving palm fronds while one guy uses his rock-sharpened bamboo spear to clear the trail to the lagoon. But eventually I made it to the highway and then to SH 20, a really interesting drive that goes from the Sierra Nevadas to the Central Valley (and after I headed north, onto US 101). Basically it cuts right across the heart of Northern California.

As I reached it, it was another crystal clear, fantastic day that made me pat myself on the back (well, neck more like it), again, for renting the convertible. Both on IH-80 headed west out of Reno, and then on SH 20, it ran through some really attractive forests, losing a lot of elevation as it left the mountains. Its a really nice drive (see photo above). Oh, and this is near where the Donner Party ate it, literally (OK, that was in bad taste, I apologize for that one too). Its a great drive until right after you get outside of Grass Valley, at which point it briefly turns into Kerrville-esque scenery, before finally hitting the Central Valley. At that point, you may as well be in Sour Lake, Texas, in glorious Hardin County (home of the world's largest sinkhole and Houston sports radio legend Raymond, friend of Great American Steve McKinney). Its flat, with stubby trees and other scrub for a bit, then its all plowed fields. The temperature climbed about 20 degrees in just a few miles, it seems. Oh, and the whole place is thick with El Caminos, dilapidated houses with appliances and eight cars on blocks in front, dogs running all through the yard, used tire stores, Chevy and GMC truck dealerships, and tool rental places. Its a place where every vehicle has a trailer hitch.

You see, the Central Valley isn't the California the Beach Boys were singing about. Its the other side. The side they don't show in the tourism ads. Its where the hard work gets done. Among other things, its where they grow much of the fruit and vegetables sold throughout the country (and I'm not talking about vineyards).

In the North, Yuba City and Marysville, along with Redding, are the main Valley towns. I stopped in a few places, and drove around for a bit. These aren't the Californians who get plastic surgery for graduation or as anniversary presents, who visit ashrams, go to bikram yoga classes, eat microbiotic greens instead of salad, or hire life coaches. These people look like workers--tired, weathered, and frankly, about as fat as your average XXXXL size fan at Minute Maid Park. There appears to be nothing at all resembling the "culture" we enjoy in Austin (though they do have the Waffle Barn, so score one for the Calis), or natural scenery that the California coastal cities enjoy. These are hard towns, its a hard land, and these are harder people than the wine-sippers, hot tubbers, techno-geeks, and assorted freaks, weirdoes and wastoids on the coast.

One plus that the Central Valley residents enjoy is getting to listen to KPIG radio (96.7 out of Chico). They're similar to KGSR in Austin, except less K-geezerish, more Dead. Much less likely to break into programming with a special Butch Hancock or Lyle Lovett update ("KGSR brings you this special bulletin-Lyle Lovett just switched to organic paper towels"). I often stream KPIG at work (while working, of course, to zealously advocate on behalf of my clients).

I was looking forward to arriving in Anderson, just south of Redding, to see what the Gaia Hotel and Spa, where I spent the night, would be like. They bill themselves on the internet as Anderson's first "eco-friendly" hotel. It takes its name from "Gaia," the Greek name for "Mother Earth," so naturally I was expecting something extremely douchy. Anderson is pretty much just an exit off IH-5, and it happened to be furnace hot when I arrived (96 degrees). So much for my cool weather vacation. The hotel has about five two-story circular "pods" with about 30 rooms apiece. No elevators (which is kind of hard to imagine in this post-ADA world; where's Jim Harrington and his civil rights lawsuit frolics when they're needed?). There's a little pond and a couple of fountains in between, arranged in some sort of feng shui/feel your bliss modality I expect, with a pair of white swans and a pair of black swans (I guess racial quotas have made it to the world of eco-friendly hotels too). Notably, the white swans and black swans were not socializing with one another. Coincidence? I think not. The fitness "center" where I worked out was something of a joke-two cardio machines and the most sparing universal gym ever made. But I did get to watch on the big screen TV Big 12 joke Colorado get beat like a drum by a team called the "Toledo Rockets" of all things. That sounds like some made up team name for an Adam Sandler football movie. The rooms were kind of nice, with big screen TVs and a skylight in the bathroom (I was on the second floor). The restaurant, the Woodside Grill, was exceptional. I had the most incredible salad of all time, and keep in mind I've eaten at French Laundry. It was called the "Spango," a spinach salad with mango chunks, pecans, and a honey-pecan dressing. I also had prime rib, which should shave a year off my life but was really exceptional. But then they turned around the next morning and served a pretty dismal breakfast, given the money you pay to stay there. So its a mixed bag at the Mother Earth Motel.

Oh, announcement, the hotel where I'm staying now on the coast has sketchy internet access, so I won't be able to post any photos to flickr for the next few days. Basically it'll be hundreds of redwoods photos. Eh, you've seen one tree, you've seen them all, right?

Next-the drive to Redwoods National Park.

Vacation 2009, Day Six: Six Lakes in Five Days

That's the friendliest looking, fun-having leech I've ever seen. Except this girl I dated once when I was living in Galveston.

Today's highlight was a hike to Marlette Lake, part of the Lake Tahoe-Nevada State Park, on the east side of Lake Tahoe. For anyone counting, that makes six lakes in five days. Like yesterday's hike on the Mt. Rose loop trail, this second Nevada side hike went much better and was much more enjoyable than my initial hike on the California side. In general, I like the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe than the California side. Its less commercialized, less built up, and just generally seems less touristy. The whole area is incredibly beautiful, particularly on the Nevada side. If you remember the Lake Tahoe scenes in The Godfather, Part 2, that's pretty much exactly what it looks like.

Today I slept late, not dragging out of bed until 8. My usual puttering around this morning involved watching a bit of the local "good morning news." It reminded me how shallow and patronizing most local news programs are. "Mobs destroy American embassy in Uzbekistan-how does this affect Reno?" leading to an interview with some guy who'd been to Uzbekistan once, 10 years ago during his semester abroad. Balloon races, Wal Mart openings, car dealer promotions, the fishing report. Fake banter. Pompadours and hair teased to within one millimeter of its life. Except for you Michelle Valles at KEYE in Austin; you almost make it worthwhile to watch the 6 a.m. local news (and when you were behind me once at Whole Foods and laughed at something I said I almost thought you were flirting with me-that's what I call a quality journalist).

It started out a bit cloudy today, and though there's absolutely no connection, it dawned on me that this condo has a really great deck. With a wooden carved bear statue. In another lifetime I might enjoy spending a vacation day sitting out on the deck reading, enjoying the sound of the rushing stream nearby, drinking tea, avoiding people, and enjoying the nice breeze. But in this lifetime I can do that for about 10 minutes before thinking about all the money I'm spending just to go somewhere and do something I could do at home. So its off to the trail again today! Heel blister and all. In my too tight new REI shorts (the next size up was too big, and they didn't seem that tight in the store).

I arrived at the trail at the crack of 11:15, by which time the clouds had cleared and it had warmed up some. This park originally was the site of extensive logging operations to supply wood to the nearby Nevada and California gold and silver mining towns. Unregulated logging virtually denuded the forest, so most of the new forest consists of silver fir, pine, and aspen trees. Apparently the lack of diversity causes problems, including the pine beetle. The object of today's hike was Marlette Lake, an incredibly scenic lake in the heart of the park's backcountry.

The trail started out fairly level at first, but then about 3/4 mile in, started heading up and continued gaining elevation until about 1/2 mile before the lake, at which point it descended steeply until it reached the lake shore. That's about 4 miles of steady, steep incline through thick forest alongside the "North Canyon Road." The aspens were just beginning to turn; in a few weeks the leaves will be gold and will shine in the afternoon sun. Everyone should drive from the Grand Canyon to Flagstaff during October-the aspens along US 180 are phenomenal. Unfortunately, some idiots have carved their names and other words on some of these beautiful trees here. Was that really necessary? Couldn't they have just stayed in whatever city they're from and scrawled on bridges or schools there? There were also a great number of boulders and other large rocks, just like in the other parks around Lake Tahoe. After reaching the lake shore, I rejoined the access road and took it to the overlook on the east side. Unfortunately this meant enduring an incredibly steep hill-my heart rate climbed very high (I wear a heart rate monitor when hiking). But I made the overlook, had lunch there, came back down and made it to a little islet that juts into the lake, and made it back safely 5 1/2 hours and about 11 miles after starting.

The rest of the day and night was pretty mundane. Watched the Steelers-Titans game while packing, and ate incredible meatball leftovers.

OK, the rest of this is political, so you're warned.

As its still technically 9/11 where I am, I want to make a couple of points related to all the people saying "we will never forget." Part of "never forgetting" is never letting it happen again. Remembering all those innocent people that died, and all the families and friends whose lives will never be the same because of unprovoked terrorist mass murder, means absolutely nothing if we stop trying to prevent future attacks. The first point is no matter how much civil liberties obsessives wring their hands, one cannot deny that we've suffered no further attacks (or that we've captured plenty of others who've been planning attacks). Unlike countries like Spain or Indonesia or even the UK, whatever we're doing is working. And we know Al Qaeda and other groups are still trying to concoct schemes to inflict more terror. I've just traveled halfway around this country with extremely little inconvenience despite heightened security measures. I can say what I want, associate with anyone I want, and go wherever I want. Because I remember how nearly 3,000 people died over the course of a few hours eight years ago, I will gladly put up with whatever minor traveling annoyances we must incur to stop from adding more names to that list. The second point is that those who are losing their nerve in the war against the Taliban and Al Qaeda in Afghanistan, primarily the mainline Democratic party but some conservative/isolationists as well, are for all practical purposes forgetting those who died on this day in 2001. We were attacked in large part because we allowed that region of the world to fester, to harbor terrorists, and to gain strength because we were not willing to commit armed forces. Sometimes we cannot protect our security at the bargaining table, or with trial lawyers filing lawsuits and indictments. A sizable group in this country, again primarily in the Democrat party, are all for defending our national security for awhile, until they find bridges, welfare, and unneeded subsidies to spend the money on instead (and thereby curry favor with constituent interest blocs). Then the principle of protecting our country against future attacks that they embraced evaporate like water on the August pavement. So many people were quick to whip the Bush Administration's Iraq policy with the contention that it was draining resources away from the "good" war in Afghanistan. The war that Sen. Obama supported. Now that Iraq is largely over and the hated Bush has been consigned to Dallas, the war in Afghanistan against the Taliban have become just an expensive inconvenience for some. These people would prefer to forget that under the Taliban, Afghanistan used drug money to fund terrorists and their training camps, mutilated and systematically beat women and deprived them of basic human freedoms like education, and persecuted and even executed non-Muslims. Those who call for retreat in Afghanistan and ceding it back to the Taliban are the same cowering appeasers who called for retreat in Iraq as an alternative to the surge. Fortunately, our often wavering President has to date resisted these calls and has stuck to his campaign commitment to finish the mission in Afghanistan. The fact that its taking longer or costs more than some would like should come as no surprise. We knew at the outset it would take a long time to root the Taliban and Al Qaeda out of that part of the world. We have an outstanding fighting force capable of performing this task. Stopping the next 9/11 requires that we allow them to finish.

Next-leaving Tahoe, and the road to the Central Valley.

Vacation 2009, Day Five: The Elk Was Fine, Thanks

Just to give you fair warning, this is kind of a blah entry. Today was all about hiking.

Today was another Chamber of Commerce day here on the north side of Lake Tahoe. Kimberly was intending to return home after a short hike, so we headed off to the Ophir Creek trail off Nevada State Highway 431, a short distance north of Incline Village. This three mile trail runs through a creek-fed meadow, with lots of grasses and flowers, and then through some woodland back from the meadow. The latter portions had numerous boulders and other lava rock. At some points our voices were echoing, with a sort of canyon effect. We also saw a lot of birds and ground animals. The trail had a lot of moderate grades, so we were going up and down hills a good portion of the time. Mostly it was fun talking with a friend on one of these hikes. I usually hike alone with my ipod sapping the remainder of my dwindling hearing sense. If I'm going to lose my hearing to noise, I guess its better that the noise be Kimberly. (OK, admittedly, that doesn't read as good as I intended).

After Kimberly hit the road, I headed to the Mt. Rose trailhead to hike the Mt. Rose loop. This is a higher than 10,000 foot peak at the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevadas. The loop trail doesn't reach the summit, but does loop for about six miles near the mountain and it gains about 520 in elevation to the trail's highest point. The scenery was a little more alpine in nature, owing to the 9,000 foot elevation. I noticed I'm hiking stronger today than Sunday, and it dawned on me the difficulties I experienced on Sunday must have been due to the altitude. Going from Austin at 300 feet to Lake Tahoe elevations of 8,000 and 9,000 feet posed greater problems than I figured, at least on Sunday. Today I'm moving along much more quickly, at about a two mile per hour clip.

At this altitude, the sky was an electric blue color. Not quite the same brilliant blue that you find in Santa Fe (and nowhere else), but definitely reminiscent. Almost like watching the sky on an HD television set. The air was cooler and clearer as well. In short, it was great hiking conditions. About a mile and a half in, after passing Tamarack Lake, I passed an interesting waterfall and climbed up to the top. It was a 20 minute or so detour, but the views from up top were well worth it. What was not worth it was wiping out to get the photo you see above. The brown rocks were extremely slippery, and how I didn't smash the camera or wind up dead on the rocks below is beyond me. After the waterfall, the trail follows the creek through a really attractive meadow at the base of the mountain, then the trail moves through a really attractive canyon until it splits off to go to the summit. Instead, I turned west to make the loop, going up some pretty steep grades until I made it to a graded access road with a smallish lake/pond where I stopped for lunch.

One thing I really like about the Sierra Nevadas and the Lake Tahoe area is the weather seems pretty constant and forecasts are reliable. Today was the first day I've noticed any clouds, and every day has been in the 70s while the nights are in the upper 30s/lower 40s. By comparison, the weather in many Washington parks and the park services' attitudes about it is very "sky is falling." Here, the worst you see are signs warning about snow and ice. In Washington, signs are posted everywhere you turn warning that the weather can change any second. That it WILL change before you reach your destination, and if you're not carrying the 742 items they recommend, the weather will kill you, or cause hypothermia, or break your legs, or cause dehydration, gout, scabies, hepatitis C, Lyme's Disease, or syphilis. In Washington, park weather swings apparently can steal your identity and run up charges on your American Express card, embarrass you in front of your girlfriend, take away your Christmas bonus at work, and trigger an IRS audit. Here, the weather is the same when you end your hike as when you begin.

After lunch, I resumed the hike, which was mostly downhill until the end. About two-thirds of the way down, the trail led to some really phenomenal views of Lake Tahoe. Again, check out the flickr photos. I finished around 4:00, making for about 5 1/2 hours of hiking today.

When I finished, I drove further north towards Reno. SH 431 is a Nevada "scenic highway," until shortly before it reaches the Reno city limits. The scenery pretty much stops on a dime. Once you cross into Reno it becomes desert and the temperature noticeably rises about 10 degrees. I stopped at the first gas station, in something called "Galena Estates." This place reminded me of every suburban development ever. The gas station was pretty weird, having a bronze statue of Mark Twain sitting on a bench near the front door. It was pretty creepy.

I came back and rested at the condo, then went to the Hyatt for dinner at Kimberly's insistence. In any case, without my personal chef, I was going to have to search out dinner anyway. Its fun on vacation to get dressed up and go somewhere nice; somehow it makes the spectre of dining out alone seem somewhat less pathetic. I had elk chop and spinach which was really good. Some old guy sat next to me and insisted on talking to me even though I had on my best "stay away from me" persona. He asked "how's that elk" about eight times in five minutes. Once again, Drunk Old Guy managed to find me. This always happens. You know, if I wanted someone to ruin a great dinner on vacation with annoying conversation, I'd have paid someone to come with me. I mean, paid someone's way to come with me. So I finished dinner as quickly as possible, like being on a date, and beat it home for leftover panna cotta and to work on the blog.

Tomorrow-Marlette Lake