Road Trip. Part 1: California

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Day 1
These days, I'm quite the man about town, and most of the time I don't even notice I'm living away from home, but on the first day of the trip I was feeling strangely incapable - I felt like tourist the moment I stepped out of the door - British and awkward and distantly familiar. I wanted more breakfast, you see, and i didn't know where to get it, so ended up walking around in circles until i recollected where to grab some grub. When i went to the coffee stall to buy a coffee and bun, i stupidly said 'to go'. It was all to go - it was a cart in the street. It drew my attention to my accent and my bag, and she gave me a kind knowingly sympathetic smile. She kept on calling me 'sir' and other polite and respectful utterances and i could tell she wasn't like that with everyone, which was as nice as it was horrible, I thought.

All I had to do today was to get to San Francisco airport by midday, and pick up a hire car, meet Maria, and drive us to a hotel I'd booked in Japantown, San Francisco.

As I sat and waited for bus, a strange woman with piercing unblinking brown eyes came up to me. She must have been in her 40s, long brown hair and yellow-stained teeth "I split apricot on my jeans" she said in a high drawl. I looked down at her skinny legs, and having seen no sign of (recent) stain, looked at her face for clarification. she obliged "... when I last sat on that bench", indicating to the other side of the bench. In the curious conversation which followed, most of the details of which escape me now, she ascertained from me that I was British geologist, from London, going to Vancouver, and had lived in Santa Cruz since November. I ascertained from her that she had once lived in 'west Essex' when she was a teenager as a traveling musician, and that she'd been to Vancouver working in a 'camp'. It hard been a 'hard summer' she said, a 'real hard summer'. She was very childlike and her short simple utterances slurred, I initially thought she was mentally disabled but the more we spoke, it dawned on me that it was probably because she'd taken a lot of hard drugs in her life. She was obviously intelligent and 'with it', but she had the cold stare and demeanor of someone who hadn't looked after themselves for long periods of time. She got me thinking about America and all its variety.

My awkwardness continued onto the bus - I hauled my case on and threw my 4 dollars worth of quarters into the counting machine - the machine told me $3.50. This had happened to me before and I found out that time that the bus drivers couldn't give a 'rats ass' (his words, not mine), so why I found myself, schoolboy-like, assuring the driver that I had put the correct amount in I don't know. The driver, who hadn't even been listening, looked up and said something like "alright already". I stalled for a second and waited for a ticket - i KNEW he didn't give out tickets - what was wrong with me? It was like my brain had repartionned itself in the night, locking all the lessons I had learned in the last few months, foetus in fetu, into a part unaccessible by my operating system. I hadn't been sleeping, through excitement, for a few days and i had woken, like the past few days, as if i had been roused from a coma.

The rain sheeted onto the bus and the thought of the email i had read that morning from my boss came back into my mind - it had been a fatherly reminder to bring plenty of warm clothing, sleeping bags in case of snow on mountain passes. I had acknowledged the advice in manly fashion, but inwardly i had thought how ill-prepared i was. I had packed a blanket and a spare towel, some waterproof trousers. I had bought some waterproof boots. But the email left me wondering whether i needed a knife, gun, tyre chains, and all the other features of a journey through the Great American Wilderness. We were only driving to Vancouver, after all. Vancouver - the very name sings of icy winds and trawlers frozen in place by a 10m thick surface layer of sea. A pretty middle-aged woman got on the bus at Scotts Valley and my attention turned to an old man opposite me who was beaming in an aroused fashion at her - he smiled and stared at her as she walked past. He was about 10-15 years older than her and had a kind face. It was obvious he had fallen head-over-heels in lust. I thought it was quite cute, until i realised that HE had obviously managed to connect to the internet (the bus had a free wireless service) whereas I had not, and continued to be unsuccessful. I liked him less for this, but he did have great corduroy, a libido, a healthy lascivious smile and a Macbook, I thought, so I allowed him to stay on the bus. Oh dear, i had slipped into 'super bus man' mode - whenever I sit on the bus, I eye up other passengers and invent characters and voices for them - I assess each in turn and imagine conversations with them. I have the power to eject those whom I do not like, or who give me the wrong fictitious answers to my fictitious questions. I can occupy my mind for hours like this. I put my computer away, and spent the rest of the journey to San Jose looking out the window through a hole I had made in the condensation.

The train was waiting for me at the platform in San Jose. I got on and settled in for an arduously slow and long journey - bugger, I was on the slow train which stopped at every station - roughly every 500m along between San Jose and San Francisco. I was relieved to alight at Milbrae, where I got the BART to SFO International Airport. I was regaining my travel savvy by now - I had even shown a native how to use the BART ticket machine, and people were asking me for directions in the airport. I have a genial face, I thought, and I was spot on with my directions which made me feel pretty cool. Maria's flight was 3 hours delayed, so I had enough time to have lunch, get the hire car, and drop off my bags. Oh, and change out of my damned boots into something more gentlemanly and urbane. They had to give me a car with Washington plates because it was a one-way rental and the car would stay up there. This couldn't have pleased more - Washington state plates! I took a photograph, did a merry skip, informed the guy that I wouldn't be back for a couple of hours - his response was petulant "couple of hours!" he said, and fell silent with my affirmative. I felt pretty good. Now the long wait for Maria to get in, and through customs etc.



She finally came through at 4pm. The preceding 2 hours was one of extreme excitement and agitation. I had to calm myself down by riding around the 'airtrain', which connects the terminals and parking lots, lots (see photo above). Waiting in airport arrival lounges isn't actually that bad, because of all the kissing and hugging people. It makes them about a quadrillion times better than departure lounges, which are just about the worst places on earth, except from UK motorway service station McDonalds. There was a good vibe coursing through the arrivals lounge in the airport, and lots of smily people. I waited dutifully. When she arrived it was like a bomb had gone off in my brain. I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my life. Her kiss was like what i imagine a shot of heroin to be like. We went straight onto the 'airtrain', jabbering all the way, into the car and out. The rain had cleared by now, and we had just a short journey into our hotel in Japantown.

The map showed that the route between airport and hotel was laughably linear. In practice, I managed to take a wrong turn, which forced me to exit the highway south of the city. What followed was a thrilling ride straight through the heart of San Francisco downtown. Steve McQueen would have been proud, but poor Maria must have wondered what hit her! I was trying to read the folded up piece of paper on her lap, which had a map with an unsuitable scale drawn onto it. I knew roughly where I was going. As we approached the hotel - literally, it would turn out later, feet away - I turned right, then turned left down a one-way street. I knew instantly something was amiss, but couldn't quite put my finger on it until a policeman was screaming at me "what are you doing!" - the nanosecond after seeing him, I realised what I had done. He ushered me over. He was there because there had been an accident there - there was no room, so I had to pull over halfway up the next street. He walked up the hill to me, all black uniform and gun and tazer and god-knows what else! After I apologised and informed him that I was British (i know - shut up!), he shone a torch in my eye and asked me if I was drunk. He was actually ok about it - quite paternal - he informed me that I had gone the wrong way up a one-way street, and to be more careful in future and look at the signs. A good indication, he added with no hint of sarcasm, was that all the cars were parked in the same direction. A couple of minutes later we arrived at our hotel, giggling and a little shocked. Hotel Tomo was pretty cool - we parked up in the hotel car park, checked in, and fell straight into bed on our anime-themed king sized room. Bliss.



Maria was very tired and fell asleep. She couldn't get up to go for dinner, so I ventured out to see if I could get a take-away bento box or something locally. No joy - there were only restaurants around full of convivial sophisticated people, and I didn't have the heart to bound in and ask for a packed lunch. So I came back and ordered a pizza. It was almost 9pm by now and I was absolutely starving. When the pizza arrived Maria woke instantly to help me enjoy it, and we fell into sleep. The journey hadn't started with a bang, but it was just nice to be together again. Oh, and the room with its murals was pretty cool too!



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Day 2
The day didn't start well - I had reached over from bed to see what the time was, moving the alarm clock into, and through, the large bedside lamp, shattering it into many pieces. We flustered for a little - they, like everything else in the room, looked expensive. Oh, and the shattered lamp was one of a pair. We would later learn the hotel had commissioned an Oakland-based artist to make them. Bullshit if you ask me, unless 'Oakland-based artist' meant 'Ikea', but I'll get to that.



We had a little time - we only had to get to Arcata today - 4 hours up the coast, so we decided to come back to the 'little problem in the bedroom' after breakfast. We both wanted a real hearty, big American breakfast. I saw in my guide there was a cool looking place a maybe 10 blocks over, in the Tenderloin district, so we set out to find it. We were both in convivial mood - Maria had recovered from her jetlag, and my memory of the 'wrong way' epsiode I could now laugh off. The cafe was closed, but we found a cool looking place not far away, called David's. It was actually the first time I had been in that part of town since my first visit to SF in December 2007. I had stayed in Union Square Backpackers - it was still there, and just as seedy-looking as ever, which was good to know. It was also good to remind myself that we would be staying in hotels all the way on this trip, which meant no wannabe rappers, sheets, no audible bed springs, no bed bugs, no sex screams (well, ...), and the like. Anyway, David's was wonderful - we sat at the bar, got top-ups of water, juice and coffee at regular intervals (one of the truly wonderful things about the usa), ate very well for a reasonable price (another truly wonderful things about here, and this will be a consistent theme throughout my log). On the way back to the hotel we decided we'd try to fix the lamp with superglue (I know - what were we thinking!), and buy loads of japanese treats for the car - poki-poki sticks, pea flavoured crisps, aloe-flavoured drinks, and the like.

We managed to get the glue everywhere but between the pieces of glass - the table, the fingers, our clothes, the bed sheets and towels. We eventually gave up, packed up, 'fessed' up, and left. We decided honesty was the best policy - besides, I'd booked us into the same hotel for a night on the return leg! We through our stuff in the car, and after another thrilling ride through the really hilly part of the city in the north, we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge on Route 101 North out of San Francisco



I was feeling pretty darned pleased with myself - it felt wonderful, more wonderful than I can describe, to be finally united with Maria, in a sleek Chevvie coupe driving through and out of San Francisco into Marin County. I haven't done much driving since I came to the states - just a couple of day trips here and there. This time I actually felt the freedom of the open road, away from work in a new place with the woman I love. I won't dwell on this but, dude, it was awesome.



Just as soon as we left the hotel it started to rain, and it didn't stop until the moment we reached Arcata, 7 and a half hours later. The 3.5-4 hour trip turned into a 7.5 hour trip not so much because of the rain - although, having said that, it was lashing it down. No, it was probably more due to the fact that, half way up, we decided we'd go via Mendicino, and Highway 128 through Navarro River and Van Damme State Parks. The terrain was mountainous, the trees were tall and dense, the road winding, and the rain relentless. It took us a long time - about 4.5 hours - to get to Mendicino. It wasn't worth it for the destination, but it was definitely worth it for the drive - the most thrilling and various of the whole journey - for the first time I got the feeling of passing through a big, dangerous countryside.



We poked around in Mendicino - not much to see, expect spectacular waves, pick-up trucks, and 'new age' hippie crap that's everywhere in California (I'm not a fascist, but I don't suffer charlatans). We had a great home-made burger in 'Mendo burgers', served to us by a very kind a friendly lady. While we waited we played checkers and watch a surfing video - I would have gone there just for that! It smelt of pine wood and sea salt. Wonderful. Maria needed a rain jacket, so I prodded her to buy a 'really oversized one' from the hardware store - it was called 'Frank the Tank'. It enveloped her and made her look cute. I told her so but I was in the doghouse for having taken too many of the precipitous mountain bends a little too fast. I admit I got carried away, and would later apologise profusely over sushi.



The poki-poki and 'shrimp chips' were almost gone, so we stocked up on loads of bags of nuts and left towards Fort Bragg, in the direction of Eureka. My plan of a gentle jaunt to Arcata, arriving in daylight, had gone out the window. The rain intensified as daylight fell, and we rolled into Arcata about 8pm, a little tired and dazed. Eureka looked a bit of a dump, as I had been told - an endless strip of chain fast-food joints and gas stations, and little else.

Arcata was much cuter. It's a college town (Humboldt University - named after the Bay it sits above) and famous for it's 'crow left of the murder' attitudes. It's the marijuana growing capital of the US (we could smell it from the road as we passed the fields!), and everyone in the town seemed a little high on either that or alcohol. In fact, I won't lie - even though it was a week night, everyone we met was pissed. I had booked us into Hotel Arcata, on the main square. It's the oldest building for miles around, and was decidedly creepy. It was the sort of place you'd expect Igor to pick up your bags when you checked in, and the door had a weird mechanism, like battling with some supernatural force. The town was small and shabby, but everyone was friendly. We went into a bar, and sat at the bar, in a bar that I would never go into in the UK, but it was a wonderful place. It sold a cocktail called an 'irish car bomb', was full of veterans in wheelchairs, and the whole thing was like a scene from Forrest Gump. After a 7 hour drive, I needed a drink, a band, and some food, in that order. And that's exactly what I got. The band was playing in a tiny 'social club' type place across the street - they were an old dad-rock band doing Led Zep and Hendrix covers, and a few blues/swing numbers, at which the dancefloor would get livelier and spritely young people would start throwing each other around in a 50s 'old skool' way. It was great to watch. Maria managed to get the last bottle of 'hard cider' in the place, stolen by the barman from the chef for her. It was an awesome spot, and we enjoyed the music and dancing for over an hour before our stomachs told us to search for food.

The only place that looked open was the hotel restaurant. It was actually, weirdly, a rather hip looking sushi restaurant with a young and really drunk clientèle. The waitress told me that they'd actually stopped serving, but after I tried on my 'I'm British and starving' face routine (ask me - I'll show you some time), she melted, gave us a seat, and waited on us. The food was ok, the ambiance was convivial. We went to bed happy, even though the creepiness of the room probably meant we held onto our sheets a little tighter than normal that night.



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Day 3
The third day started in California and finished in Oregon. A 6 hour drive lay between us in Arcata and our next port of call, Newport. Arcata was even smaller in daylight. There wasn't really much off of the main square (below) where we stayed and had prowled last night. But there was the Big Blue Cafe, which - you'll get used to this - served the perfect 'american style' breakfast, in exactly the right atmosphere. Well, a dope town's gotta have good eatin', right?





Maria will be talking about this place for some time. The portions were big and reasonably priced, the food was filling but not greasy and stodgy - oh, I won't bang on - it was good, and friendly and cheap and everything eating in this country epitomises. We soaked in the scenery and continued to chat and catch up on the way up north. We stopped off at nearby Trinidad Bay - the short walk to the beach revealed a stunning sight



The drive was much drier and more pleasant. The features of the day were spectacular seacliffs, sea-spray, massive sand dunes and waves, and awesome '1 horse town' type places. It was real America - the sort that has not been exported so doesn't exist anywhere else - it was old fashioned. We saw horse ranches and elks and old-style 'main event' style billboards (one said - I just love this - 'Tonight - Johnny Cash'), loggers and big trees, landslides, casinos - you name it, it was great.





Day 3 continues in Part 2: Oregon. Stay tuned!