Earlier this summer Laurie and I embarked on a quintessential American road trip to the west coast and back. The excursion lasted for the full month of June; however, we did stay for two weeks in Santa Rosa, house-sitting for a friend.

This is the second part of my two-part travelogue (Part 1 is can be found by clicking here).

Santa Rosa is in the middle of the Sonoma Valley wine region, and thus a hotbed of upper crust new money privilege. Not really my scene. But it quickly became apparent why the area is so popular. It’s fairly cool in the summer and in the middle of low picturesque mountains.

We were surrounded by three parks: Annabel State Park, Sugarloaf Ridge State Park, and Hood Mountain Regional Park. I wandered around Annabel Park on several hikes. And one day I climbed to the summit of Bald Mountain in Sugarloaf Ridge State Park.

One of our day trips was out to the coast. We headed west to Bodega Bay, made popular in Hitchcock’s The Birds. The little fishing village was crammed with quaint boutiques and bistros, so we headed a bit north to Bodega Head, a parkland overlook, affording beautiful views of both the bay and the ocean.

Further north along the coast, just beyond the Russian River, is Fort Ross, a Russian settlement which was established in 1812, and abandoned finally in 1842. I never knew that the Russians had permanent settlements this far south on the Pacific coast. It was a very photogenic setting.

Probably the most memorable part of those excursions out from Santa Rosa toward the coast, was the Pacific Coast Highway. It was a bit unnerving to drive, but probably more unnerving for Laurie, who was in the passenger seat. On the return trip, she had a perfect view of the precipitous  drop to the rocks below. We did stop a few times to take pictures. As I had recently figured out how to take panoramic photos with my iPhone, I made sure to do so at this scenic overlooks.

We did a fair amount of reading, writing, and relaxing while in Santa Rosa. And a few less involved day trips. Such as a photo safari to the Santa Rosa Rural Cemetery.

Our most ambitious day trip was in to San Francisco. We were instructed to take the Golden Gate Transit bus into the city. Very handy. I was rather nervous to see San Francisco again after so many years. I lived there for about a year when I was twenty-one. That was over thirty years ago. That period in my life made a major impact on me. It was the only time I lived in the heart of a truly iconic and cosmopolitan city. I worked low paying jobs as diverse as security guard in the trolly yard and warehouse worker at Rough Trade Records. I spent my free time shamelessly being a tourist in my own city; getting drunk in the early afternoons in seedy bars in the Tenderloin; writing bad poetry in Haight Street falafel joints; frequenting the repertory cinemas; and attending punk show in clubs long ago shuttered. I knew how much the city had changed over the years, especially since the rise of Google and kindred headquarters for culturally disconnected millionaires, and I was prepared for the shock of change.

It was as I feared. The street-level culture has been swept away. No grit; no punks, hippies, nor beatniks. But, in many ways, the city looks much the same. It still has an unpolished charm and breathtaking beauty.

I’m afraid I dragged Laurie around much more than she was ready for. And I’d forgotten how hilly the city is. We visited Coit Tower, a place I’d never been. City Lights Bookstore. Amoeba Records (where I bought a Faun Fables album, and the one Silver Jews CD I don’t have). We ate in a wonderful dive in Chinatown where I had something called a mooncake, which I quite liked. And we walked the length of Haight Street from Golden Gate Park, to Fillmore Street, to find the house I used to live in. My memory is rather hazy, but I think I located it. It’s still a wonderful city, it just doesn’t feel exciting and filled with promise anymore—but that might just be me.

Once our house-sitting responsibilities were done with, we begun the next leg of our trip. We headed north. We were making good time until we hit the region on the coast of the giant redwoods. We had to stop a few times to a gawp in awe. That’s Laurie atop the tree laying on the ground.

And then we had to get back on the road. Laurie had reserved us tickets to The Winter’s Tale at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. We made it to our motel, cutting it pretty close. But the theater was just a few blocks walk, and we got to our seats with plenty of time. It was a wonderful production. We both enjoyed the second half more (and not just because the second half of this play is so much more engaging and playful, but because the costuming and set design was much more effective).

The next day we headed up to Portland, to meet up with my friend Jenny. She toured us around a few of the lovely, historic parks. Treated us to a couple of meals. Showed us a surprising amount of quirky Portland places. And was the perfect host! Here are some pictures from the International Rose Test Garden in Washington Park.

Our next stop was the coastal town of Astoria, mostly famous as the location of the movie The Goonies. A friend from back in my retail days, Laura (AKA, Pooka) had moved there recently with her husband and two kids. I had seen photos she had posted on FaceBook, but wasn’t prepared for just how stunning the town was. Especially from their home. The panoramic photo below is from their back porch. They took us to dinner and then drove us out to the location of the wreck of the Peter Iredale, a ship that came aground in 1906. Part of it is still there, sticking up from the beach. It was a lovely place to watch the sun set.

The next stop was to visit some friends of Laurie’s who have a cabin at the Lake of the Woods in Oregon. I have a hard time reconciling a two story home with all modern conveniences which sleeps eleven as being referred to as a “cabin”—however, it has been chiefly constructed of wood, so I guess it is cabin-ish. It’s beautifully situated on the shore of an alpine lake surrounded by tall trees.

The next morning, on the way back to California, we paused to photograph Mount Shasta.

We drove through California’s central valley, beyond Sacramento, and then headed east into the foothills of the Sierra Nevada to the town of Sonora. A cousin of Laurie’s lives outside of that town in another well-appointed cabin. The place was crammed with their extended family. There were, as I recall, nine people, other than me and Laurie. We slept the night in a very nice trailer, which I believe has yet to be taken out onto the road. We had S’mores before bed, and in the morning, after breakfast, a rather spirited and politically divided conversation. Just because I don’t agree with them doesn’t mean I didn’t think they were lovely people. They were. One should try and share meals (as often as mental health will allow) with those who hold core values divergent from one’s own.

On the road to our next destination, we made a 100 mile diversion to Calaveras Big Trees State Park to commune with the giant sequoia trees. They had a different quality from the giant redwoods. The setting was less lush and the sequoias more sporadically situated about the area. There was one downed tree which was hollow and we walked the length without having to stoop. It took longer than we anticipated, and we found ourselves back on the road later than we had planned.

We rolled into Pebble Beach, where my Aunt Diane and Uncle Jim have lived since the sixties. It was dark by the time we were waved through by the guard in the kiosk. I’d never been before, and wasn’t aware it was a gated community. There is a fee (though as guests we were allowed in for free), and I believe the entrance fee goes toward the upkeep of the roads throughout the wooded and residential area which is tangled up with the eight (!) golf courses in the unincorporated community. The GPS had us backtracking and trying to read the street signs with a flashlight (there are no street lights). Luckily, Diane was waving at us from her door.

We had a warm and rewarding two day visit. We were toured around the peninsula, with visits to Carmel-By-The-Sea, Cannery Row, a picnic at the Pebble Beach fire department, and a stop at one of the famous country clubs.

Diane made sure we left with some of her artistic creations. She makes, among other items, gift cards and hand-painted scarfs. The experience was interesting—we were taken care of in a warm enclave of political lefties (Jim and Diane’s home), whilst surrounded by what I must assume were boiler-plate west coast millionaire Republicans.

And then, we drove down the coast, skirted LA, and headed east to spend two days with Laurie’s Aunt Lois in the town of Yucaipa, California. It was another warm visit, and I enjoyed being treated as family. Lois showed us around. We visited the neighboring town of Redlands. Also, we hiked in a park up the mountains near the town of Oak Glen.

Then we left California and made our way to a campsite in Arizona, up in the cool pine woods of the Prescott National Forest, with enough elevation that it almost got chilly at night.

The next morning we had just enough time to drive through Sedona, and we made a stop at the Chapel of the Holy Cross, a beautiful bit of architectural minimalism.

Our penultimate night on the road was spent in Albuquerque at the home of Laurie’s friend Pandora, and her wife. We were welcomed by their pack of dogs, which included two excitable corgis. In the morning Pandora treated us to breakfast at the Native American cultural center where she does volunteer work.

The next night we camped out in Hueco State Park, near El Paso.

And it was a straight drive all the way across Texas to San Antonio.