Thursday, August 14

California Bloggin’

It’s Day Twelve of our journey to the Golden State and back and it has been a hoot. Right upfront let me get this out of my system: California needs signs! With complete information: highway numbers, arrows, distances and maybe even a mention of a ferry terminal where one exists. While the motto of Oregon drivers is “I’d rather go really fast and kill someone than drive the speed limit and piss ‘em off”, the California motorists’ motto is: “Signs? We don’t need no stinkin’ signs! We got GPS.” Well, some of us don’t and it sure would be nice to know where the Larkspur Ferry Terminal is, if it exists, which we doubt, but that’s another story.

On August 2 we waved goodbye to Canada, then waved again, then again… it took an hour and a half to get through the border crossing south of Cranbrook. Once we reached Idaho it was smooth driving to Sandpoint. On this, our first day on the adventure, we did not have motel reservations as Jim’s thinking was, “How busy can it be?” After driving around the town a few times, stopping at half a dozen motels that were so busy they hadn’t had time to put out the NO Vacancy sign, we opted for a “spa suite” (Jacuzzi in the room) at a Days Inn on the north side of town. And then it was time for the highlight of the day: pizza at Second Avenue Pizza! Don’t miss it if you’re ever in Sandpoint.

As we finished our dinner I noticed the wind coming up and then a huge tree branch flew across the sky and we knew something was happening. The power went out just about then and we packed up the rest of our pizza and went out the door. It was bizarre, only 7 pm but really dark, thunder and lightning and the wind was ferocious. We got in the Jeep to make the 10-minute drive back to the hotel and discovered trees down, limbs crashing into cars, roads covered side-to-side in small branches and ripped-off leaves. We had to keep detouring through the old neighborhoods and when we finally made it to the one and only road out of town to the north, it was blocked by emergency crews and traffic. Power had failed for the entire town. So of course, no traffic lights anywhere, and all the intersections were dicey. Finally we drove all the way across the causeway south to the other side of the lake, turned around and managed to drive all the way back to Ponderay and our hotel on the new bypass that goes right through the town but has no on-ramps! It took us over an hour to get there. Sirens, lightning and wind all night. The electricity came back on at 3:45 a.m., which meant, of course, we had no opportunity to use our “spa.” Oh well.

Days Inn sign blew down during the Sandpoint storm

The long drive to Lewiston passes through spectacular farming country, full of low, rolling hills and old farmsteads in the Palouse area. The town of Lewiston is a treasure – historic old buildings and meandering streets along the Snake and Clearwater rivers. Wildfires all around kept the air thick and orangey so there wasn’t a Kodak Moment during our stay. And then we were away to Pendleton Oregon, a place neither of us has visited, and where the underground tunnel tours are famous – and don’t happen on Tuesdays – when we were there. So we opted for a tour of the world-famous Pendleton Wool Factory – which was on a different schedule than we were told. We ended up leaving Pendleton with a bag of wool off-cuts and a “maybe next time” promise.

Down the Columbia River Gorge to Portland the air was really bad with thick smoke but we were able to see Mt. Hood to the south and Mt. St. Helens to the north.

Mt. Hood

Have you driven to/through Portland? Not pleasant, is it? We were so glad to be through that city and on the western outskirts (Beaverton), although we’re still shaking our heads at the thought that one must travel the freeway to go to dinner a mile away. Perhaps we’ve lived on Maui too long. Dinner at the Olive Garden was well worth the white-knuckle experience and we managed to get back to the motel via surface roads, with only three wrong turns. Dang those one-way streets!

The Oregon Coast was our destination the next day and we made it to the Tillamook Cheese Factory with no problem, picked up our requisite three pounds of cheese, and turned south. This is highway we hadn’t traveled before and we found it interesting but not as spectacular as we had hoped. True, Highway 1 goes through some wonderful rain forest, along wide expanses of beach and pounding surf, and has a never-ending view of offshore rocks, promontories and little old fishing villages… but it gets a little repetitive. We spent the night in Lincoln City then traveled on to Coos Bay, then to Crescent City California and to Ukiah.

Generic Oregon coastline

Jim decided at the last minute to drive to Novato via the coastal route so we headed west through Boonville and found the narrowest, windiest, wildest two-lane highway since the road to Hana. Some places were too narrow for a centerline; some spots had 500-foot drop-offs on both sides, few stretches had guardrails. Oh, what fun. Jim drove and I laughed. When we reached the ocean at Port Arena it was my turn to drive and Jim’s turn to laugh. Highway 1 hugs the coastal cliffs in a series of tight s-curves and dips and, of course, we were on the outside. Did I mention the lack of guardrails? By the time we got to Jenner I was bug-eyed with tension and Jim took over.

As we got closer to San Francisco I got in touch with my old friend Stella who lives in San Anselmo. She and I worked together in the printing business 35 years ago on Maui and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. We checked into our motel in Novato then made our way to Stella’s house for dinner with her and her gorgeous son, Nick. A lovely evening, ending with plans to go into the city with her the next morning.

It wasn’t to be – Stella had a job interview to prepare for and her daughter arriving for a visit, so Jim and I were on our own for the day. We were told to take the Larkspur Ferry to Fisherman’s Wharf. We’re pretty sure the Larkspur Ferry is a myth. By the time we realized we weren’t going to find it, we were all the way down to Tiburon, and finally managed to find that ferry terminal but only by stopping a cyclist and asking where the heck it was! Truly, signs would be helpful, California.

Jim on the Tiburon Ferry to San Francisco

Joy on the hill to Coit Tower

Our day in the big city was wonderful: clam chowder at Fisherman’s Wharf, people-watching, and then the Big Hike up to Coit Tower and then down to Market Street where Jim found the old office building where he worked as an architect in the early 70s. He had a terrific day, recognizing places and remembering times and people he knew back then. We caught the ferry back to Tiburon only to hear of the death of Robin Williams that very day in that very town. Shock and grief were stamped on faces everywhere, and my friend Stella was personally struck by this sadness. She has known him since their Mill Valley days when they often double-dated.

Well, after the frenetic pace of freeways and traffic we were happy to head east to Jackson where we’re spending a few days with one of Jim’s oldest friends. Clark and Suzanne have a lovely home in the hills with easy access to everything one could ask for: thrift stores for me, bakeries for Jim and casinos for all. We’re about to go exploring Sutter Creek right now so I’ll give this a rest and post it tomorrow morning. Sorry it’s so long but, well… it has been 12 days and I do like to talk story.