Travelogue VII: Coyote Tracks and the Slow Road to the Golden Gate

Friday, August 17, 2007

The day began in Vacaville, where we checked out of the motel, stopped at a store for some tylenol and then began the drive up the coast and across the coast range to Bolinas. We took the way through Novato and across to Olemas, rather than go through the city and hit highway 1. According to Google Maps, it was only a few miles longer and way less congested.

Novato is situated among the hills of the Coast Range, and when we stopped at a gas station, I took this picture. The beauty of the hills with the dry grass and open oak groves is so different from what we are used to that I just couldn't get enough of them.




When we reached Bolinas and drove up to the camp, the campers were engaged in a closing activity. I intended to get a photo of N. doing the activity, but he saw us and ran toward us as I depressed the shutter button.

He came running up to us, happy, dirty and smelling of wood smoke, sunshine and salt water. His first words to us were, "I want to do the next class. The one in the Pine Barrens in New Jersey!" We laughed and sent him back to the group.



We followed the group up to the fire circle, for the closing ceremony. Some of the campers started the fire using a bow drill that they had made. This one was large and required three people to work it and make the fire.
One held down the fire stick and two others worked the bow drill. Finally, smoke. Quickly, several others worked with the tinder, sheltering it from the wind and breathing on it to encourage it to burn to coals. Then, in triumpth, one of the campers held up the burning coal to the wind, where it ignited and the fire was transfered to the fire pit. The closing ceremony included a thanksgiving address, then a smudge ceremony, a story and song. The campers were reminded to take their skills home with them and to teach others.




I could tell that those who attended the camp had become close from all of the unself-conscious hugs and good-bye's that took place. Each of the camp leaders had a word for us about N. Tom said that he "really got into this stuff and had learned much." Rick said that he was "very focused and had great patience with the younger ones." Matt pulled N. in for a hug, saying, "Even Navy Seals need a hug!"

Meanwhile, Bruce had gone looking for the latrines and found the Yurt. Since he now wants to put a Yurt on our land in Madeline and have star parties there, he investigated it closely. It had a beautifully finished pine platform floor, a woodstove and was as comfortable as my living room. Bruce wrote down the Yurt makers name and address for further investigation. We lingered a while longer, talking to the Commonweal Gardens people about getting off-grid using wind and solar energy. As we were driving out, we were passed by a little car with New Jersey plates--the camp teachers. I wonder how far they got that day.


As for us, we decided to take the slow road to the city. We found one on the map that lead from Bolinas across the hills, through a resevoir, and into San Rafael. We turned on what we thought was road, which was unmarked, hoping that it was the right one and knowing that it would be beautiful. It climbed immediately away from the coast, providing the most wonderful views of Bolinas Bay and the ocean beyond. In the background is Mount Tamalpias.



Soon, the road took us across a small divide, and we began to descend through redwood forest. The tall trees made a green and cool cave across the road, as it twisted and turned through hairpins on the way down to the resevoir.
We stopped to marvel at the ferns and moss that grew in the shadow of the redwoods. In many places, Australian Eucalyptus trees added a shaggy beauty and a pungent odor to the woods. There is something about the twisting, turning road and the deep shadows and pools of sunlight in the redwood forests that beckon one forward. We were silent for a long time in awe of this shaded, green world, in which the sound of our voices seemed to be an intrusion. And then we began to see a few other vehicles as we came down to the lake.





We followed the road as it crossed the dam and then began to climb again, among hills bordering the north bay. We were once again among the dry grasses and open oak groves. Near the top of the divide, we stopped to have a picnic lunch under an oak tree. Here, at last, we began to talk again. N. did most of the talking--unusual for him, as he told of the adventures he had and the things he had learned at Coyote Tracks. We told him that we noticed that he had grown a bit and that he seemed happy and relaxed. After our picnic lunch, we continued on the road and found that, indeed, it did come out at San Rafael. I had phone service again, there, and we were able to call an old friend of Bruce's family in Oakland who was expecting us to stop by.


W. lives in the Oakland Hills, which was wiped out by a great fire a number of years ago. He took us out on the deck and pointed out that all of the houses we saw, including his, are new. 300 homes were lost to that fire and 17 people lost their lives. W. had been Bruce's religious school teacher at Temple Sinai in Oakland. He and Bruce caught up while we ate home-made ice cream (peach from the trees in the hilly yard) and had coffee. N. almost fell asleep at the table, so W. showed him a place to rest. Then he took us out to a funky hamburger place on Peidmont street, just up the hill from Fenton's. And then it was time to say good-bye.

The next stop was at S.'s house in Pacifica, where we would spend the night before leaving for New Mexico in the morning. S. has been Bruce's best friend since childhood, and I was looking forward to meeting him. After another trip across the Bay Bridge, N. fell asleep on the way. We arrived in Pacifica in the twilight, and we stayed up far too late, talking over apple pie.

Travelogue VI: Back to the Bay Area

Thursday, August 16, 2007

After visiting the Lassen County Offices of Planning and Development and Surveying, Bruce and I talked briefly to the realtor again about our plans for the land. Everyone was saying that we really, really should actually see the land because it is so beautiful. But it would mean about an hour and a half in the wrong direction. It was so frustrating that we did not know where it was when we were in Medford because we could have gone by it on the way to Susanville. Bruce and I debated, but only for a few minutes. It was already nearly noon. And we had to be at the Commonweal Gardens in Bolinas by noon the next day to pick N. up from camp. And we were already facing a 5 - 6 hour drive, depending on road construction. So we determined that we would drive out to Reno another time with no other obligation than to see our land.

A stop at the gas station for fuel--petroleum for Henry and caffiene for us, as we headed back up onto the Lassen volcanic field to the west for the drive. It was my day to drive. Bruce planned to nap, but he didn't do much of it really! Riding with a geologist driver in new country can be kind of exciting at times!

After only about an hour on the road, we came to one of many reserviors in Lassen County.

Actually, we didn't even know it was there, but there was a sign for a Vista Point, so we stopped to get still another picture of Mount Shasta. However, when we drove in, we saw the most beautiful mountain lake, surrounded by tall mixed conifers--including spruce and fir.
The waters of the lake were as blue as the sky, and the scents from the trees were indescribible. And there was a small picnic area there.

It was a little after one o'clock. That settled it.

It was time for lunch.

Bruce brought out the picnic basket and I got out the party mix. Sandwiches were made. It was lovely.

Then it was time to wipe off the dishes, put the cans in the recycle bin--California may be under the 'govenator', but it is definitely a recycle-consciousness sort of place. Maybe the two are not mutually incompatible.

I drove for another hour and more, twisting through the mountains and slowing down for a little mountain town. Then past the sample labs for Lassen National forest. And then we began to descend. Down, down, across the edge of the volcanics, across the faults, and through the foothills to the Central Valley.

In several places along our journey through California, I had become intrigued with the dry summer grasses on the foothills and the lovely open oak groves. Here the oak is not the small stands of Scrub Oak, but rather the full, spreading habit of actual oak trees, complete with acorns still green on the boughs. The lack of brambles and weedy plants on the floor of the community indicates a mature ecosystem. Beautiful. Marvelous.

As the driver, it was my perogative to stop for a picture.

Then it was on down the last ear-popping thousand feet to floor of the Central Valley. And another few hours down I-5 towards Sacramento. And I noticed something else. California drivers are fast, but for the most part, not agressive. Most everybody drives in the right lane and moves left only to pass. Turn signals are used. People move out of the way for faster cars. At least in this place on this Thursday afternoon. Population pressure does have its compensations.

By the time we reach the I-80 by-pass towards Vacaville, I was becoming tired. We had planned to try to camp at a state park near Olema. But as I pulled into Vacaville, looking for a gas station, Bruce realized that I could not continue driving. He told me where to get off the highway for a Nut Farm there, and we saw a wonderful sight. Fenton's had branched out to one of the 'burbs! So we ate dinner there, and while we sipped our raspberry swirl milkshakes, we looked in the AAA book for a reasonably priced motel. From a look at the book, it was apparant that it must be Vacaville. From there we would head back across the wine country and the coast and prices increased accordingly.

We found the Super 8 just up the road. Set back from the freeway quite some distance. Quiet. It was very good. A shower. Rest. And we had only about a two hour drive to Bolinas. Excellent.

Turning Again: The Month of Elul

Last Wednesday, while we were driving to Susanville, the moon was new and the Jewish month of Elul was beginning. At the height of the summer, from the waning of the moon of Tammuz and into the waxing of the moon of Av, we hear three haftarah readings of condemnation. From the great prophets, we hear that we have turned away from the Torah of our ancestors, following after false gods--wealth, power, complacency, destruction of the land, zealotry--all of these and more, idolatries that are every bit as tempting now as then.
But after the fast of the ninth of Av, we began the seven Shabbatot of Consolation, during which the haftarot are read that invite us to return, to begin again to follow the Torah of our people, to renew our hearts. The first of the haftarot of Consolation is taken from the beautiful words of the second Isaiah on Shabbat Nachamu (Comfort):

"Comfort, comfort my people,

Says your G-d.

Speak gently to Jerusalem,

And say to her

That her term of service is over...

I will restore your judges as of old,

And your counselors as of yore;

And ever after, you shall be called

City of Righteousness, Faithful City."

Isaiah 40: 1-2,26

Aside: Being a singer, I cannot help but recall the wonderful and beautiful melodies from Handel whenever I hear this haftarah. Though when in the city youth choirs, I sang them in the winter, I recall them now in the summer--and it seems right to me, because the heat of summer will be followed by the harvest of fall.

The month of Elul, is the last month of the Hebrew year when counted from Rosh Hashanah to Rosh Hashanah. (We mark four New Years in the Hebrew calendar: the new year for counting years from the birth of the world, in fall, the new year for trees, in late winter, the new year for months--at the beginning of the month of spring, and the new year for counting animals' age, in summer). The month of Elul is the month leading up to the Yamim Nora'im, the Days of Awe and Yom Din, the Day of Judgement. During this time before the harvest of the land, we consider the harvest of our spiritual work over the year. It is time to turn inward amidst the busy-ness of our lives and prepare our hearts for the celebration of Rosh HaShanah, the 'birthday of the world,' and for the solemn day of judgement and forgiveness, Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. These are the High Holy Days, the season of holiness, when we make a separation between what we are and what we want to become. Although these are the Days of Awe, when Israel meets in solemn assembly with her G-d, this is not a time of despair. Rather, during the month of Elul, Jews practice the art of Cheshbon ha-Nefesh--the repair of the soul. We recognize that we are human--made from the humus of the earth--and as such, we are flawed and fallible. And yet within us we carry the pure soul given to us by the Creator. The art of repairing the soul means that we eschew (I love that word!) the idolatry of pretending we are perfect in order to recognize who we really are. Knowing who we really are is the beginning of finding out who it is that the Eternal created us to be.

The word for repentence in Hebrew is T'shuvah, which means to turn. The word for sin in Hebrew is Chet, which means to aim badly. The assumption is that a person is aiming for the good, but that habits and challenges obscure our vision and so we have imperfect aim. T'shuvah is the practice of taking notice of what is obscuring our aim so that we can come closer to the target. It is a practice of learning from our mistakes, rising up when we fall down, beginning again.

During the month of Elul, the Shofar (ram's horn) is sounded every week day in the synagogue. Or it can be blown at home. Some people even listen to it on the internet. It is a call of warning: "The work before us is great, the taskmaster is exacting and the day draws on towards evening..."

Selichot, prayers of repentence are said every evening (except on Shabbat) and psalms of repentence and reliance on G-d are whispered.

The word Elul in Hebrew is an anagram for the phrase "Ani l'dodi v'dodi li" which means, "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." The Eternal is the bridegroom of Israel, and during Elul, Israel prepares with trepidation, excitement and love, like a bride does to come to the marriage canopy.

In the secular calendar, the beginning of fall is full of new beginnings after the summer fallow. School years begin, transitions are made, and they are all full of busy-ness. Those of us who span two cultures, also must find time amidst the busy-ness to hear the call of the bridegroom to the bride:

"Return, O Israel, to Adonai your G-d...

Take words with you

And return to Adonai...

Generously, I will take them back in love...

I will be to Israel like the dew..."

Hosea 14:2-3,5-6

And the bride will say to the bridegroom:

"Forgive all guilt and accept what is good.

Instead of bulls we shall pay the offerings of our lips.

Assyria shall not save us...

Never again shall we call our handiwork our god,

For in You alone shall orphans find pity."

Hosea 14:3a - 4

The month of Elul has come. Time to turn again. Time to turn inward. Time of trepidation, reflection, compassion and love. A time to remember who we really are.

Travelogue V: Across to Susanville

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

After spending two nights at R.'s little house in Medford, Oregon, we packed up Henry to travel to Susanville, California where we were to meet a realtor about land that Bruce and R. had inherited in Lassen County. The original plan had been that we would go to Oregon to meet R. and drive him down to Susanville with us to get the lay of their land. But R. is in the middle of sugery to replace the lenses in his eyes. He had the left eye done a week before we left and he will have the right eye done this very week. When he is done with it, he will be able to see better than anyone in the family and his life will change considerably. R. had appointments on Thursday and he also needed some help around the house. It is a small house that R. bought for a song. Built in the 1920's, it has the original built-ins and beadwork wainscotting--and hardwood floors! R. had a front porch added (pictured) and some structural work done before moving in, but much remains for when he can see well. Given the time constraints and the condition of the house, we decided we'd do better to help R. out a little with some housework. He also needed a vacuum cleaner and some other household items. So we drove him to a "club" store for those things and then we helped with some cleaning. Bruce got a little overzealous, trying R.'s patience at times--it's the sibling thing. I guess none of us ever really outgrow it! We did make a sizable dent though, and R. will be more comfortable until his eyes heal. The house is going to be a gem when R. gets done with it!

With an eye toward camping on our own land that night, Bruce and I stopped at Safeway before heading out of town. Back up, up, up out of the Oregon Valley and across to California on I-5. This time, though, we got off the interstate at the town of Mount Shasta to drive southeast to Susanville. Soon we were in the National Forest, surrounded by Ponderosa Pines and Douglas Fir. The road was relatively lightly traveled and we were able to stop to get some really good pictures of Mount Shasta as we went. I was marveling at the difference in the Alpine life zones this far north. Although our elevation was lower than where we live in New Mexico, the life zone of mixed conifer was all around us. Latitude makes a great difference and the life-zones shift down in elevation as you travel north in latitude.

We stopped for lunch at a Mt. Shasta vista point, thinking we'd drive straight on to Susanvill without a stop. But even in the wilds of northern California, summertime is also construction season! Cal-Trans was doing a rather ambitious project to replace the road and widen one stretch. The sign said that the stop time could be up to half-an-hour. So as more and more cars lined up to wait for our turn to be taken through the mess, people got out of their cars to use the conveniently placed facility and enjoy the green shade of the trees, feel the cool breeze and smell the fresh oxygen wafting across the forest. We realized that we were not going to make Susanville by mid-afternoon, and so what? We shrugged and laughed and decided to enjoy the forest.






After a while, the pilot vehicle appeared and a prodigious line of cars, lumber trucks and construction vehicles passed by. Then it was our turn to follow the pilot through the maze of stabilized dirt road, twisting and turning past men and women in hard hats, surveying stakes, and heavy equipment. I was happy that we were driving Henry!

The construction past, we found ourselves in the Lassen volcanic field, the southernmost part of the High Cascades. Mount Lassen stands within the collapse caldera of a larger volcano, Tehama, that 450,000 years ago, stood within the even larger caldera of the massive volcano Maidu. Tehama was at least as large as Mount Shasta is at present, and Maidu, which preceded it by hundreds of thousands of years, was truly a giant! Mount Lassen is an active volcano and last erupted in 1915. Lava flows and ash and mud slides from that eruption are still raw and obvious, and I took this picture as we rounded Lassen's northwest flank. The growth on the ash and lava shows the succession from pioneer species to more stable stages, however the mature forest has not yet appeared. One can see the boundaries of the flows from far away, by noting where the shrub and tangle give way to mature forest.

As we rounded Mount Lassen, we came into Lassen county, and after winding across the volcanic terrain, we descended to Susanville, which lies between the High Cascades and the Basin and Range.

When we met with the realtor, we found out that our land was about an hour north in Madeline, California. Had we realized that, we could have driven from Medford through Klamath Falls, Oregon and come right by it! We also found out that the land in that area had not appreciated in value much since 1969, although sooner or later it probably will, being about two-and-a-half hours from Reno. The realtor advised that we visit the Lassen County Development Office to find out about zoning and restrictions. It was clear we were not going to see our land that day!

Instead of camping on our land, we checked into the River Inn, a small motel near the middle of town. It was an old motel, but very comfortable. While Bruce took a nap, I downloaded pictures and discovered that I had internet access--even in a small town on the road to nowhere! After we had our picnic supper in our room--cold fried chicken, cole slaw, potato salad and Mandarin Lime sodas--we went out looking for ice cream. And the manager of the motel turned out to be a wealth of information about the area where our land is located. "It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen," he told us. "Really dark at night so you can see the stars. It is a plain surrounded on three sides by mountains. There is nobody there. It is definitely worth keeping." Bruce and Dave discussed putting up a Yurt, using solar and wind power to stay off-grid, and running a camp for astronomers in the summer.

Our visit to the county the next morning got us information on the zoning--rural, agricultural, residential. And the county planner also enthused about the beauty of the Madeline Plain. "You gotta see it!" he said, repeatedly. He was planning to buy a piece and put up--you guessed it--a Yurt, live off the grid and hunt and fish to his heart's content.

We decided that it was not a good time to sell the land and that we ought to see it on another trip. In the meantime, the realtor, Elizabeth, would check to see if we could lease it out for agricultural use.

All in all, it was a productive visit to Susanville even if we didn't get to camp on our own land--this time!

Travelogue IV: Oregon by Way of Wine Country

Monday, August 13, 2007

Petaluma, California. The morning is cool and the air is damp at sunrise as we get ice into the coolers. Today's objective is to drive up to Medford, Oregon to see Bruce's brother, R.
We are going to cut over to Napa and drive up highway 29, the road through wine country and then, at the north end of it, cut back east to hit I-5 for the run up to Oregon.

It feels really strange to be just the two of us again, after the intense weekend with N. But he is at camp. I wondered how he was doing and checked my cell phone just to be sure that they hadn't tried to call and I missed it somehow. I'm such a Jewish mother!


In Napa, we tried to have breakfast at Bruce's mom's favorite place, but it was not serving breakfast, so we settled (rather comfortably, though) for Marie Callendars. Then it was on up to Yountville, where we drove to the California Veteran's Home Cemetery, where Bruce's parents are buried. Bruce's dad resided at the veterans home during the last years of his life because he had Parkinson's Disease. His mom sold their home in Oakland and lived her last years nearby, in Yountville. When Bruce's dad died in 1992, he was originally interred at the National Cemetery at the Presidio in San Francisco. Bruce's mom remained in Yountville, where she made herself indispensible as a volunteer at the Veteran's Home. So when she died unexpectedly in 2000, the administrators agreed to allow her to be buried there in the cemetery. So Bruce had his father moved to Yountville and buried with his wife, Bruce's mother. The marker has Bruce's father's name and dates on the front and his mother's are on the back. When I took the picture above, Bruce stepped in behind the marker just as I snapped the shutter. But you can see that we had already placed the stones on the marker, as Jews do, when they visit the graves of loved ones. It was the first visit Bruce had made since the unveiling of the gravestone in 2001. So he cried a little and then we admired the beauty of the place--for the cemetery is surrounded by fields of grape vines and that has a symbolism all its own.


Having taken care of his filial duties, Bruce and I drove on down to the road to Cakebread Cellars. Jack Cakebread, proprieter of Oakland's famous Cakebread Garage, had been involved in Little League when Bruce was a volunteer umpire, and he had fixed Bruce's cars over the years.
He was also a photographer, and while on assignment in the Wine Country, he fell in love with the beauty of the place and told a family friend with land there that he would buy if they ever wanted to sell. They did want to sell. Right when Jack had children in college, but he and his wife took the gamble, and then had to learn to make wine! They never expected to be as successful as they became at it, and they marvel at their good fortune. Now semi-retired, Jack works with college students, teaching them how to follow their dreams, and he's still out and about at the winery. He remembered Bruce, and when we told him where N. was, he recommended Outward Bound for him when he gets a little older. He had sent his son, he said, when he was in high school. He said he sent them "a sixteen year old boy and I got back a sixteen year old man." Although we did not have an appointment, we were escorted into a tasting and learned a lot about the Napa Valley. Of course we came home with some really good wine as well.


After the tasting, we drove on up through the wine country, enjoying the sights of all the wineries and the fields. They have all manner of technology to assist in the growing of the grapes, in case "mother nature throws us a curveball," as our guide for the tasting put it. The picture is of a heater for the vines should the temperature become too cold.

The Napa valley can produce all sorts of varieties of grapes because the soil differs so much across it. This is because the coast range to the west is composed of various metamorphics that are part of the Coast Range Amphibolites, and the range to the east is volcanic. The Napa river flows through the middle of it all, and has made lenses of different soils. The climate is mediterranian and quite mild, usually, which is good for the grapes as well. Jack says that you need a good grower and a good wine maker and good grapes and then mother nature can throw all the curves she wants (note the baseball analogy!), but you will have good wine.


We left wine country and continued north through the lake district until we reached the Andersen Valley. There, we made our way east through the open oak groves on the coast range, until we came out into the great and fertile Central Valley. The Central Valley bedrock is the same as rocks in the Coast Ranges, but in the ranges the rocks are a melange--all messed up--whereas in the valley they are almost layer-cake in their simplicity. The Central Valley is a great sliver of oceanic crust that got stuck in the Sierran Subduction Zone, and did not subduct when the subduction then began occuring further east, at the Franciscan Subduction Zone. On that bedrock, alluvium from the Sierras and river sediments have formed an amazing flat, fertile valley that stretches several hundred miles from the Tehachipi mountains in the south, to the rise of the Klamath north of Redding, California. It is incredible in it's flatness, it's immensity and fertility. Although there is not much to see geologically speaking, just alluvial fans here and there, and some stray volcanoes near Colusa, it is still impressive in a way that words cannot describe. I remembered the Central Valley as hot, with a hard brightness that hurts the eyes. And it was. But we zipped as quickly up I-5, getting more than twice the distance that we got while winding through the volcanics north of the Wine Country.

North of Redding, we began to climb into the Klamath Mountains. The Klamath are a block of the Sierra that broke away and moved 60 miles north and east. The terranes are analogous to the suspect terranes of the Sierra, and are every bit as faulted and overturned and sometimes unidentifiable. By the time we stopped at a rest stop for Lake Shasta, I-5 was riding in between the melanges and terranes of the Klamath to the west and the High Cascade Volcanics to the east.

There was no good view of the lake at the rest stop, but I got this wonderful picture of a blue jay working for pine nuts. The jays were plentiful and not too shy--they seemed used to tourists and the sounds of their cameras. As for the lake, the crossing on the bridge was spectacular, but you will just have to imagine the very blue and white waters surrounded by mountains!


Mount Shasta,, the highest mountain in California, was constantly in sight from just north of Redding until our descent into Oregon.
It is a Rhyolite volcano. These volcanoes are very gassy and viscous, producing explosive eruptions, with clouds of glowing welded tuff that can blanket the countryside. Shasta, like all of the volcanoes of the Cascade range, was made by ongoing subduction of Pacific plate crust under the westward moving North American plate. Although the Franciscan Subduction zone was replaced by the San Andreas fault, subduction and volcanism are still occuring farther north. This means that the volcanoes of the Cascades are still active, as anyone who remember the eruption of Mount St. Helens can attest.

As we left Mount Shasta on the horizon behind us, we climbed the pass and then made the steep descent into the Orgegon valley. The descent was so steep, even on the interstate highway, that we were in 4th gear most of the way. When we came to Medford, we had the unique experience of being guided through the streets by a legally blind, non-driver. We had to go slow as the landmarks a walker orients by are different, but after a few miscommunications we made it to Crater Lake Avenue, and R.'s 1920's "diamond in the rough." The day ended with Chinese food and being greated by a big black bear of a dog, Xena, the Princess Warrior. She looks fierce but she is very quiet and friendly. She doesn't wag her tail to greet you. Oh, no! She wags her whole body with excitement!

Be It Ever So Humble...

Ah, home.

We arrived last night at about 7 PM. Since it was my day to drive, Bruce got a nap. He unloaded Henry with a little help from N. while I had a Guiness Draught and put my feet up. We were just in time to watch the sunset from our bedroom patio doors.

It was nice to walk through the house and feel the familiar space. The dogs were overjoyed to see us and did their happy dances. The cats?

Cloudy: "Will you greet them or should I?"

Binky, while grooming his forepaw: "I greeted them last time. It's your turn."

Cloudy: "If I must..."

Binky: "But wait! It's dinner time. I think you should meow at the door. It's your turn. And besides, you have the loudest meow. I have a hard time sounding Siamese..."

Ah! Home Sweet Home!

Travelogue III: Two Bridges to Camp

Sunday, August 12, 2007: We woke up in Auburn, California, which is in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. We missed seeing the Sierra from I-80, because we made the drive from Reno to Auburn at night. I really regretted that, because the Sierra was formed by the building of California by suspect terranes, and I wanted to see some of the terranes. But, we were closer to where we needed to be and planned to take a drive through Oakland, Bruce's hometown, before proceeding on to Bolinas, where the COTE Cyote Tracks Camp was to to take place. The drive to Oakland started in the foothills of the Sierra and then we quickly descended into California's Central Valley, a unique landscape created by a change in subduction zones toward the end of the Mesozoic period. I-80 crosses the great Central Valley on the Sacramento river delta, which is actively building, and then proceeds through the Coast Range from Vacaville into Oakland. The Coast Ranges started by the subuction of island arcs in the Franciscan trench just off the coast of northern California, in Miocene time (26 to 20 million years BP). When the trench met the oceanic ridge where new crust was forming, the trench and ridge became inactive and the North American and Pacific plates met along a right lateral transform fault, the famous San Andreas Fault. When the fault swerves left, rocks jam up against thrust faults, and that forms the Coast Ranges in California. I say "forms" because the San Andreas is active: the North American plate is moving west and the Pacific plate is moving northwest, so there is still friction along the fault and the mountains are still rising.


Oakland, California is built on the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay. The commercial district and the Port of Oakland (largest container port in the world) are on the flat shore, and the town rises into the Oakland Hills, part of the Coast Range. The area is faulted like nobody's business, and the Hayward fault runs through Oakland.

After negotiating Sunday noon traffic from I-80, our first stop in Oakland was Fenton's Creamery, because Bruce insisted that this was an Oakland tradition. The parking lot on Piedmont street was full so Bruce, a pro at parallel parking--"Hey, I'm an Oakland boy!"--parked up the curb on a narrow side street.


Bruce said that all rules are in abeyance when you go to Fenton's, so N. had the Jumbo Banana split for lunch. It contains three pounds (yes, pounds) of ice cream, but N. managed to eat most of it without help. The picture is proof that I am not exaggerating!

Bruce and I split a Jumbo Mocha Almond malt, which left room for us to split a tuna sandwich on San Francisco Sour Dough as well.
N. was not hungry for the rest of the day! :)
We had just enough time after Fenton's to drive around Bruce's childhood neighborhood. Up and down the hilly, narrow streets we went, and we saw Bruce's grandma Sarah's old house, his first house and his second house on Clarendon Crescent. I was glad Bruce was driving Henry--who seemed to be a "Supersize Red Truck." I realized then and there, that most people probably do not drive full-sized pick-ups with standard shifts if they live in the Bay Area.


Then it was time to drive N. out to Bolinas, which is on the coast, north of Sausalito. We alloted ourselves two hours to get him there. It was almost enough.

First, we had to cross the famous Bay Bridge from Oakland to San Francisco. They make you pay to get into San Francisco on any of the bridges, but you can get out for free! So we had to wait in line to pay our toll, being that we are outlanders and did not have the automatic toll reader. The picture was taken as we approached Treasure Island on the first part of the bridge.

Then we had to get off I-80 and wind around the city streets in San Francisco, on Highway 101. The approach to the Golden Gate Bridge is from Van Ness Avenue, but we had to twist and turn on a few other streets as well. Although there was no toll to cross the Golden Gate going north--they really do let you out of San Francisco for free--it was a Sunday afternoon and it took nearly an hour to get to and cross the bridge. I took the picture as we were stopped on the bridge approach.

We still had time for our five o'clock arrival at the Commonweal Gardens, but the directions we got did not say that staying on highway 101 meant twisting through the streets of Mill Valley. We ended up going straight where we should have turned and we saw the sawmill at Mill Valley, before stopping to get directions from a local who was walking her dog. That got up back to the intersection and we then stopped at a taco place to get more comprehensive directions. The girls there happily told us how to get there.
A short conversation:
Girl: "You'll think you are going nowhere, but keep with it. The people from Bolinas don't want people from here to find them. They take down signs. There will be no sign to Bolinas."
Me: "Why is that? Are they stuck up?"
Girl: "No, they are the original 'flower children hippies.' The authentic thing. They think the rest of us in Marin County are stuck up."
I was having my doubts at this point. What is this place I am taking my son to? I mean, I don't really know these "authentic hippies". But I said nothing to Bruce and N. and we pressed on.



After winding our way slowly and in traffic across the divide and around Mount Tamalpias, we finally made it to the camp. It was beautiful. Bolinas sits on a spit of land that juts out between Bolinas Bay and the Pacific Ocean. The camp was located among oaks, eucalyptus, and pine in a valley on the shore. No wonder the native "authentic hippies" don't want the tourists to find it! They'd be innundated.

We were a few minutes late, but when I tried to explain why, Rick--the guy from New Jersey who runs Coyote Tracks just said, "You're not late. Everybody seems to be arriving now." And I realized that they were running on a version of Jewish Standard Time. Perhaps called "Naturalist Standard Time?" Whatever. In any case, on time obviously meant "whenever everybody comes." Getting N. "registered" was really informal, too. It mean explaining to Rick how to do N.'s meds, loading his stuff onto a hand-cart and standing around smelling the eucalyptus while N. got started on making some rope. I was impressed by the gentle directions being given and the low-key but focussed approach by which N. was being taught. Finally, we just drifted away, since we were hungry and needed a campsite.

We drove on up Highway 1 to Olema, where we found the Olema Farm House. Very good pasta and not too bad of price considering that we were in Marin County. And then we went looking for a camp site and encountered the realities of the California lifestyle. In New Mexico, when you want to go camping you just drive onto the National Forest, find a campground, drive around it until you find an open spot, occupy the spot and pay at the self-pay station. This has been true any place we have camped in the intermountain west as well as other parts of the country. Not in California. There you must make resevations to camp weeks in advance and follow a complicated set of instructions to register and pay. California is over-crowded and over-regulated, and, as we discovered, over-priced. It cost $40.00 for a tent-site at the campground near Olema. For a tent-site! One night. They did provide wireless internet access and a shower, but who needs wireless if you are tent camping! It was pretty and a short drive from the coast, but still!

California: regulations up the whazoo! Traffic. And really expensive camping. Well. California. Nice place to visit but make a reservation. And expect to pay.

Posted from Sedillo, New Mexico! We are home.