And boy, what a wild ride.
We entered California through Death Valley. I hate the heat. Vincent hates heat. Ryan is impervious to heat. We planned ahead for Death Valley, including filling a spray bottle with the water from melting ice in the cooler and filing cups with ice to sip on as we crossed the desert. It was *barely* enough.
As we descended to 200 feet below sea level, the temperatures climbed with the fervor of a sports fan trying to reach his seat in the bleachers before the game commences. It was 114F very, very quickly, despite being just before sunset.
I will say, despite my discomfort, watching the sun set over Death Valley was very, very picturesque.
That night, we camped just outside of Yosemite. The stars were almost as amazing as they had been in Marathon, Texas, and I spent most of the night time ride hanging out the window, just watching the stars twinkle.
The next morning, I woke up in no mood for anything. Nothing. I didn't want to eat. I drank enough to take my daily meds. I didn't want to deal with people. I felt nothing. This is common with depression, and while I knew I would eventually come out of it, I was feeling guilty for driving through Yosemite and not caring at all. I texted my support system, and I was encouraged to go hike a little bit.
We decided to take the park's Featured Hike- The Mirror Lake Trail. Mirror Lake is only an easy mile in, but a loop expands beyond that, and it's rated Moderate, but only about 4 miles total for the loop. Ok, cool. We parked Vincent, took the shuttle to the drop off spot at the trailhead, and threaded our way through aimlessly wandering tourists. Just when I thought I'd had enough of being shoved off the trail by loud, running children, the crowds turned to the left to look at the lake, and a silent trail beckoned ahead of me.
I wish there were photos from the next part of the hike, but we were too busy trying not to roll down the side of the mountain to take pictures. See, the actual trail had flooded out, so there was an alternate trail. Just like in Utah, I couldn't believe that park officials were actually advocating some of the stuff we were doing, but I LIKED IT.
At one point, as I was balanced on one log, using a tree branch overhead for balance, and trying to jump over some brush to a boulder, I realized I was starting to feel something besides existential ache. As I straddled a fallen tree trunk, using a sawed-off branch to help me climb upwards to where the path picked up again, I couldn't focus on anything but not falling off, because that would hurt a lot.
By the time we got to the bridge where the path picked up and started being easy again, I was fully convinced that this wave of depression was going to go away.
So, then we picked up the wrong trail and walked an extra two miles to where we'd parked Vincent, earning us a 6 mile hike, of which 1.5 miles was a total uphill barely marked obstacle course.
On the way out, I checked the internet for food recommendations, and discovered 1850 Brewery. One blueberry IPA and some scallops later, I was ready to sleep.
The next day, we planned to hit San Francisco. I wasn't entirely sure I was ready to hit city life, since we'd been pretty feral for awhile. In fact, I was downright nervous. I had this preconceived notion, based on people I'd known from this part of California, that we were going to encounter some free wheeling hippies just living the life and doing their thing. Instead, we found a bunch of hard-core city people who had no tolerance for Midwesterners who say "Ope" and "Sorry" and "Please."
As Vincent made his way through the up-down-sideways streets of San Francisco, Ryan threw up peace signs to all the other Vanagons we saw. In every other part of the country, we would get waves and peace signs and horn toots from our fellow vanners. Not here. We were boldly ignored.
Since we weren't making friends, we turned our attention to another problem- Vincent's brakes were making a weird honking noise. Our first stop was at Anchor Steam brewing, and while I enjoyed a blackberry IPA, Ryan tried to diagnose the situation with Dr. Internet for VWs.
Concluding that there was nothing we could do about it at the moment, we continued to 21st Amendment Brewing, where we took down beer and charcuterie with glee.
We also discovered a grilled cheese shop across the street, so we sopped up the rest of the beer with a korean bbq and kim chee grilled cheese sandwich that was just amazing.
Afterwards, we drove to Oakland to meet up with one of my oldest and dearest friends from back in the day when I lived in a car NOT on purpose. We visited the park where a famous racist called the cops on people for trying to BBQ while being of color. We then had drinks at the oldest gay bar this side of the Mississippi. It was a fantastic bar- very much like the dank, cozy-because-no-one-cares bars back in Ohio. The bartender decided he hated me, so we had a hard time getting drinks, but the best part was catching up with my friend. We enjoyed burgers and fries at a Halal diner, and then borrowed my friend's sofa space for the night.
The next day, the plan was to loop back through San Francisco, conquer the Golden Gate Bridge, and see the ocean from Point Reyes National Seashore. I was feeling a little hungover from my hard-won Tito's the night before, but hopped in Vincent and set off for the sea.
The drive to Point Reyes was surreal. There were mountains and fields and woods. There were horse farms and cattle farms and very few people. We passed through a few very small seaside towns on our way through, where they advertised Fresh Clams and little else. It was very comforting, compared to the coldness of the city.
To get to Point Reyes, you wind up a narrow road through hillsides dedicated to cattle ranching. No really- beef by the ocean. I wanted to get a shot of cows grazing idyllically against the backdrop of the ocean, but the roads are truly perilous, with cows crossing in front of you at a moment's notice.
The top point of Point Reyes was very cold and windy, but holy cow (har) what a view. This was my first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean, and I was not disappointed.
Ryan decided he wanted to hike to the lighthouse, and I decided I'd like to take a nap to the sound of waves crashing and wind howling. I stretched out in the back of Vincent while Ryan took a futile hike to a path that was blocked to a lighthouse that was closed. I do not regret my decision.
As we wound our way back down the hillside, back through the lowing cattle and rhythmic slosh of the cold, cold water, I started feeling human again, which was good timing. Ryan was feeling the call of Pliney the Elder from Russian River. Pliney is a beer, specifically an IPA, and he's pretty rare in Ohio. I was feeling the call of the unique pizza menu, so things worked out.
If we had known this was the last bit of fun we were going to have for a few days, I'm sure we would've lived it up a bit more. Maybe stopped for some supplies before we headed out for a camp spot. Instead, we did the "Oh, we'll do that tomorrow" thing that gets everyone in trouble, and sussed out a camp spot in Colusa. I had a little bit of a brat fit about wanting to take a shower soon, so we forked over the big bucks for a campsite with bathroom access, instead of parking under a tree in a National Forest.
It's a really good thing we did.
The next morning, Ryan took off the wheel to find out why Vincent's brakes were making grinding, sloshing, howling, and cranking noises. He discovered the brake pads were unevenly worn to grit. So he jogged down the hill to the auto parts store. I took a shower and exfoliated my face.
Ryan came back to announce that the brake pad wouldn't be in until later that night. He continued to tinker around on the car, then discovered some other part that needed replacement. He cussed and stormed off to the hardware store to replace that. I read a book in the shade.
Ryan returned again with some sandwiches and a collection of bolts and screws. A fellow from another campsite came over, and they started talking in vehicular mechanical talk that I don't understand. I took a nap under a tree.
Throughout the day, Ryan discovered more and more issues, each issue warranting a trip down to town for a part or a tool. I kept myself entertained and enjoyed the downtime. We had rice and beans for dinner, and the nighttime weather was very cool and comfortable for sleeping. That was Day 1 in Colusa.
The next day, it became apparent that we needed more than a few simple parts. There was much consternation on Ryan's part as he shimmied and banged and ripped things apart while poor Vincent stood there on three wheels and a jack.
The soonest we could get the parts was Tuesday. Day 2 in Colusa was a Saturday. We walked down to town, got drunk, and watched Justify win the Triple Crown. Running low on supplies and being nowhere near a market, we mixed ramen and chili for dinner, and ate in the dark.
Day 3 in Colusa was Sunday, and that was a special day, because the city was going to take over the campgrounds to store their construction equipment. We had to find alternate lodging, stat. Enter The Colusa Motel. I can't lie- I was kind of excited to do things like watch tv and fiddle around on the internet after days of living with limited phone service on the side of a hill. The ride down the hill in Vincent, with no way to stop by the emergency brake, was nerve-wracking, but we somehow coasted into the motel lot without damage or injury to any one or any thing!
That night, several things happened. First, Ryan attempted to order the parts we needed. Originally, they could get them by Tuesday. Now, they couldn't get them at all. Ever.
After Ryan regrouped from the resulting nuclear meltdown, we decided to go bowling to keep our minds occupied, and wandered over to the Colusa bowling alley. Very cool place. But, because if we didn't have bad luck, we'd have no luck at all, our lane broke down. Twice. The harried fellow who was working lanes, grill, bar, phone, and counter, tried to switch us to another lane, but it immediately broke down, too. We were there an hour, and bowled about five frames. The poor fellow looked at us with panic, but we calmly paid him for a full game, thanked him, and headed out to find some food.
At this point, I legit thought Ryan was going to lose it. We were stuck in Colusa. Our only vehicle had no brakes, and we couldn't find the parts to put it back together. We couldn't even go bowling without utter mayhem. We also had a planned trip to Hawaii in four days.
But desperation is the mother of necessity, who in turn begat invention, and the next day, Ryan walked to the next town over so he could be within 15 miles of the rental car company's pick up zone, rented us a car, found a secure parking spot for Vincent, and off we went. For my part, I got all of our stuff packed up and walked down the street to procure some sandwiches and a Frisbee-sized cookie.
Now we were no longer Van People, but Hyundai Accent people with a tent in the trunk.
Since we'd practically become residents of Colusa, we had to scrap a lot of the things we had planned and hurry northward so we could take a plane from Seattle to Honolulu on Thursday. But there's always time for beer and nachos, especially at Lost Coast.
We made it to Eureka that night, and did the whole "tent under a tree" thing. It was really lovely to be somewhere other than Colusa, and somewhat disorienting, as well. The temperature was cooler, the people were friendlier, and the city was larger. I'm sure we looked spooked and disheveled, but we were also determined.
At this point, Ryan somehow magically found the parts he needed in Seattle, and a huge wave of relief washed over the Hyundai. It was all gonna be ok, as long as we could make it to Seattle in the first place.
But first- Redwoods.
Our plan was to putter around for a few hours, then continue our push North. Our first trail was perfect for that. We wandered a maze of trails through the enormous trees. I was in awe. These thriving giants actually took my breath away. Before we knew it, we had traipsed through 3 miles of park, craning our necks and brushing our fingers on the worn bark of trees larger than both of us put together.
The second hike was supposed to be "let's get out of the car, go in half a mile, and take pictures." Four difficult, sweat-drenched uphill miles later, we were back at the car, gulping water and Gatorade because we didn't pack any because we weren't going to hike!
See, we got distracted by this hillside, then this tree, and ooh, look at that flower, and then "hey, we're two miles from the road," followed by thanking my hiking app for having GPS, because we were LOST, and bam, back on the path and going back downhill. My knees were not prepared for a Strenuous rated hike- but I kinda felt like a BAMF when we were done.
Our unintentional hike put us hours off of our timeline, of course, so we had to scram for Oregon, but of course, we had to say hello to some friends on the way out.
Our drive took us up the coast, so next we'll get a taste of Oregon and Washington. Don't worry- we'll be back. We have to pick up Vincent, after all!
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