Portland! day three, Welcome to Oregon

On our third day out, the rain let up by early morning in Eureka. We had a long way to go and a reservation at the Blue Bird Guesthouse in Portland that night. With some hot coffee we jumped on the road north. On the way to Crescent City was another stretch of coast redwoods and a drippy green canopy of moss.
Add to that some fairy tale weathered coast peeking out of fog and clouds and herds of Elk on the road and you know you're really in the Pacific Northwest (even if it is just the southern tail of it.) The Roosevelt Elk herds are on the road enough to need their own am radio station to inform drivers of their habits. We tuned in and listened to the looping crackly broadcast warning the foolish away from trying to feed the friendly looking beasties. We took the advice and stopped for a photo opportunity some distance down the road from the herd. Then, out of the forest near Klamath rose another two mythical denizens of the Pacific Northwest, Paul Bunyan, and Babe (Sasquatch greeted us in the previous installment). Our early morning start from Eureka brought us to The Trees of Mystery and the giant welcoming committee too early to hear Paul speak. According to Roadside America when the place is swinging and the parking lot is full of visitors Paul perks up and makes helpful suggestions to people passing by like, "Say, you look like you could use a visit to our gift shop and cafe. We have hot and cold beverages to refresh the weary traveler." Paul was silent for us and the few people around were staff working on some plumbing maintenance in the restrooms. Oh well. After the obligatory jump with our giant new acquaintances, the hot engine provided a thermos full of tea to keep us perked up through the grey day and the on-again off-again rain that followed us to Portland.Planning ahead, I prepared our lunch of potatoes, onions, and mushrooms with salt, pepper, and olive oil in a big foil lump. This would steam for the next two hours of our drive and be ready for the noon snack somewhere up the road.

After Crescent City we turned inland on highway 199 toward Grants Pass. There we'd join interstate 5 all the way to Portland. Sorry to say we really don't have any photos of this stretch. The rain and some photo fatigue kept mrs. a-go-go off the shutter. The Welcome to Oregon sign along highway 199 was a welcome sight. A new state at last. Climbing the grades up into the mountains we saw a dramatic change in flora. Driving inland and higher in altitude we left the coast rain forest and entered a more sparse and dry landscape for a while. From Grants Pass north bound on interstate 5 The thick conifer forest returned but here we could see the patchwork of clear cuts. In places the clear cuts left thin bands of standing trees in an attempt to veil the scarred patches from the public driving on the 5.

After Eugene the agricultural valley of the Willamette River opened the way to Portland where we arrived in light rain by sundown. A few consultations with the map and we made our way to the Blue Bird Guesthouse. Check in consisted of punching in a code at the front door and finding the keys to our room in the door upstairs. Each room is named after an author. Ours was the Sherman Alexie. The rates are reasonable and we found the guesthouse very comfortable, but you will likely be sharing a bathroom with other guests if you decide to visit. It was bed time at last, after finding a bite to eat in the neighborhood. The next day we would explore downtown and meet up with Le Silly.

Portland! day two, gettin' there is wet and green

Waking up to cool damp fog and knowing we were not in a hurry, it was time for a couple of detours from highway 101. First, a drive through Sebastapol where this burst of fall color popped out of the fog. For a slow drive through postcard worthy green hills and pastures the roads west of Sebastapol can't be beat. We poked along the way to Bodega Bay stopping for surprise moss covered grave stones, grazing sheep, and patches of dew coated fennel.


In Bodega Bay we searched high and low for the church featured in The Birds but no luck. The town was sleepy and the water of the bay was dead calm. A short walk along the shore and a breakfast snack left us damp with sea mist. With one last apprehensive scan of the sky for gathering squabbles of gulls we drove the wacky, windy highway 1 north for a bit. Then, turning east through Guerneville we crossed the 101 again and entered wine country on the Alexander Valley road. Four miles up the road is the Jimtown Store where we stopped for lunch. The sandwiches there are tasty though a bit pricey, and it can get crowded at this popular stop. The wine tasters, schools of bicyclists in superhero spandex, and Sunday Riderz can be overwhelming but we came back for the sandwiches and scenery anyhow. (Our first time was back in 2002 for the Cotati Accordion festival because we're goofy like that. For that trip we hit up Penn Valley to visit with family and then drove all curvy-durvy to the Jelly Belly factory, Jimtown Store, the festival and more.)

From Jimtown we made a bee line for Humboldt on the 101. Now, I can blather on about the green and wet that we passed through but I think a string of pictures will do a better job. Welcomed by Sasquatch hisownself, we slopped around in the fecundity.




A bit north of Humboldt Redwoods State Park the sun was wiped out by storm clouds and we knew we were in for soak. No more pleasant mist damping our hats, this was a torrent. The windshield wipers struggled to cope with the kind of wet that makes Eureka notorious. With the small goal of finding a dry motel bed and at an achingly slow pace to stay on the road, we paddled into Eureka listening to Bollywood music on some radio station the scan function discovered. Dinner at a roadside diner, a hot shower, and dry clothes helped shake off the downpour. Sleep is always extra welcome when the water is pouring down and you have found your dry place to wait it out.

Portland! day one, gettin' there is half the fun

Aack! Things have been so busy, and I have neglected so many of our previous travels, but here's the beginning of one of my favorites. Late in 2008 we trekked to Portland, Oregon. A place we hope to visit again on the west coast leg of the Big Trip.

On our first visit to Portland we met with lots of swell people, some for the first time in person. Certainly, for this trip, gettin' there was half the fun. We took our time meandering up the California coast sticking mostly to highway 101, and our official starting point was San Luis Obispo. After spending the night with family we struck out northbound driving the long coastal valley past some of the richest agricultural land anywhere. The vineyards turned to vegetables and near Salinas, to endless rows of those giant edible thistles, artichokes. Naturally, we had to have a jump with the world's largest artichoke in Castroville. We were some distance from the acres of garlic near Gilroy but the onions still managed to perfume our path.
After a failed experiment with baking tiny cakes in orange peels on the car engine (they just didn't bake through... gotta stick to things that can be steamed over an hour or two or maybe tiny oranges) we had a quick road side lunch at In-N-Out (and NOT Margie's where the burgers were $10 and the service nonexistent). Then it was on to Santa Cruz to visit with St. Blaize and Neville, some of our favorite people. We had tea and a snack of fresh little tomatoes. This was our second visit to Santa Cruz and we feel at home there. It's near the top of our list of possible places to live for the next phase of our lives.St. Blaize and Neville took us on a tour of the neighborhood and community garden. Sigh... I hope we are not so broke after our trip that we can't search for a good place to land (are there any available near you Blaize?).

After our brief visit it was time to head further north. The fog rolled in and gave us a taste of the wet we'd be in for most of the trip.

We arrived in Burlingame by sundown, just it time to visit the Pez Museum before the proprietor closed up shop for the night. The variety is overwhelming, and includes vintage Pez vending machines featuring an illustrated Pez lady with lusty eyes and full lips. She seemed to suggest much more than freash breath, "Doppel PEZ fur 2 PEZ-BOX fullungen!" Our eyes glazed over all the candy colored kitsch and we realized we were starving. The proprietor had an excellent suggestion where to find a hot dinner in the neighborhood. Just around the corner they were serving up hot bowls of Vietnamese Pho. Our fondness for this dish is a subject I think I have well covered in previous posts. Maybe it was our hungry state or maybe it was the dreary cold weather, either way, that soup still sticks in the noggin as one of the best bowls we've had.

Back on the road we lost our way among the confusing one-way streets of San Francisco. Getting lost in the center of San Francisco at night in the middle of a street protest with nowhere to park and read the map, is not unlike Alice falling down the rabbit hole. With some dead reckoning and persistence we found our way across the Golden Gate. After a short stop on the north side of the bridge for some long exposure photos and humorous view of the cats and raccoons that hung around all buddy buddy, we picked a plain little motel in Petaluma for a night's rest. We passed out early knowing we had many miles of coast redwood forest to look forward to in the morning.