We could afford a more leisurely start this morning. So I reorganized all my ‘stuff’. Things I need quickly (like raingear, snacks, maps) go on top. Emergency ties and seldom used items like video game joy sticks and Datsun repair manuals go on the bottom. Curiously, I seem to have less stuff than I started with. It’s kind of like a box of corn flakes—shake it around and it all settles to the bottom and creates lots of space.
The day started drizzly, but not grizzly, and finally cleared and warmed up. I even stripped off the rain gear at my lunch stop, wishing I could bury it down there with the joy sticks.How delightful to feel sun on my face, if only briefly!
The road from Geyserville to Calistoga (connecting the Sonoma and Napa valleys) was gorgeous! Vineyards were plentiful of course, with their little brown and leafless grapevine skeletons laid out with anal precision.
There were misty hills and farmland, rustic old stone or clapboard buildings, and countless invitations to come on in and taste some wines. Regrettably I passed the kind invitations by. Yes I know. I can hear my Nanaimo friends suck air in through their front teeth at the sound of such blaspheme. I have few principles, but I very rarely drink anything at all when I am on two wheels. And given the high centre of gravity of my steed and my already compromised navigation skills in unfamiliar terrain, I need clarity more than giggles.
But it was a painful decision.
Headed west on 12 at Napa to rejoin the coast at Tomales Bay at Point Reyes National Park, just north of San Francisco. This long and narrow little inlet follows the San Andreas Fault trace as it veers off into the Pacific to form the Mendocino Fracture Zone. Most notably, this was the location of the epicenter of the terrible earthquake that leveled San Francisco in 1906.
I loved the eucalyptus forests that lined the coastal route (Hwy 1 for those following a map) and especially that heady fragrance that reminded me of hippy shops of the 60’s that were always piled high (!) with similarly scented soaps and candles.
Twists and turns became a tangled series of tight switchbacks, climbing up and over a coastal range that would have offered breathtaking vistas had it not been for the thick fog. A blessing, actually, since there were no shoulders or barricades, so I didn’t mind not looking down. As I age I find I am not particularly fond of heights, and that bugs me.
The road spit me out at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge. Cruised through Sausalito but was tired and hungry and had to stop and reenergize. When I did become lucid I began to think where to crash for the night. (Note to Self: Have destination alternatives planned out at the start of the day). Drove around the Tiborun Peninsula looking for a non-existent campground, but the ranger dude suggested some alternatives, none of which panned out. There is a federal campground actually underneath the G.G. Bridge on the north end, but one needs to reserve online in advance. On the up side, that particular wild goose chase brought me to an impressive overlook of the bridge and city at a time when the angle of the sun and the cloaking marine fog made an outstanding scene.
It was getting late in the afternoon, so I shot through the city towards Pacifica, a place whose state campground no longer exists. On the way I did encounter a hostel situated at an old lighthouse so I stopped to check it out. The proprietor was an absolute gem. It was filled up but she suggested a hotel less than a mile away, then she phoned and negotiated a rate on my behalf. I did reserve the hostel for tomorrow night and this will give me a chance to backtrack and spend the day in San Francisco and have a bed waiting at day’s end.
That hostel is something else! I’ll describe it to you tomorrow.
