Thanks to Alley, Kim, Liz and Molly for putting us up over that first weekend in Berkeley!
We spent the weekend in Berkeley, doing our best to be good house-guests in spite of the fact that we were three men and a dog with a truckload of stuff (with no truck to store it in) stinking up a household of four relatively classy ladies in berkeley. In the end, we pulled it off with aplomb. We made sure to do our dishes and we bought our own food and we made Sake Margaritas for all and sundry, and to top it off Sixto was a pure gentleman, really sold the whole thing.
Friday night was Lanesplitters and the Acme, and Saturday we watched Bound For Glory, an Oscar-winning 1970's biopic of Woody Guthrie with none other than David Carradine playing the legendary American folk hero. The film's style seems very slow -- as a lot of 30-year-old movies do to 21st Century Eyes -- but it was full of good stuff. We also hit up a sociology BBQ, complete with fancy food and real live grown ups and kids and adult conversation. We were relatively gritty for that scene, bringing a half-rack of Pabst and our coarse attitudes, but we were welcome all the same. Everyone coveted the same Brazilian girl and when it got dark and slow we got Brian the prodigal son and soon to be police officer -- he's joining the Richmond PD to do his PhD research; the cops have no clew -- to drive us home.
We made life work. I borrowed Luke's bike and did Grizzly Peak like back when I first came to California, a few more new housing lots and a few less shady eucalyptus trees on the way up, but the same amazing view and killer endorphin rush for the trip down. We did a little costume/used-clothing shopping. There was time for amateur jam band on the front porch in the afternoon, scouring the neighborhood for garage sales, fatherless fathers day breakfast at the delicious Jewish deli. In spite of our held-up status it wasn't a terrible weekend
Monday afternoon we learned that the mechanic had not in fact fixed the transmission problem but rather something else, so $300 lighter and with the prospect of a languishing open-ended stay in the Bay, we decided to take our chances with "Old Shifty" and get out on the road regardless. We got out just before sunset, taking a small detour back up the 80 to see about a second rocket box Luke lined up off Craigslist. It went down well. The box was fortuitously designed to open from the opposite side as the one we already had, and the mounting hardware was a close enough fit with our home-made roof rack that we decided to take it after talking the folks down to $150. They weren't using it and apparently hadn't had many takers. With three of the four brackets holding it down we made for the CIty and Highway 1.
Things change quick once you get over the hill and into Pacifica; major city to sleepy coastland in just a couple miles. In the foggy dark we tooled the narrow, winding, hilly two-lane down the coast. Our plan was to camp at Redwood Basin just North (we thought) of Santa Cruz, where we were planning to visit the following afternoon with Mike and Emily and their new baby Sophia. We stopped at a local mexican joint in Half Moon Bay. It was under construction to we ate off the tailgate, looking over our shoulders at the other crowd of diners -- local kids with gigantic trucks celebrating after a baseball game -- and wolfing down the al pastor so we could get back in the hunt for camp.
It was about 10pm and a nearly full moon was on the rise. Luke shifted to the bed in back and dozed while Mark and I piloted south looking for the spot. We did a little driving by moonlight, a moment that got the trip feeling going pretty good, but Hwy 1 isn't really the best place to navigate without headlights (better in the desert where the road runs straight for miles) so that was short lived. We knew we missed the camp spot when we hit Santa Cruz. Turned out it was on a side highway and there wasn't a sign on the 1, so rather than doubling back we kept on south and found an open spot in a state park off through the strawberry fields. It was nearly midnight by the time we set up and the mood was cranky and sour. This wasn't really how we wanted the trip to go, but there we were, paying $25 for a small spot on crowded ground.
But we've got ground to cover and so after an hour or two of that it's back to Hwy 1. We cruse down through the fruit country of Monterey Bay, scoping the migrant labor and junker marinas until we spot a big box development that seems to offer hardware and dog food. We stop to get food for the Toe and lock down that second rocket box. Turns out our Humboldt custom roof racks are a little crooked and that's the reason we can only secure three of the four brackets on our new box. So we break out the tool crate and zap out some new holes where we can get a solid fourth bracket on it. It feels good to be making a scene (and getting something accomplished) there in a parking lot, power tools and socket wrenches. It's breaking out of the ordinary and demonstrating our radical self-reliance. The world is our workshop and we intend to use it.