Like Old Times

We left Mill Creek, the tiny mountain hamlet where the Cabin resides, and drove west out of the mountains, Reaching Red Bluff for breakfast. Then we headed south towards Sacramento before taking I-505 towards I-80 and the Bay Area. Through Vallejo, over the Carquinez Strait, past Crockett and Oakland and the Bay Bridges and into San Francisco, we drove. 

We stopped in North Beach, a very nice Italian section of SF nwhere Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower call home.

We ate at an Italian restaurant and walked around, enjoying the glorious weather. We hiked up to Coit Tower, and then hiked up Coit Tower, and took some amazing pictures from the top:

It was easily the most beautiful day I've been in San Fransisco is decades. Warm, but not hot; very slight breeze, even at the top of the tower, but quite comfortable.

Locals must have thought it was scorching. We drove past Corrie's old apartment on Divisidero, and then went up to the Haight. There we found a bakery that served beers and hung out for a while, eating croissants and baguettes with butter and jam. 

We'd booked a hotel in San Jose close by our SJ friends for the next day's rendezvous. We left the Haight a little before 5 pm, drove through the south side of town, connected up with I-280, and cruised to San Jose in less than an hour. Traffic was not an issue...on a Friday evening...in the Bay Area. Who woulda guessed?

The next day we did our regular schtick, like from the before-Cass time. We woke up and got some starch and caffeine, then went and hung out with Donny and Ana, friends from Corrie's architecture school days. They live in a super cute neighborhood in San Jose. We had an early lunch while the kids showed off how cool/fun/rough-and-tumble they can be.

Then we headed down to San Luis Obispo, trying to meet up with Ryan. He was going to be at a kid-friendly brewery most of the day, and we decided, if the timing was right, to just meet him there. Corrie had wanted to do a Montana de Oro hike with the kids, so we drove directly to the state park, south of Morro Bay, about twenty minutes away from SLO proper.

Despite the fog (which is near constant in the hot summer times) it was still magical. This day I saw the largest swing since the Redding-to-Crescent City day back in 2015: It got to 112 as we came into Paso Robles. It was down to 94 when we stopped in Atascadero and picked up Hwy 41, a direct road to Morro Bay, and by the time we got to our parking spot at Montana de Oro, it had dropped to 57, less than an hour from being 112. That's a 55 degree swing.

We didn't do any crazy dune hiking, mostly because we were at the end of nearly a month away from home, and most of us (me and Corrie and maybe Camille) were running on fumes, but we did do a little walk just above Spooner's Cove, which is near the end of the drive into the park. Signs like the one above speak the truth, while the one below may need some manicuring, if one would like it to be helpful:

A funny thing happened as we were walking out: a couple was walking towards us. Cass and I were at the front of our regiment, while Corrie and Camille were bringing up the rear, looking at flowers and enjoying the stiff wind. Looking at the guy in the approaching couple, I thought to myself, "Look at this fucking old dude, trying to enjoy the dunes on a nostalgic trip." Like, 'old dude' was some sort of insult. But I realized that my guess on his age was because of the look of his beard and face, which looked remarkably like my own, and then I realized that I'm doing the exact same thing. I started laughing and Cass asked what was so funny.

Before I could really answer, the girls who had been doing makeup in the car next to us when we parked were finally out walking along our path. They looked dolled up, but also like they were not wearing proper shoulder covers for the weather. They smiled and me and Corrie goofily, and Corrie refrained from saying anything, but it would have been along the lines of, "Oh, I remember coming out here when I was a young co-ed..." They looked very young to me and my current sensibilities, which was jarring.

It's a weird set of observations: I see someone who (eventually) looks like and reminds me of myself, and I think "fucking old dude;" and I see young girly co-eds underdressed at Montana de Oro and I think "they're babies." 

Another reason we took a quick and large path along the cliff's edge was because it was already 6 pm and we still wanted to hang out with Ryan.

Which we did. It was great fun, as the owner of the brewery we were visiting, Liquid Gravity (all time fantastic name, by the by), is in a punk-cover band called Dad Religion---since they're all dads. Camille danced her heart out, we got to see and hang out with Ryan, if only for a few hours. The kids did mob him eventually:

He was a good sport of course. The time came where we had to leave for Long Beach, and that time was near 9 pm. Not great, but not terrible when it comes to the time you'll be driving through the LA megalopolis traffic shenanigans. We made it home just after 12, which was some pretty good driving.

Our second "Summer of Road Trips" is now behind us. We left for Texas on our anniversary, June 21st. We were back for a few days, went to a birthday party, and left again. We finally arrived home for good on July 22, but after midnight, so it was technically in was the 23rd.

Out of pocket for a month. It should give us practice for next summer, when we plan to help Delphine in rural France for 8 weeks.

Can't wait for that! Great to be home! It's how we build appreciation! Or something!