Sunday, August 11, 2013

LA to San Francisco

I woke up in a frigid motel room in Los Angeles that reeked of hot mustard and french fries.  I remembered that I went to a thrilling Dodgers game last night and that I was heading to San Francisco today.  I have a week's worth of mostly Mojave Desert scruff on my face and my left side is rosy from riding in the sun.

Just before 10 am I left the Hollywood Inn Express and headed for the 101 to San Fran.  There were so many tourists in Hollywood crowding the streets and when I finally got onto the 101 there was so much traffic and smog that I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare.  I just got used to it and stopped thinking about it because I still had over 400 miles to go.

I put on a playlist I found on Spotify called West Coast Rap (that's the link to it if you're on Spotify).  I listened to Eazy-E rap about the pleasure and ease with which he killed suckas if they were unlucky enough to encounter him on the street.  It cut out after a jam by Digital Underground because I've had very poor reception the whole trip and have been limited to the playlists I've downloaded to my phone.    

Near Thousand Oaks I got off the 101 and took 23 south because I wanted to see the Pacific Ocean and I wanted to see it now.  Route 23 turned out to be the most twisting and winding road I've ever been on.  Hairpin turns and steep unguarded cliffs for 10-12 miles.  A lot of professional-looking cyclists were on this road.  I pulled over near the end, and took a photo.  You can see my cage, the twisting, narrow roads, and the Pacific Oceam over the Malibu shore through the fog.  it was my first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean since I was in Hawaii about ten years ago.


Along the shore seemed to be a good place to stop for brunch.  I pulled into Neptune's Net and had a grilled cheese on sour dough with fries.



When I finished eating I ran across the street to see the beach and take a few pics of the surfer action.



I got back on route 1 and then rejoined the 101 around Oxnard as I ate two large pieces of whiskey flavored beef jerky.  Ventura and the Pismo beach area looked like nice areas to visit or vacation.  Near Templeton, the dusty brown mountains surrounded lively, lush green vineyards.


Right before I drove through a controlled brush fire on the side of the road in Soledad Evanescence - Haunted shuffled on and it was perfect timing because operatic goth pop is my favorite music to drive through smoke to, however it had already finished playing by the time traffic was next to the fire.  The cop waving us through looked just like my buddy George, who is also a cop.


After I was free and clear of the fire an old 90s gem, I Believe by Blessid Union of Souls, shuffled in.  When I was down the Cape with my brother Mike recently he told me one of his friends does such a smashing karaoke rendition of this song that another one of his friends asked him to sing it at their wedding.  The song has a very positive and uplifting message about equality and the power of love.  Most people probably won't pay attention to the lyrics, but there's a line or two that may get some people's attention.

For about fifty miles I did a little 3-man-weave with a silver sedan and a green jeep.  Not for any competitive reason, but we took turns passing each other enough times that I was like do these guys realize what's happening here.  Just the ebb and flow of highway travel, I guess.

I was planning to stop for a late lunch in Salinas because that's where John Steinbeck is from and it was right on my way to San Francisco.  As I approached Salinas, I thought about Travels with Charley, Steinbeck's travelogue about driving around the country with his dog, Charley.  His trip was going mostly well until near the end when he became disillusioned by racism in the South.  Last night at the Dodgers game, I was inspired by the American people because the diverse crowd seemed unconcerned with each other, and I mean in a way that was very tolerant and open-minded, not uncaring.  Everyone was there to enjoy a ball game, united by the Dodgers.  Furthermore, I have the confidence that I can go anywhere in this country and find food to eat, a place to rest, friendly people, and medical attention.  Sure, America isn't perfect, no place is or ever was, but it's the closest we've ever come.

 I pulled off one of the first exits for Salinas, but I wasn't feeling the area, so I got back on the 101 and got off at the John street exit.  I followed the signs for the Steinbeck Museum even though I had no intention of going there and they led me to the perfect spot in downtown - a Mexican restaurant and right next door - a coffee shop for a carmel macchiato for the road after I ate.



I had the shrimp tostada that I saw on the specials menu on the way in to Paloma's Mexican Restaurant.  The avocados were especially fresh and delicious.  I put on some hot sauce to impress my server, Maria.  After I paid my bill at the counter, Maria said "I hope you come back in here again".  Maria meant it sincerely on a personal level, not a server-customer business level.  And why shouldn't she, I was pleasant and nice, and I looked at her carefully enough to see the good within her.  I know she meant it that way because I could feel her heart reach for me.  I said I'm only passing through, but I hoped I did get to come to Salinas again.  She told me to have a great trip and I left to go next door to Cherry Bean.

I didn't get the same sweet vibes in this joint.  Most coffee shops have vibes of individuality and isolation, but feeling isolated together silently.  This one had a menacing vibe and it was like everyone knew a sinister secret except for me.  I asked for napkins after the barista spiked my coffee on the counter and stormed away for no apparent reason.  I left gladly.

For the remaining hour to San Francisco I thought I'd have good enough reception to stream Jason Isbell's Southwestern album, which was recommended to me by my buddy Adam.  I cranked the volume so loud that the mirrors and doors rattled.  I like to feel music, and I don't care about my ears, rock n roll can have them, go ahead and dehydrate them like beef jerky and hang them from the rearview mirror in Elvis' purple cadillac in the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame.

Adam said the album is bad ass and it is.  Flying Over Water is a masterpiece, it's about the struggle to be honest about the realities of relationships.  Then he sang "I've grown tired of traveling alone, won't you ride with me", and I knew exactly how he felt because I was wrapping up a 440 mile drive from LA to San Fran.  Then I saw some really tall trees.


Right before I got to South San Francisco I passed through San Mateo and I wasn't sure what to do because San Mateo is Tom Brady's hometown and I needed to celebrate this holy ground in some way. I decided I'd sing to the next generation's likeliest star athletes.  Here's a little message to some of my friends in Lowell:


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