Woody Heads Home

On Monday, July 14, 2008, my little station wagon caused a bit of commotion on Iris Street in Redwood City, where the largest moving van ever was reported to be loading and unloading old cars. The van, equipped with it's own elevator, stored my 1930 Ford on the second floor before heading off to Denver and parts east. In Boston, I await her return.

Redwood City and the End of the Road

Madeline and I spent our last night in a hotel at Carmel-by-the-Sea, where The Village Inn offered us a great facility, convenient location, helpful staff, and good parking. The village was a good place for us to land for one of our final days on the road, and it offered the quaint charm of a seaside village combined with the opportunity for some great retail therapy. We enjoyed a lazy morning on our last day there, and after checking the car over and mailing off a few packages of now-unneeded clothes, we headed north.

We opted once again for the coastal route, and the way was straight and clear - and it did not disappoint. The Pacific Coast from Monterrey to San Francisco is sided with farms where artichokes, lettuce, strawberries and other produce are grown. The fields vary in their greenness, but they are full of color, and especially so when filled with bussed-in laborers in colorful garb. As we left Pescadero, we visited with Dominick, a strawberry farmer, and his two dogs - who were all a bit curious about our little wagon. We left with half a case of strawberries which we have either consumed or doled out to neighbors of my friend Clare on Iris Street.

We stopped for a late lunch in Pescadero, a small small town with big food. There are two locally-owned grocery stores that offer sandwiches, pizza, produce and other sundries, and there is a world-famous (or at least regionally-famous) restaurant operated by Mrs. Duarte. (The town's other establishments include a goat cheese farm, a gas station, an antique store - and I think that is about it.) We left town by way of the surf and sand, and soon enough we approaching Half Moon Bay. We left the coast and picked up Route 84, a winding 'Model A' road that eventually took us to within minutes of our final destination at Redwood City. The road offered a beautiful, hilly ride through redwood forests and up and down the hills that lay south of the Bay area. The final leg of our journey was a good one.

Our trust Garmin led us out of the woods and within minutes we were parking the woody for the final time, on Iris Street in Redwood City - at the home of my old friend Clare - and Maggie, her Labrador retriever. Clare lives in an older, charming, section of Redwood City, and her home, with its high ceilings and artful decor, is warm and welcoming. We have spent long hours over the past two evenings sitting outdoors on the red-tiled terrace, enjoying some fine wines and fantastic meals, by lamplight and surrounded by beautifully manicured rose bushes, Hydrangeas, Magnolia, Lemon, and Palm trees, and an abundance of other flowering plants and greenery.

We have eaten well here, too, and our first night included garlic and rosemary marinated steaks, fresh sweet corn, and a tomato, basil, and Mozzarella salad - all of which we finished with fresh Pescadoro strawberries with fig-infused balsamic vinegar. Day two included fresh basil and ricotta ravioli from the North Beach, and asparagus and Merlot marinara sauce, freshly-grated Parmesan cheese, and a salad of Pescadoro greens. Our dinner was complimented by a dessert of fresh figs served with a Point Reyes blue cheese, a Thomas Fogarty Pint Noir, and the warm and animated conversation that I believe fills this yard on a regular basis.

The woody lay quiet yesterday, resting up for her trip back. She is packed and awaiting word of her pick-up, and while our trusty Garmin show 4,819 miles, there have been some local trips without record, and a stint in Utah where a blown fuse put Garmin out of service for 30 miles or so. Over hill and dale, mountain and valley, straightaway or curve, she has performed well. We chewed through a fan belt at 2,200 miles or so, in Texas, without issue, and but for a few blown fuses (the result of an unknown-but-corrected short circuit), but the woody has been otherwise well. We did have a boil-over or two in the mountains, but these occurred on the lesser peaks and were more the result of operator inexperience than the fault of the vehicle or terrain. She's had a few grunts and groans, but she is well, and well-travelled.

As am I. I told a friend who asked about me being on the road that the trip has been 'just right.' Redwood City, Clare's hospitality, and the warmth of her charming home has been an excellent dessert for this trip.

Half Moon Bay, Pescadero, and Carmel-by-the Sea

Our trusty woody chauffeured us out of the City of San Francisco, and while we enjoyed the row houses of south San Francisco, soon enough we were on the coastal road south again. This time Route 1 was more forgiving, and we motored along with traffic while enjoying the spectacular beaches and occasionally pulling over for 'moderns' to pass. It was good to be on the road again, and exhilarating to be driving the California coast in our Ford Model A Station Wagon.

We passed beach after beach, and the tide must have been right as surfers plied the waves everywhere. The road took us past Half Mood Bay and into Pescadero, a historic village that is the home of Duarte's Tavern, an entity that has operated since 1894. The restaurant is quite a destination on the coast here, and as we were traveling south, we took our lunch to go. We ate at a park overlooking the Pescadero Beach, and when we exchanged photography duties with the couple in the car next to ours, we were surprised to find that (a) the were from Natick, Massachusetts, and (b) their eldest daughter had graduated from Vassar. And again the world was a smaller place.

We landed in Carmel-by-the-Sea, and quickly settled into The Carmel Village Inn, a motel with excellent parking and which is located in the heart of Carmel. After securing a room, we toured the town's many shops and wound our way down to the beach. A cool fog had settled in, but the village was charming and the beach beautiful. We sought out a lemonade for Madeline and ended up at Ah, Shucks, an oyster bar with a well-rounded menu. I passed on the tequila oyster shooter in favor of a salsa shooter and a pair on the half-shell. Madeline had the Bay Shrimp Caesar, and and after another great day, we crashed.

We plan to explore Carmel tomorrow, and to visit the Woodies of Carmel shop on our way out of town before making our way north to San Francisco - the final leg of our journey.

The Golden Gate

We reached The Golden Gate Bridge in late morning, and our appearance raised a smile for the toll-taker, a young Hispanic woman. We fell in line, and snapped a multitude of pictures as we crossed the bay. Our attentions quickly turned to the road signs, though, as we recognized that we were not in Kansas anymore. Fortunately, the road to the Presidio was well marked and lightly traveled, and we soon found ourselves in the shaddow of the great bridge enjoying the view, breakfast, and the recreational activities of the natives - who were beaching, picnicing, roller-skating, jogging, touring, and playing with dogs. Once again, the woody drew interest, and, in our own way, we helped make the world a liuttle smaller.

Biscotti Sunrise

The sun came up with the skies blue and clear for the 23rd day in a row, and I made my way out to the porch of our little home at the Inverness Motel. We have enjoyed great weather, with some warmth (read: hot and sultry!), but with only several raindrops along the way. The flow of the air through the car has kept us comfortable along the way, and here by the coast it is cooler now. The morning sun is warm, and it encourages the strings on my guitar to sing their best. In between songs I enjoy a morning coffee, a chocolate-dipped biscotti, and the sun warming the tidal flat that covers the San Andreas Fault.

Madeline and I made our way south after stopping in at the Busy Bee Bakery in Inverness for a few treats for later on. We found gasoline in the communal village of Bolinas, a seaside town where there was a great interest in the woody. The gas station was a co-operative venture of sorts, and we paid the highest price for fuel there on our entire trip: $5.14. We a fresh tank and reports that we could fetch a good price for the woody when the surfers descend in a couple days, we were on our way again.

We drove the coastal route, Route 1, which snaked up and down the mountains that crashed into the great Pacific coast. The drive was a challenge, with its many sharp curves and steep hills. The sporadic guard rails kept us on edge and close to the median line, and by the time the 18 miles to the Golden Gate had passed, we were contemplating alternative routes for the trip south.

We Reach the Sea

Today was yet another full day for the crew of the Hotspur Two, and we added a crew member in the person of Nancy Nichols, a friend from home who is spending two weeks at a writer's retreat here at Point Reyes. Our scheduled pick-up of Nancy was delayed by some routine maintenance and a little chit chat with two Vassar College seniors we met on the way. We are on California time now, however, and we got on our way to complete our appointed rounds - and for now, with our speedometer working.

Our first stop was in the village of Point Reyes Station, to the shop of Marty Knapp, a photographer who has captured Point Reyes and surrounds in black and white over the past 20 years. Marty was expecting us and our little woody wagon, and we did not disappoint. We introduced, chatted, laughed, admired, kicked the tires, and, after checking the lighting conditions, left with a few photographs. Marty Knapp's body of work is superb, and Marty Knapp, the person, was warm, welcoming, and genuine. We were pleased to meet him, and I suspect our paths will cross again.

We left the village with a scone, a muffin, and a plan to react the sea at Limantour Beach in Olema, which is just south of Point Reyes. And reach the beach we did, after a winding, hilly road that had us up and down grades advertised as 17% on the warning signs intended for trucks and little woody wagons like ours. We doffed our sandals New England style, when the path turned to sand, and we crossed through the dunes to the beach. The sand was hot, the sky clear, and the wind gentle but firm, and we approached the shoreline. I waded in and decided that yes, the coldness of the Pacific was good reason for people not to be swimming. I uncorked the bottle of water I had filled with water from the Atlantic Ocean 22 days ago at Carson Beach in South Boston, and I made room in the bottle for the Pacific to join the Atlantic. The two were wed with Madeline and Nancy as witnesses, and we laughed at the pomp and circumstance of the ceremonial end of our journey.

The journey hasn't ended there, of course, and we were shortly on our way to Five Point Stables in Olema, for a two hour ride through the hills. I rode Delilah, a Belgian Draft Horse, who managed quite well with both the hills and a periodic trot with me on her back. Whoa, Delly! The trail was a bit dusty at times, and our guide was a bit less than surly at others. Our trail mate Marco, a great Italian rider who has moved to Hercules, CA, to work for a few months, saved the day. And we helped make his day by putting him in the driver's seat of our Model A.

Olives and Brie

The 5th of July was another full one for the crew of Hotspur Two. We started the day off on the shores of Lake Tahoe, watching yellow labs chase tennis balls while searching for coffee. We found coffee and a few breakfast treats after the short climb up to Truckee, an old California town just down from Donner Pass. We found the pass, too, and were relieved to find that our climb up Spooner Pass yesterday had put most of the climb behind us. In short order, we were looking at a sign that warned of steep downgrades for the next 40 miles. It was music to my eyes, and to my engine, too, although the brakes and the tires of the woody got an extreme workout on the way down. The roadway was rough, and rutted, but traffic was light until we hit Sacramento and the last stretch to Napa.

We climbed up Napa Valley and down Sonoma, and crossed between on a narrow winding road that looked like the large intestine on our trusty Garmin. Our wine-country adventure lead us to Petaluma, where we enjoyed the farmer's market and a picnic lunch of good bread, creamy brie, and fresh pesto. It was almost perfect.

The road from Petaluma to Point Reyes Station was perfect, and with the sun on the rolling hills, I though we passed through some of the most scenic land in this great country of ours.

We landed in Point Reyes village around six o'clock, and I was surprised to hear someone calling my name from a passing car. It turned out to be my friend Nancy, who later expressed her delight in catching us going through town as, in this remote outpost, mobile telephones do not often work. Nancy gathered us up and brought us up to the country estate where she and several others are enjoying an artist's retreat and workshop. The setting seemed perfect for clearing the head and getting the creative juices flowing. After breaking bread with Nancy's housemates, she, Madeline, and I strolled around the village and made a plan to collect Nancy to join us on our trek to the sea in the morning.

Madeline and I were greeted at the Inverness Motel with a welcoming note on the door and the setting sun. What a great spot, and a great place to stay, too. We were thrilled, and exhausted from another day on the road. A great day on the road.