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.

California!

Today we drove The Loneliest Road in America – or so it is called – across Nevada, from Ely to Fallon. There was no there there, for the most part, although the scenery was beautiful. The terrain was rolling, and we crested six or seven 5,000 foot summits. The land was green, the pale green of sage, and we wondered if the tumbleweeds we saw were simply dried sagebrush. We came through two towns along the way, Eureka and Austin. Eureka came first, and we fueled up with the expectation that there would be no services for the 186 miles to Fallon. We helped make the Rotary Club’s 4th of July breakfast in Eureka a big success, and a dozen of us settled in for scrambled eggs and biscuits with homemade gravy. It was a good breakfast, and especially so after we had logged in some 75 miles before arriving.

We found a gas station in Austin, and while two spirited members of our tour group stayed to participate in the parade, we motored on. Soon enough we were in Fallon, and Madeline and I said our goodbyes to Ron and Diana, our tour leaders and friends. They sent us off with a plan for reaching Lake Tahoe, and we made it. The 50 mile stretch of road from Fallon to Carson City was busier that the prior 256 miles, and we were back in the right lane and dealing with traffic lights and stop and go traffic. After Carson City came the climb up to the Spooner Summit, a rise that took us from 5,000 feet to 7,100 feet without a drop off. The woody chugged along, and I was glad for the slow-moving vehicle sign on the back.

Spooner Summit gave was to the incredible view over Lake Tahoe. In our first views, through the first trees we had seen in days, it was impossible to discern where the water and mountains came together. As we drew closer, the blue the waters of Lake Tahoe invited us to come in for a closer look. The woody ran around the lake before a last tease in Incline, Nevada, took us uphill and away from the lake. Soon enough, though, we crossed into King’s Beach and The Golden State. The woody honked a bit, and Madeline and I high-fived it and smiled. N It was good to be here.

We missed our hotel on the first pass, but our trusty Garmin brought us back to the Sand ‘n Sun where, thankfully, there was a room awaiting us. The motel is on the beach, and after a celebratory beer, a swim in Lake Tahoe, and a short nap in the California sunshine, Madeline and I grabbed a bite to eat at the Brook Avenue Grill and Gelato.

I haven’t gotten into the epicurean delights of our trip (save a few references to the chicken-fried steak and the biscuits with gravy), but our meal here was excellent. Madeline had the teriyaki-pineapple chicken sandwich, with provolone, while I had the blackened-Ahi (fish) tacos with a mango salsa and pepper sauce. Our meal at this little sidewalk café was fantastic, and we were glad to have arrived in California.

Utah into Nevada

This crazy journey has run from Massachusetts through Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, and Utah before we arrived in Nevada today. Seventeen states in nineteen days. Phew! I am excited about the possibility of reaching our last state, California, for the 4th of July. I have had a great opportunity to see these United States at ground level, and to enjoy her spacious skies and amber waves of grain. Its been a fabulous way to see the country, and to gain some understanding of the agriculture and industry of these various states. I am looking forward to seeing the fireworks over Lake Tahoe, and celebrating our national holiday.

In driving through Utah and Nevada, its easy to imagine how these lands looked three hundred years ago when Native Americans and settlers crossed paths and crossed on through to the western shore of this great continent. The lands don't seem to have changed much since those days, and they appear harsh and unforgiving. We traveled Route 50, The Lincoln Highway, which we picked up in Kansas and followed through Colorado, across Utah and into Nevada. The road signs warn of no services for 100 miles, and based on my travels today, these signs are correct. The road, a two-laner, rose and fell through two passes on our way from Delta, Utah, to Ely, Nevada, and each of these passes was over 6000 feet. The woody coughed and sputtered on the climb up to Sacramento Pass; we stopped on the way and removed the air maze in an effort to give our little 4-banger a little more air - and this seemed to do the trick. We fairly cruised on the climb up to Connors pass, although as we approached the pass, our radiator boiled over and my motometer showed red to the top of the column. We pulled over, added a little watter, and climbed slowly over the pass while the mercury went back into hiding. As we picked up some speed on the downhill, it was all systems normal. Of course, the road down was full of twists and turns, and a road sign that depicted a vehicle tipping over. We eased it down and followed Route 50 and a Model A, which we had caught up to, into Ely.

We have had much fun traveling along with our new Model A friends from California, Nevada, and Washington state. Like most Model A-ers, they are a spirited group who have welcomed us into their group, kept a keen eye out for our well-being, and offered us guidance and friendship on our way west. I suspect our paths will be crossing again, but tomorrow, somewhere on the way to Fallon, Nevada, we will be saying goodbye to these new friends. I wish them, and you and yours a happy 4th of July. See you in California.

PS: If you want to simulate the driving experience, click on the image below:

Rocky Mountains Revisited

The road through the Rocky Mountains is truly amazing, and by the end of Tuesday, I was both exhilarated and exhausted. Madeline and I crashed early with the idea that tomorrow, with 280 miles on the docket, would be a long day. I wasn't sure what we would find in Utah, but when I saw the sign reporting that there were "No Services for 100 Miles" - I wasn't expecting much. What we found was simply spectacular scenery, mile after mile. The rolling green mountains of Colorado gave way to mile after mile of deep red cliffs and buttes. Every now and then we'd come across a patch of green where a river or stream made the difference. We climbed again, to over 6000 feet above sea level, and while the woody did just fine, she couldn't keep up with her California cousins on the upgrades.

We caught up in the villages, and after a 200-mile morning, much of the group gathered for lunch at Mom's, a world-famous diner in Salina, Utah. The sandwiches there, along with the pie, were delicious. An afternoon climb to almost 6000 feet set us up for a roll down into Delta and our home for the evening. The crew was in early today, and while we managed an oil change in town before landing, we joined the tour group in the parking lot for some tire kicking and refreshments. Madeline and I headed out for a late dinner at Top's City Cafe, a local establishment where we sat at the counter and I enjoyed the Chicken Fried Steak with country gravy - on the side, please. The cafe, a family owned establishment, had graced Route 50 and offered locals and travelers homemade pie for over 50 years. We had the strawberry pie.

Rocky Mountain High

Today we crossed the Rockies! Madeline and I got an early start, and with a good send-off from Lisa, who was catching a flight home after seeing Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Colorado from the front seat of a Model A, we ran the 36 miles from Colorado Springs to Canon City without issue. We passed the Holiday Inn in Canon City, and saw Ted and Joe working on the brakes on Diana's roadster pickup. We joined in the fun as spectators, and after a breakfast from Denny's, we were motoring westward again.

The way west was one spectacular view after another, as the road rose and fell. The steeper climbs gave way to climbing lanes, but the hills certainly tested our little wagon. On the final approach to Monarch Pass, at the Continental Divide, I stopped to remove the air maze from my carburetor in an effort to give the engine a little more air. This action seemed to work, and we cruised the remaining hills at 30 mph or so, until we crested at 11,312 feet above sea level. It was great to be 'over the hill' - but we gave our brakes a workout on the way down.

We had lunch in Gunnison, and took some time to visit the Pioneer Museum there, where they had a number of buildings housing artifacts from Gunnison's pioneer days to the present. It was a great place to visit, although the curator threatened to put our wagon into their automobile collection. The road rose and fell on the way from Gunnison to Grand Junction, where the green of the mountains gave way to the barrens of western Colorado. We arrived in Grand Junction exhilarated and exhausted, both. This was a great touring day, and certainly one of the most difficult driving days, too.