California Border to Petaluma

California so far has been a bit of a disappointment. Perhaps it was being spoiled in Oregon. Maybe it is because we have been here so many times before.

With the temperature dropping below 5 degrees celsius most nights, electricity is a requirement. Otherwise we will have to go to Target or Fred Meyer and buy long underwear, gloves and winter-rated sleeping bags. The other times we have been here and stayed in state parks it was with a self-contained small 5th wheel trailer. With the truck alternator charging both the truck and the trailer batteries, a furnace, refrigerator, shower and toilet we could back into almost anywhere and we were set to read for hours, cook our own meals, take showers etc. But for now, life is more "simple", I think...

The coast in California remains beautiful although less dramatic than in Oregon.

Stopped in Trinidad (California that is) for lunch, primarily because our daughter Chantal was born there (in Trinidad that is, not California). It is a beautiful little bay that historically served as a whaling port. Up till now we had a 50% no fog rating for Trinidad. But today it was fogged in so the rating goes down to 33%. We learned a lot of the personal history of the two young waitresses, and of the recent social history of Trinidad, as they gossiped back and forth at full volume while serving the few late lunch customers.


A few miles south of Trinidad, Marie-Claire saw her first California sea lions in Arcata harbour and couldn't resist taking this picture. Their hoarse bark and strong odour would make the picture more realistic.









Just south of Klamath, we went well off the beaten track and followed the original Hwy 101 right along the coast on a gravel road that would have challenged anyone with vertigo.

The road is frequently a washboard, has many sharp turns, quick descents and ascents - a bit like skiing moguls at Whistler. But the views are fantastic. There is one interesting heritage building along the route, a World War II radar site disguised as a farm. After Pearl Harbour a Japanese Navy submarine launched a plane that dropped a small bomb about 30 miles from this location prompting the USA to establish this site and other similar ones along the Pacific coast.


This was one of the few safe places to stop on this single lane road. There is a bit of a pull-out and a big rock separating us from the 300 meter drop to the right. And yes we did meet a few cars and pickups coming the other way - patience and cooperation worked fine.






After we were back on the more modern "historic Hwy 101" we left it again to follow the Avenue of the Giants, just south of Eureka. Humboldt Redwoods State Park covers over 52,000 acres, 17,000 of which are old growth coast redwood forest. The avenue winds for 32 miles through huge redwoods, many of them so close to the road that they are indicated by reflectors. It looks like some of them have been modified by park staff with cutouts so that higher motorhomes can safely pass - or perhaps it is the motorhomes that have done the modifying as they drive by. Some of these trees are truly magnificent specimens thousands of years old. One section from a cut tree showed the tree was about 1000 years old in 1200 AD.
As Paul Wagner would say, "this tree was around when Christ was an ordinary seaman".













Even in the midst of the spirituality of these beautiful ancient giants, Roger can't get his mind away from the ocean and had to pose with his Sailing Now t-shirt facing the camera.

With our two off the highway explorations, the day was waning and we needed to find a campsite with electricity because by 4 PM under these redwood canopies the temperature was about 8 degrees celsius and dropping. We would definitely need some electricity and our heater. In Meyers Flats in this huge state park we saw a sign for an AAA approved private commercial campground. So we drove in and checked out the campsite. Quite pretty, quiet and along the Eel River, so we checked in. It was only later that we discovered that the washrooms and showers looked like the film sets for the Grapes of Wrath as did a couple of the permanent trailers established at one end of the campground. We had been transported back to the 1930's. We got up the next morning at 5 AM, and while Roger was in the washroom Marie-Claire, on getting out of the van in the final stages of dressing, found her flashlight was shining in the face of some strange guy who proceeded to tell a story of his car breaking down and he was sorry if he had startled her. She quickly joined Roger in the men's washroom. Any thoughts of exposing our unwashed bodies to the multidinous and varied germs and mildews of the showers vanished as it was really Marie-Claire who by now was exhibiting signs of being the one startled. Whip up our breakfast energy drink in about 3 degrees celsius, jump in the van, turn on the heater and as we're driving past the general store/hitching post cum coffee shop in Myers Flats, Marie-Claire spots the guy again - no car, no kit, unwashed - The Grapes of Wrath.

Back on Highway 101 we continued to Ukiah where we got some travel information at the Chanber of Commerce. The highway had gone way inland by now and we asked how we might get back to the coast. The clerk suggested we go take the road to Boonville and then take a road through the German, Burnt and Signal Ridges. Roger asked whether these ridges would be like crossing the Sierra Nevadas and being assured that they were not, we elected to follow her suggestion. The road to Booneville had lots of ascents and descents but no more than we were used to. The road through the ridges was another story. It was more like skiing moguls on a triple diamond run off the Blackcombe Glacier. By the time we reached the coast we felt as though we had driven up and down Mount Baker 15 times.

But that was just the appetizer. We soon discovered why Highway 101 had been rebuilt on an inland right of way and why the portion of the coast we were now travelling was named the Lost Coast. If you veered too far to the right you would be lost - in the Pacific Ocean.


This was not yet exciting enough for Marie-Claire so the gods of travel added several miles of open range to allow us to dodge cattle. This one's buddies were about 100 meters below and to the right. But it soon got much better - fog so dense that we no longer had to worry about cliffs and cattle - we couldn't see them anyway.

After a long day and having advanced only about 60 km toward San Francisco while covering 220 we dropped anchor in Bodgea Bay, totally tired after so many hours of tacking back and forth up wind.

The next day we proceed another 60 km to Petaluma where we surrendered $42.95 US and checked into a KOA campground. But at least there was a great side-benefit, watching men and women with headsets trying to get their half-million dollar gigantic motorhomes parked just right. Back and forth they went until it was just right and our little old beat-up van was surrounded. And then they looked down at us, mumbled something about the satellite TV reception not being up to standard, and moved on to repeat the exrecise at another site. Maybe it was us and our "rig" that wasn't up to standard? And so to bed.