West Coast Roadtrip
On Friday, J and I flew into Santa Barbara, California to attend a wedding. Neither of us had been there before, so this quaint, clean coastal town was our first taste of a week of coastal scenery.
Our rental car was a base model Kia Sportage.
There wasn’t a lot of time between the festivities, food (including two meals with mole negro), and family, so we mostly spent the early morning walking to a hip coffee shop at the nearby marina, watching the egrets roosting in trees by the beach, and checking out a massive farmer’s market.
Buoy.
Grease cap.
One of these things ain’t like the others.
Faded republic.
Cucumbers and crabs run a kiddie pool.
Impaled lemon.
Fig detritus.
The massive, ancient mission bay fig tree.
Scenic underpass.
Bees.
Casa.
Cormorant.
Herons on a boat.
California casual.
On Sunday, we dropped family off at the small airport and began the start of our drive to Seattle. Originally, we had planned to visit friends in LA for a night, but decided it was a bad idea after crunching driving time numbers.
Our route would stick to the coast as much as possible on Highway 1 in California until it went inland to Highway 101 which would take us through Oregon and southern Washington.
It was lot of distance to cover over 5 days, but we were fortunate that most of the California’s coastal highways had been repaired and repaved, which not only made for a smooth ride but also one mostly free of construction delays.
Along Sunday’s drive, it was unusually windy and dust was kicked up along the strawberry, artichoke, Brussel sprout, and endless hoop house flower farms. Large crews of migrant workers were out in the fields for the strawberry harvest.
Rocky.
Hoop houses.
Produce company.
We stopped to enjoy the scenery at Morro Bay, including otters in the harbor, a massive dredge, and massive Morro Rock. We had a lackluster seafood lunch at a well rated by empty restaurant on the water. Our waiters seemed sad, in contrast to the raucous celebration coming from the kitchen whenever the doors swung open.
Morrow Rock.
A dredge.
Looking for rocks.
Our drive continued through the epic, reopened stretch of the Big Sur coast. It’s one of the prettiest stretches of road in the country, and I was glad that we ran into some German tourists who were also enjoying the view.
We arrived in Monterey at sunset, got salads and road trip snacks from Trader Joes, and retired early.
Coastal Zebras in the fields below Hearst Castle.
One of the few straight stretches of highway.
Repaired.
One of my favorite views.
Monday morning, we enjoyed pastries and verdant courtyard of Alta Bakery. I had a conversation about old film cameras from a very particular man taking shots with an old film camera. On the way out of town, we filled our tank at a budget gas station that roped off the pumps as we left.
Alta courtyard.
In Pescadero, we picked up some price inflated artichoke bread and ate lunch on picnic table at the closest beach as wings gusted and seagulls waited for scraps.
Near Santa Cruz, we detoured off the 1 to explore some neighborhoods we hadn’t seen before.
This stretch of highway scenery was familiar to us, so we didn’t stop much. We pushed through traffic in San Francisco, crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and curved along a familiar, favorite stretch of road up to Tomales Bay.
We arrived at Hog Island Oyster Company half an hour before closing, but had time for a small order of raw oysters, grilled oysters, a pickle plate, and drinks.
Little cottage.
Brussel sprouts.
Artichokes.
Half Moon Bay topiary.
Looking back on San Francisco.
California poppies.
Tomales Bay buildings.
NOT A BANK.
Verdant valley.
Estuary.
A short hike took us to this view point looking south.
Near sunset, we arrived at our rental house in Sea Ranch.
Sea Ranch (also known as The Sea Ranch) is an American unincorporated Pacific Coast community, in Sonoma County, California, United States, approximately 100 mi (160 km) north of San Francisco. It was developed as a planned community beginning in the 1960s. It’s known for its distinctive timber-frame structures designed by several noted American architects.
While visitors stay at the Lodge, there are also a few rental houses managed by the neighborhood.
Our rental house was up the hill from the ocean, surrounded by tall redwoods but within earshot of the waves. It was our dream house, a combination of modern architecture, cozy wood, and tastefully remodeled bathrooms and kitchen. J and I daydreamed of how we could live in something like this, especially with the nightly cost being a budget buster.
That evening, we walked through the trail through the redwoods to a hillside meadow to watch the sunset with a local deer. We prepared dinner in our swanky kitchen, enjoyed some wine in the sunken lounge, and watched the unusually bright stars above the redwood canopy.
Our rental house.
The lounge pit.
Dining area.
Kitchen.
Mossy stump.
Our own private redwoods.
Nice shaft!
Sunset meadow.
Me.
Sunset.
Tuesday morning, the power to all of Sea Ranch cut off right before we made coffee. We drove down to the lodge to investigate and I talked to some residents that said the power would be restored by noon. The ladies in the cafe were as stressed as the generators powering the lodge, but the coffee was hot. We drank our coffees and walked along the coast, trying to calm our post-trauma frustration from lack of power for such an expensive two night stay and having to get back in a car that day.
I was feeling exhausted, and I worried that I was getting sick. So we drove around the 10 mile stretch of private residences, admiring the variety of homes, private airstrip, community centers, and the picturesque scenery. We played HORSE with a very worn basketball, then walked to the beach to watch baby seals nursing and swimming with their parents.
Old sheep barn.
J and the succulents.
The Sea Ranch Cathedral. Even cooler inside, but hard to get a good photo.
The seal rookery.
The power returned as predicted, with only a hovering power company helicopter and ground crews inspecting a line of poles as the only reminder.
After another simple dinner in the rental house, we drove down to the lodge at watched the sunset. As it became darker, we counted star by star as they appeared. After about 15, we gave up the count.
Wednesday was our longest driving day, so we woke early.
Our first stop was in Mendocino, a quaint town with beautiful flower gardens, cool old buildings, lots of wooden water towers, and a mellow vibe. We chatted with a potter whose studio was in an old water tower.
Work in progress.
Another coastal view.
View from a cemetery.
Scenic tombstone.
Flowers and shingles.
Modern vintage.
Haunted Mendocino.
After a few more coastal towns, the highway turned inland through mountainous forest to connect with Highway 101.
Once we reached the South Fork Eel River valley, we exited onto the Avenue of the Giants.
The Avenue of the Giants is a breathtaking, 31-mile scenic highway (State Route 254) in Northern California that winds through the ancient, towering redwoods of Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Paralleling U.S. Route 101, it offers a tranquil, slower route flanked by some of the tallest and oldest coastal redwoods on Earth.
Following the river valley, the highway rejoined the coast near Eureka.
Massive living tree.
Canopy.
Walking amongst giants.
River view.
Many hours later, we crossed the Oregon border and we pulled into a dark, foggy Coos Bay.
Sheep view.
Natural bridges.
A windsurfer’s sweet ride.
It was cold and foggy Thursday morning. We drove into town for coffee, then walked along old piers on the beach by the hotel before they opened and served us one of the saddest breakfasts I’ve ever had.
We packed up, explored all the crusty fishing and boat repair facilities in Charleston, and stopped to get a second breakfast at a health-food store. It was great having two forms of yogurt and second chance to admire the world’s largest pile of mulch.
Northward, we passed coastal sand dunes, small towns, river bridges, stopped a quick and delicious taco lunch in Florence, and relived the the familiar beach towns (Neskowin, Cannon Beach) from back when we lived in Oregon. Our elderly memories had trouble remembering what was where, when we had seen it, and why.
Foggy posts.
Lumber.
Signage.
Boat repair.
Oyster shells.
Taking a mulch dump.
Foggy dunes.
Piles and sand for miles.
Fish bits in Florence.
Siuslaw River Bridge
Fog rolling in.
We arrived in Astoria, Oregon with just enough time to find the Goonies house, drive around and admire all the beautiful Victorian homes on the steep hills, see the 360 degree view from the Astoria Column parking lot, and sup on a rare restaurant meal at Fort George Brewery. It felt good to have a substantial and hot meal.
The Goonies house.
Hilly neighborhood.
View from above.
Astoria-Megler Bridge.
Big blooms.
After dinner, we drove into Washington over the longest continuous truss bridge in North America to our oceanside hotel in Long Beach.
Friday morning, we ate breakfast at the hotel and enjoyed the foggy view from our 3d floor balcony.
In crusty Aberdeen, we drove by Kurt Cobain’s childhood home, got coffee, and then headed inland to connect with Interstate 5 into Seattle.
Kurt Cobain’s childhood home.
J texted our friends to let them know we were getting close, only to realize that we had told them we’d be arriving a day latter.
Oopsie. But on the plus side, we could visit my cousin first AND get an extra day to hang out.
That weekend we enjoyed their newly remodeled house, tagging along to their friend’s BBQ, home cooked meals, great asian restaurants (Chinese, Thai, and Malaysian), playing with their kids, walking around, kicking the feather, laughs and chats, and misleading sunny weather.
On Monday, Seattle weather returned. At the Ballard Locks we feather kicked and brunched.
Mega cat.
Emerald City.
Friends walking.
Idle tanker.
The perfect size of bao.
Fish from below.
Swoop, there it is.
Family and friends.
J and I said our goodbyes that afternoon. It took 30 minutes to refill the tank at the gas station near the airport due to lots of customers and slow pumps.
Our flight home was bumpy the entire way, climbing through the rain in Seattle, and diverting around lighting storms near the Rockies.
As someone who doesn’t like to die in plane crashes, it’s always a relief to get home after a trip. But it’s also bittersweet. J and I saw some amazing scenery on a trip bookended by visiting great people.
Granted, we didn’t have much time to stop and explore much along the drive, even with a decent amount of days. But sometimes it’s fun to just let the changing scenery wash over you, looking for the gradual changes in the landscape as the endless curves exhaust and delight.
But next time, we’ll pack a cooler for better control over our food situation. And maybe not go on a road trip during peak gas prices.