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Friday July 16 2010
Later
I was looking for beaches, and beaches I found. Oh, I found them in droves, along with cliffs, big rocks in the water, seagull guano and tourists. What I couldn't find was sun. A pervasive blanket hung low over the beaches all day. I climbed to the top of a mountain and felt blazing sunshine, but the beach was now a thousand feet below me. So I went down to the beach and the sun was, like, 93 million miles from me. Relativity sure is a funny thing. And when I said I climbed the mountain, I'm sure you assumed that the road went up the mountain and I drove in my car to the top. That's precisely what happened. But I take credit for all the walking I did today whenever I stopped to look at another beach. I would get out and walk to the edge, look at the gray sky and the gray sea and the silly people determined to have a beach day in the cold wet sand, bundled to the hilt in warm clothing, and I turned and went back into my car to look for the next, nay, the first sun-swaddled beach.
It was a disappointing day for the beach bunny in me, but just hellzapoppin' for the driving fool I became. The 1 (called the Shoreline Highway now), from the air, must spell something in script writing, probably a long monologue about how crazy all the drivers on this insanely curvy and dangerous road must be. But I love it and for once I'm glad to be alone in the car so nobody can hear me scream like a little girl with every free-floating tire.
I'm on a schedule now and making daily miles has become my mantra. My host to the north expects me on Sunday. He's X number of miles away and today is Friday, so I should drive 1/3 X each day. Wow, my algebra is popping up -- don't look, maw!
Today's X deposited me right at the Manchester State Beach and it is lovely, although for the life of me I can't see or even hear the beach. But it is a wooded property and my tent is pitched directly between a couple of exuberantly growing evergreens. I promise I have pictures of it. Maybe I can find the ocean if I go over that ridge right there. I'll be back.
I almost wasn't right back. I ran up to and past that ridge. You know what's past that ridge? Half a mile of falling! I shuddered to imagine not stopping in time. So that's why I couldn't hear the ocean… it was way, way, way below us. There has got to be a path to get there, I think. Or a James Bond type underground tunnel. Maybe the park service airlifts people to the water's edge. I can't believe that the state would place a park by a beach which is not accessible. That's okay… it gives me time to type. There's just no power anywhere, so when my laptop's juice is drained and the last word is formed, I'll be alone with my thoughts. Oh the horror! Not only is there no electricity, there's no cell service. And not only that, but there's no WiFi, either. It feels like 1972, only without the jewfro.
There's only 68% left on the battery.
Well, I was kidding before… there was nothing over that ridge except more ridge. I know it's there somewhere, so I drove to the ocean 2 miles away. When I arrived there was a parking lot and some oddly brown (not tan) beach sand, and a warning not to step on the endangered Snowy Molar eggs buried just below the surface. Dumb place to put eggs, if you ask me. I took the path and found the beach. It was cold and foggy and inhospitable-- the whole length was littered with gray-white, gnarled driftwood, which looked to have been sitting undisturbed for years. I could see no footprints in the sand. The only people I saw was an SUV family collecting the driftwood, endangered eggs be damned. In fact if they found eggs I think they'd probably eat 'em and think of it as good fortune.
SUV families are homeless but for their car. Swept up in the housing mess, the SUV was all they could escape with. Now they roam the state from park to park, surviving on camper leftovers and handouts. When I passed by they looked at me a little hungrily and I skedaddled. 44% left.
I left the campsite to try and find WiFi and a cell signal. Phone service was available in nearby Point Arena, a tiny town with one restaurant and one bar open on Friday night. Still looking for WiFi. Now my phone died and I realized I forgot to charge it at the hotel yesterday. Idiot! The device that turns the car's cigarette lighter into an outlet seems to work as long as I'm not driving, so I'm stuck in town, sitting in my car, waiting for the phone to charge.
Near the water's edge is an oversized log cabin multipurpose retail space. I'm parked next to Pizza and Cream, which sounds unappealing but just means they offer pizza AND ice cream… and probably not together.
"I'll have a pepperoni and pistachio slice, please."
Above them is a seafood/fish restaurant/bar called the Chowder House. The food smells good but the prices are extortionate. I can wait a lifetime before I buy a $24 clam chowder in a bread bowl. 28% power.
Finally the phone is ready, which is perfect because so am I. It's dark and I drive the tricky road slowly. Some local tailgates, and I speed up a little but he still hangs on. I speed up some more but no good. Then I spy a turnout after a curve and dive in, but I enter it a little late for my speed. The local zooms past as I slam on the brakes and slip on gravel past the turnout's end, which lies in gloom but seems to fall away precariously. I get out to survey. Yep, I just missed flying off a cliff. I try to back out of the channel my car dug in the gravel but my wheels spin, fucking up my undercarriage with flying debris. I figure I have to go forward and turn sharply away from the cliff if I want to get out of this. What a shitty way to die!
I have confidence, so perform the maneuver. The car looks like it's going to make it, but at the last second slips over the edge and plunges 150 stories into the surf. The steering column snaps from its bracket and drives itself through my chest and into the cooler behind the seat. I die feeling icy water drizzle through my body. Sea creatures immediately begin to consume me, and nobody finds the car for 30 years.
Well, that happened in my mind, anyway. The car performed as expected and I returned to the campsite, cursing at the sound of every dislodging rock bouncing around the undercarriage as I drove.
Fuckin' locals.
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