A Few Days of Reflection

San Diego

Sharks Tooth Cove near Davenport

San Francisco

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflections on the Pacific Coast

And All of Its Splendor

Raeray’s Great Adventure nearly ended in tragedy. After eight days of riding shotgun with his 26-year-old daughter Morgan Rae, Michael Ray returned to Nashville via United Airlines on Sunday evening and caught a shuttle bus to his car on Murfreesboro Pike. This long-term parking lot was on the divided highway’s south side, and Ray would have to navigate two lanes to find a crossover in the median to backtrack toward home. The road had no street lights, and the turn lane was at the top of a small incline. As he pulled into the opposite lanes, headlights appeared over the hill and horns began blowing. He had nowhere to go. Somehow, the car ended up in park, and headlights kept coming. Oncoming traffic  stopped abruptly, as Ray jerked the gear shift into reverse and backed toward a car waiting also to cross the highway. He paused for a moment, trying to understand how he had avoided a horrific crash. There was no explanation. Someone was watching over him. He never told anyone about the near-death experience. Not until now.

The week had been a blessing for Michael Ray. He had spent almost every waking moment with his older daughter. Together they saw indescribable scenes he had missed in his 66 years of living. Each morning, he had written a reflection on the previous day’s travels and sorted through dozens of photographs to illustrate that 24-hour experience. The chore was quite invigorating for a retired newspaperman; it was like writing a daily column, editing and publishing it on the internet. Most days, he could find no free wi-fi, so he would use his cell phone as a hot spot and quickly upload the information. Most of the time, he completed the daily blog in their motel room, but he did at times plug the computer into an inverter in the car cigarette lighter to write. The pictures and story were uploaded once outside of a public restroom on the 17^th tee at the Pacific Grove Golf Links. Monterey Bay was just across the street.

Raeray drove the Pacific Coast Highway, California’s Route 1, much of the way from San Diego to San Rafael. Directions show that to be a drive of 512 miles, but twisting and turning along the shoreline highway makes travel slower and farther. We strayed from the beach road only for about 130 miles from San Luis Obispo to Salinas. The Pacific coast changes from its barren stone formations of Southern California to green meadows wrapping over the stony cliffs in Northern California. Nearing San Francisco, pine trees begin to sprout on the ridges, and north of the city gigantic redwoods decorate the landscape. Photographs can’t compare to the picturesque memories that fill Raeray’s mind. It was an experience of a lifetime. God is good.

Day 7: Don’t Tell Me This Town Ain’t Got No Heart

Mardi Gras and Chinese New Year

Pristine natural forests and sea shores surround this city of nearly 900,000 that wraps around a cluster of hills overlooking San Francisco Bay. Raeray’s adventure was a search for natural beauty, and this was the motherlode. The morning began with a drive through twisted highways through Mill Valley and up Mount Tamalpais into a dense, almost tropical area called Muir Woods. We had to make reservations a day ahead of time to park in the national preserve, and it was easy to see why after navigating the twisted curves and steep terrain. Traffic was bad enough chopped into half-hour segments. Penny Lane had to wait in the car for Raeray to tour the woods.  Pets might disturb this delicate natural setting.

Gigantic redwoods, babbling streams and lush ferns abound along the series of trails cut among the trees. Hikers can spend a day amid the beauty, or tourists can take an hour tour. Either way, the beauty is breath-taking. Raeray posed for pictures inside of a few massive openings among the tree trunks. It made us hunger to someday see the even larger ones farther up the coast.  The park admission was $10 per person, and the parking reservation cost $8. From there, Muir Beach was a short drive away. It is another carefully preserved natural setting hidden in a Pacific cove.

Raeray had one more scenic stop before reaching the bustling city. It was called the Golden Gate Vista Point, perched amid the Murin Headlands just north of the city. Another twisting road along grassy cliffs led up to a gorgeous look over the Golden Gate Bridge with San Francisco in the background and Alcatraz floating in the bay off to the left. Each curve was widened for parking, and every spot was quickly snatched up by a string of cars dragging up and down the path. Raeray snatched a spot near the top of the drive and snapped a few selfies that captured the surroundings. Tourists along the way were speaking mirade languages. The mountain knew no solitude.

From there, the drive is only a few minutes to Fisherman’s Wharf, across the Golden Gate Bridge and along quickly moving city streets. While the bridge is a toll road, Raeray never stopped. Cameras along the way photograph license tags, and the California highway department mails out a bill for the $6.75 fee. Michael Rae will be watching for it back home. A local at the Java Beach Café the previous day had told Raeray a parking secret, about the 4-hour free parking slots where Van Ness Avenue runs into the Municipal Pier. It took us only a few minutes to land a spot there where Morgan Rae unloaded her bicycle to take a quick ride to the end of the pier and to the nearest public restroom. She mounted the bike back on its rack on the Subaru and found Michael Ray and Penny Lane relaxing on the steps behind the Maritime Museum.

Penny was very calm wandering the shoreline streets among thousands of tourists. We were searching for a restaurant, but found a better alternative with the streetside vendors of  fresh fish, sandwiches and fried delicacies. We ordered a crab sandwich, curly fries and water for just under $20. Walking away, though, we realized we might have been short-changed by a few dollars. We ate and listened to a street musician who was doing more karaoke than actual performing. His show was miniscule compared to another player down the wharf, whose guitar had been transformed into a keyboard, bass and drum set. The charity he claimed to be supporting sounded a little fishy. A nearby rapper – a quite young black woman – had a toddler inside her tent. We saw all of this as we traveled the bay looking for sea lions. We found them barking and basking in the sun at Pier 39. After watching them, Chinatown would be the next stop.

Cable cars are one of the highlights of San Francisco, but they cost $7 with no senior discount. Raeray could ride the electric buses for $2.75 and $1.35 each – guess who gets the bargain. A woman named Shelly explained all of this waiting at the stop The Embarcadero. She said her bus would take us to Chinatown and that we could catch the 30 bus back to our car. She said to get off the bus with her at Washington Park and walk up to Stockton and a few more blocks to experience Chinatown. Then we could come back and catch our bus for free up until the time listed on the bottom of our ticket. Shelly had lived in San Francisco for the last 9 years and loved it. She was born in Los Angeles and lived in San Diego, but this was home now. She was probably Michael Ray’s age. She also told where we might get good ice cream nearby, then sent us on our way.

We did find Chinatown; everyone was babbling in a foreign language and buying strange fruits and vegetables. We wondered where all of these people came from to buy so much produce and so many groceries. The streets were crowded, or so we thought. We hadn’t seen the Chinese New Year festival going on a few blocks away. The streets there were shoulder to shoulder for three blocks at least, and we never really learned what they were celebrating. But it was fun and quite picturesque. We needed to find the 30 bus at Columbus and Union streets. But first, we found the Naia ice cream shop Shelly had recommended.

The bus stop was next to Washington Park, where young people and families lounged in the grass. A huge cathedral was the backdrop on one side and artists displayed paintings on the other. Morgan Rae struck up a conversation with a painter named Michael Koller who knew of Huntsville, Alabama. He had gone to art school with another student from there, but he never mentioned a name. It was quite a coincidence that his name was so close to ours. Waiting at Washington Park, we heard jazz music in the distance and a disturbance a block away. Suddenly, a group of musicians and marchers with umbrellas approached. It was a Mardi Gras parade of sorts, or at least what New Orleans residents call a “second line.” The group marched past us just as bus 30 arrived. With Penny Lane in tow, we caught it and headed back to the car.

Sunset tonight would be at Twin Peaks if we could get there in time. Twin Peaks is another park in San Francisco, this one on the west side of the city. It is two grassy knolls that stand high above the city with a view of the ocean to the west and city to the east. The hike to the top burned Michael Ray’s muscles, but it was well worth the climb. The view is breath-taking. The second peak was just to our north, and both were crowded with tourists and townspeople just enjoying the scenery. The wind was brisk and the air chilly, but everyone laughed and shot photos as they awaited sunset. It was lovely. After the sun retreated, Michael Ray sought the warmth of the car as Morgan Rae took in the colorful skies that always precede the darkness. When she came down the hill, Morgan Rae had befriended an Australian tourist named Shirley, who had planned to take an Uber back to her hostel. No need for that; we could drive her. Shirley was a nurse from Sydney, and she had another week to travel south to Los Angeles and maybe farther. Morgan Rae told her they might meet again later. Shirley wanted to see Lombard Street before leaving San Francisco, so with her vast experience, Morgan Rae volunteered to manipulate the curves once again to show Shirley. We drove back into the city’s center and again up the steep inclines to Lombard’s famous block. After that, Raeray took Shirley to her hostle in the Tenderloin section and then headed back to San Rafael.

This was our last night together. We had no plans for a final dinner. Morgan Rae needed to stock up on water and dog food, so we went to Trader Joe’s market. She bought a Southwest salad for the night’s meal. Michael Ray wanted some California fast food, but the nearest In-and-Out Burger was miles away. He ran into a nearby Whole Foods and made up his own box lunch. It consisted of beef stew, green beans, macaroni and cheese, a salad and apple pie. Raeray headed to the room. This was the last night. The journey had been inspiring and especially bonding for a father and daughter. Morgan Rae would continue the adventures after Michael Ray was gone. All was good with Raeray’s Great Adventure.

Day 6: Birth of a Revolution

In the Paris of the West

 Raeray awakened on Day 6 with no pressure to hit the road. We’ll be staying in San Rafael for two more nights, until Michael Ray has to catch an 11:35 a.m. flight back to Nashville. Raeray’s other half, Morgan Rae, will continue the adventure on her own from there. At this point, San Francisco is the most beautiful city she’s ever seen, but she’s not looking for big-city life. It’s easy to understand, though, how so many people have left their hearts in San Francisco.

The day’s plan was to see as much of the city as possible, leaving the Redwoods and nearby peaks for Saturday morning. Hippie instincts were calling Raeray to the cradle of the movement – Haight and Ashbury streets – or as locals call it, The Haight. We found a spot to parallel park just a half-block from the famous intersection. A meter accepted credit cards for the $2.50-per-hour fee with a two-hour limit. With Penny Lane tethered to Morgan Rae, we began our expedition, heading south toward Golden Gate Park. A guitarist was preparing to play at one storefront, and an artist had laid out paintings in front of another. An antique clothing boutique was a flash back in time with its pill box hats like Grandma Cash used to wear and authentic flapper dresses from the Roaring ‘20s. Farther down the street was a traditional hardware store with racks of live plants outside. Along the grassy edge of Golden Gate Park, four artists had set up shop, each with a distinctive style. One did Oriental paintings, another worked in acrylics, a third painted local landscapes and the other did metal etchings. They were pleased to discuss their works with passersby. Record shops, music stores, eateries and more boutiques lined the opposite side of Haight back to Ashbury and beyond. A red building at 1524 Haight was once Jimi Hendrix’s home, and around the corner were addresses assigned to Janis Joplin and Jerry Garcia.

Neither of the latter houses boast any special markings. The Garcia address is often cited in tourist books as the Grateful Dead House. The band used it as a home base only from 1966 to 1968, but it has become legendary. It is less than two blocks off Haight at 710 Ashbury Street. Raeray found a couple from New York standing out front with their toddler daughter and another young woman from Canada. We chatted with them about how inconspicuous this was for a major attraction, and as we talked a woman came out the door with a large dog. She sat down on the steps eating a sandwich. She was maybe in her 60s and identified herself as Francine. She said Deadheads do often pester her, but this is a good place to live. She bought it 30 years ago, when she decided to move here from New York City. She had been living in Manhattan, and her sister was involved in real estate in San Francisco. This house just happened to be available, she said, and at that time “it was no big deal” that Jerry had ever lived there. She raised a son and a daughter there with her husband and continues to enjoy the location. A few years ago, a film crew contacted her about allowing them to bring another Dead founder, Bob Weir, in with his family as part of a documentary. She reluctantly agreed and said she was impressed by how gracious he was. She did see a Grateful Dead concert before Jerry died in 1995.

From Haight Ashbury, Raeray headed along the edge of Golden Gate Park to Ocean Beach. Morgan Rae has spent much of the last six week at Ocean Beach in San Diego, and she expected this one to be similar. Not so. In Southern California, privately owned shops line the streets selling unique local creations and featuring culinary delicacies. San Francisco’s Ocean Beach is across a four-lane boulevard and hidden by dunes with a smattering of shops and a few restaurants scattered across a 10-block area nearby. But the sand and sea do not disappoint. The shoreline is wide and the surf churns for those brave enough to don wetsuits and surfboards. There are miles to walk along the ebbing and flowing of the tide. Sharp rocks add to the beauty where a historic building known as the Cliff House overlooks the beach. The structure is part of Golden State Park and operates as a restaurant.

Raeray had an early dinner at the Java Beach Café at the end of Judah Street. The eatery was primarily a sandwich shop, but its menu also featured some specialty items. Morgan Rae tried a hummus veggie bagel and bowl of broccoli-cheddar soup; Michael Ray had dried tomato quiche with a small salad. Most impressive at the Java Café were the soup and a house salad dressing that we declared the “best ever.” It was a mix of Dijon mustard, shallots, olive oil, salt and pepper, according to the server. We’ll try to make it at home. The time was nearing sundown and Raeray was beachside. We hadn’t watched the sun drop over the water in two days. We walked down the beach a mile or so talking to strangers while Penny Lane played with other dogs. Light clouds scattered the brilliance of the sun as it reflected over the waves. Surfers’ silhouettes bobbed in the distance, and the sky turned a brilliant pink as darkness fell.

One last challenge awaited before Raeray returned to San Rafael. We needed to find and navigate Lombard Street. This famous lane has a block-long stretch that consists of eight hairpin curves. It has been called the crookedest street in the world. We found the street itself after getting lost in The Presidio of San Francisco – one of the many massive parks spread across the city. We began on the four-lane end of Lombard which is The 101 and continued to the intersection of Van Ness Avenue, where Lombard almost disappears. The famous portion of the street is up a steep incline and over the crest of a hill. Morgan Rae was shocked when the street became lined by walls, paved with bricks and as twisted as a Slinkie. She slowly made her way down. From there, we drove quickly through Fisherman’s Wharf with its Friday night traffic and back to San Rafael. We’ll check out the wharf in the daylight of Day 6.

Day 5: The Show of a Lifetime

 Words Could Never Describe

Neither pictures nor word could ever describe the rolling mountains and the rocky beaches that Raeray followed up the California coast. Its a show that only the naked eye can conceive from the majestic beaches of Carmel to the pristine waters of Monterey Bay to the rugged crags of Shark Tooth Cove and beyond. Morgan Rae found the landscape of her dreams in the peaks streaking skyward across from roaring Pacific surf.

After a night in Castroville, Raeray backtracked a bit in the direction of Big Sur. That had been a destination for the adventure, but a washed-out portion of The One prevented access from the south. The natural preserve would be too far out of the way for Raeray to visit and still fulfill the day’s order. Morgan Rae will certainly catch it on her return to Southern California. The first stop was at Carmel-by-the-Sea, a mile-long residential beach community carved out from the larger city of Carmel. While secluded, the community does welcome tourists on its beach. A group of Chinese visitors there raved over Penny Lane and, again, our little dog felt like the target of paparazzi. Also on the beach there, we met a couple who lived full-time in Santa Barbara and used this as a second home. The husband, Bill, explained to me that their street had about 20 houses, and only about three were owned by full-time residents. Bill mentioned he had traveled in years past with The Band and Bob Dylan. As we discussed music, Bill stared at the sand and noticed a nickel heads up. He handed it to Ray and pointed out that the beaches here were paved with coins. The houses up there, he said pointing to the shoreline, cost one or two million dollars. It was time for Raeray to move on. We were traveling on a budget.

We wanted to see Pebble Beach and take the 17 Mile Drive along the coast, but this was the weekend of the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am golf tournament. Every entrance was blocked. Never mind, though, because Pacific Grove suited Raeray just fine. This is Butterfly Town, U.S.A. because this is the area to which Monarchs migrate. It is also a beautiful portion of Monterey Bay with rocky crags and crystal clear water. Raeray struck up a conversation with a solitary man gazing across the bay. His name was Paul, and he said he would soon be moving here. He had just closed on a house here after searching up and down the Pacific coast from San Diego to Seattle. He lives in Silicon Valley, called himself a “recovering Geek.” He was familiar with Huntsville, Alabama.

The drive from Pacific Grove took us up the coastline skirting Monterey and Seaside, and back past Castroville. The roadside markets there sell artichokes, avocados and various fruits for remarkable prices – as much as 10 for $1. Morgan Rae vowed to keep $20 aside to stop there on her next trip south and pick up a load of produce to sell on the streets of Ocean Beach. The Subaru continued on its journey to Santa Cruz and a quick drive past the Boardwalk with its century-old coasters and carousels. The beach area was old and dirty, so we headed downtown to find lunch. The Saturn Café beckoned as we drove through the city center, so we stopped for its vegan burrito and taquitas. We were able to eat in a quaint patio that welcomed Penny Lane.

The next three hours was more feasting for the eyes as we discovered Shark Fin Cove just below Davenport and Pigeon Point Lighthouse, barely 40 miles outside of San Francisco. We bypassed Half Moon Bay and Moss Beach to save time, and adobe buildings lining the water outside of Pacifica gave us the first glimpses of what San Francisco would bring. On this day, we zipped through the edge of the city and across the Golden Gate. More sights await us in the next two days. Day 5 will end with dinner at Terrapin Crossroads and a show by Phil Lesh and Friends. We found our home for the next three days – the Motel 6 San Rafael. It was several blocks away from Terrapin Crossroads. Emila Boxt had bought us tickets for the show. She arrived at the hotel about 6:30 p.m. after driving straight from Los Angeles.

Terrapin Crossroads takes its name from “Terrapin Station,” an album released in 1977 by The Grateful Dead. The restaurant and music hall are the vision of Lesh, one of the Grateful Dead’s founders and bass player throughout the life of the Dead. The music hall is about a 1,500-square-foot room with a capacity of about 420, and Lesh and friends played from 8 o’clock to about 12:30 p.m. Fans surrounded the stage swaying and shaking through the entire show, aside from a 45-minute intermission that gave Raeray a chance to pick the brains of local residents. One Deadhead was expecting Bob Weir to show up. Weir was another founder of the band who lives nearby. But that wasn’t to be. Lesh is amazing at 77 years old. He smiled as he played his six-string bass through the entire show. He was gracious to the band and crowd, and his voice was warm and crisp on such songs as “Unbroken Chain” and “Box of Rain,” two Dead favorites. Morgan Rae slipped away during the show and bought us and Emilia matching yellow souvenir shirts. Raeray had dined in another area of Terrapin Crossroads before the show. We had toured the dock patio out back and the surrounding yacht club. Now it was time for the short walk back to our temporary home. The night was late. Raeray would have another busy two days. It was time for a rest.”