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Published: June 15th 2009
June 14th 2009 So near yet so far I think it's fair to say that I'm known for having an excellent sense of direction. Coupled with superb map-reading skills, it is hard for me to get lost. Except in Guildford. And, it would seem, America. Alex, I could hear you laughing at me from afar on Wednesday morning. I simply couldn't find the entrance to the freeway. I could see it on the GPS. Sat in Betty Boy I could see the cars rushing by not a few yards away. But could I join them?! No. It would appear Milpitas was as reluctant to see me go as I was to leave. After 45 minutes and an unexpected detour to the city's sewage works I thankfully happened upon the south entrance to highway 880. Hallelujah!
The long, long road One road runs from Milpitas to Santa Cruz. The 880 turns into the 17 which (on the map) turns into a pink road which ends up being Ocean Boulevard. In good traffic, a 45 minute journey. Journeys aren't meant to be that simple (!), so halfway along highway 17 I decided to take a right turn and found myself on
Bear Creek Road. On the map and the GPS it looked like a relatively major road. For those of you with knowledge of the English road classification system it was actually like driving a rugged B road over the top of a mountain. Translation = a ridiculously narrow, windy, hilly road. Hooray! A crash course (not literally) in advanced driving skills. Fortunately I have a beautiful car that took great care of me and scared off the bearded mountain men who were driving their pickups up my bum. What an eloquent expression! Bear Creek Road runs into Boulder Creek, a town I had read about in the Lonely Planet. I'm glad I paid it a visit. The locals - a mix of bored teenagers, more hairy mountain men, a few Mexicans, and some regular looking people - watched me park at one end of town, walk the entire length of main street to grab a sandwich at 'Rainbow's End' (where I was asked if I was over 21 and had I.D. so that I could use the 'restroom'), then walk all the way back taking photos of random buildings. I think they enjoy having tourists visit. I must tell you
about my sandwich. I had turkey and swiss cheese on rye bread. It's not my favourite combination, but I just love saying it out loud: 'turkey and swiss on rye' - it's
so American!! From Boulder's Creek I drove past Loch Lomond (I kid you not!) and down to Santa Cruz.
Hanging ten in Santa Cruz Arriving in Santa Cruz, I headed straight for the beach. I haven't been to the seaside, ooh, since visiting Blackpool last year. The two towns and their beaches are beyond comparison. About 6pm I walked into my dorm at the cute Santa Cruz hostel. A young woman introduced herself as Tessa and immediately asked if I wanted to join her and another woman, Teri, for happy hour. It would have been rude to refuse. Tessa and Teri went ahead to scout for a bar; I joined them in 'Avenue Bar and Cigars'. It was as bad as the name suggests. As inside was so dark, I suggested we sit in the beer garden out back. It was like stepping into 1998 Czech Republic, which will mean nothing to anyone except for Alex. And it may not mean anything to her either. Let's just
say there were lots of very drunk, somewhat homeless-looking people, a couple of mangy dogs and a group of young people smoking pot. A fascinating experience. We stayed a while to enjoy the $1.75 pints and the 'entertainment'. The main attraction was an superbly inebriated woman (my Russki-radar told me she was Russian) imparting her wisdom about love and sex. I learnt that to mend a broken heart all you need is time. To get over a bad f**k (her word, not mine), however, all you need to do is get under a new f**k. She was quite insistent. And loud. And apparently waiting for her children to join her at the bar. Her 'sermon' could only be topped by the rugby scrum which took place outside the off licence across the road when the shopkeeper had the audacity to lock the door for all of two minutes for a potty break. What was the man thinking?! We had clearly stumbled on the nicer part of town.
Whilst the younger hostellers were taken by the liberal, artsy atmosphere, my impressions of Santa Cruz were mixed. It's a pretty town: a wonderful beach, great shopping, cute surfers, anarchist bikers, other
much nicer bars we tried the next night, and citizens who say 'hi' to strangers. Like so many towns though, there is obvious homelessness, an estabished meth problem, too many young men who think it is attractive to look like they are homeless, and a Taco Bell which gives you dinner for $2. You could get really fat on that!
Hitting the highway From Santa Cruz I drove South to a town called Freedom. I had to see what it looked like. I went to the post office in Freedom. And bought
the coolest plastic wine glasses! Nik and I will need then when we are camping; we are too ladylike to swig from the bottle!! That little detour over, I continued on through the delightfully-named town of Trout Gulch to join the fabled Highway 1. Clinging to the central Californian coast, highway 1 offers breathtaking views of the rugged coastline with undulating green hills to my left, and white sand beaches and the glittering Pacific Ocean to my right. The pictures speak for themselves. After a total 160 mile drive, I arrived at my next destination. Whist the GPS announced I was in the middle of nowhere, I
could see I had arrived at the Treebones resort. Not a spa resort, but a Mongolain yurt resort perched halfway up a hill overlooking the ocean. It was idyllic. If you ever visit California, I highly recommend a night or two there. The yurts are substantial, with running water, air con/heating, etc. The main lodge houses an exquisite restaurant and extensive Californian wine collection. The pool and hot tub are an added bonus. Watching the sun set with a glass of wine and a plate of homemade chocolate fuge cake in hand, I felt like some of the melancholy of the last couple years finally, truly melting away.
Dawdling Today started off with waffles and coffee. Unlike my fellow diners, I refrained from sprinkling muesli on my waffles. Surely muesli defeats the purpose of waffles? I packed up Betty Boy and embarked upon the next leg of my journey: down the coast to San Luis Obispo via Hearst Castle and, as it turned out, Weymouth. Hearst Castle isn't actually a castle, but a large estate which was built by a very rich man (William Randolph Hearst) who wished to bring an array of European architectural styles to an isolated
town on the Calirfornian coast. Whilst they say he was a very rich man, I think he had to take out a gigantic mortgage to realise his dream. I say this because the entrance fee for the castle is $24! I chose instead to stay at the visitors centre and - for the quite reasonable price of $6 - watch the movie about the inspiration behind, and the construction of, Hearst Castle. It was really interesting and I thoroughly recommend it to anyone planning a trip there. Feeling rather smug at my $18 saving, I drove on, ooh, about 10 miles then took an unplanned break in a picture perfect town called Cambria. Everyone was so friendly - and so excited when they heard my accent and I told them about my trip. I was told by several people that I must come by again and let them know how I'm doing. I think they actually meant it. Anyways, I spent my $18 on a secondhand book, a gift, a greetings card and another cup of coffee. Now I am sat peacefully on Morro Beach sipping my coffee, eating the peanut butter and marmite sandwich I made this morning and
contemplating the fact that it was taken me close to 6 hours to travel 50 miles. At this rate I won't be home until 2012.
I hope to reach San Luis Obispo by sundown. It's 28 miles away and there are 6 hours of daylight left. Wish me luck!
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Alex
non-member comment
I love that you got lost. Twice I think?! And yes, I completely remember that particular pub in Zlin- you were rather a fan I seem to recall....