Road Trip!

We woke up yesterday morning with a plan to take a road trip. As Kong had no running events scheduled in Sacramento, we'd thought we'd take advantage of the unlimited miles on the rental car. It's a hybrid Nissan Altima, so we'd thought we'd take advantageo of the fuel efficiency, as well. Gas prices in California are high, well over 3.00 per gallon, so we're glad we chose the hybrid option. This Altima does not compare to our Prius, at home, but it'll do.

Our plan was to complete our journey across the continent and touch the Pacific Ocean. Neither one of us has ever even seen the Pacific, so it seemed the thing to do. A quick look at a map and the decision was made to drive to San Francisco, cross the Golden Gate Bridge, and then make a nice, comfortable loop on the Pacific Coast Highway down to Santa Cruz, returning via San Jose through the California countryside.

I drove the first leg, and it didn't take long for me to be wowed by the farmlands west of Sacramento. I grew up in South Jersey, and honestly, people need to stop making New Jersey jokes. In my youth, I was surrounded by farmland and daily enjoyed locally produced, delicious food, whether it was fresh in season, or home preserved by my grandmother, mother and aunts. The landscape was lush all summer as corn, tomatoes, peppers, and the lovely peach trees of Gloucester County soaked up the warm summer sunshine.

But, California! What an amazing sight to see miles of farmland and rich black soil. What struck me, though, was the variety of crops growing along our short drive. I've made many road trips around the country and have always enjoyed passing through farmlands. But each area of the country has it's own specialty crop. Tomatoes and corn are the staple crops of South Jersey. I've marveled at the tropic-like appearance of tobacco in the south, and the other-wordly look of cotton fields ripe with fluff ball fruit. In the American midwest, the endless fields of wheat turn prairies into oceans. But in our short drive through the California countryside between Sacramento and the ocean, I saw nut trees, berry fields, vegetables galore, and artichokes growing in fields that practically touched the ocean. During a lunch stop in Half Moon Bay, I marveled at a grocer's sidewalk display of local produce. I picked up an ear of corn with the diameter of a major leaguer's baseball bat. As a Jersey Girl through and through, I have long held that there is no sweet corn better than that grown in Gloucester County. But, as I held that hefty, sweet smelling log of corn, the deepest kernels of my South Jersey belief system were challenged for the very first time. Could it be possible that there IS better corn grown somewhere? For a moment, I wondered if size really did matter, but then remembered that I had no way to cook that ear of corn and laid it back on the display.

As if sensing competition from the vegetable world, the flowers along our drive were not to be outdone. Everywhere we looked we saw flowers massed on the roadsides, in boxes and pots in front of San Francisco homes, at the base of a lighthouse, just outside the window next to the cafe booth where we enjoyed lunch. They were beautiful. Back home, I've been on stand-down mode with my flower displays, the recent 100-plus degree temperatures having evaporated the life from the displays in my garden. I'm sure Kong was quickly bored by my endless comments about the amazing displays. This truly is a beauty spot. Were it not for outrageous housing costs and the possibility of earthquakes at any moment, this place might even be paradise.

Kong and I did more than admire the scenery during our drive. Just before crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, we pulled into a dirt parking area to explore. We found a walkway that passed under the bridge. We stood beneath the structure as vehicles roared overhead and shook the deck. On the other side, we discovered Vista Point, crowded with tourists who had ridden double-decker tour buses, hiked across the bridge, or rented bikes and colorful helmets to make their crossing from the city. We took photos and decided to hike to mid span, as well. What a fun hike! It was as much fun to watch the people as it was taking in the views. We heard languages from around the world and watched as families lined up along the railing for photos with the bay and city as backdrop. Parents with small children clutched their youngsters' hands tightly as they passed along this narrow corridor between whizzing traffic and a death plummet into the water. Echoes of every mother's warnings to stay out of traffic and, "If your friends jumped off a bridge . . . " came to mind. Along the way, we also passed two young men who were crossing the bridge in an interesting fashion. One held a video camera, recording his friend's progress as he flopped down on all fours in a frog-stance on the walkway. Then he thrust his legs behind him, did a push up, reversed the process and stood up again. People turned and watched, cheered him on, and took photos. (Yes, we have video.) On our way back, we passed the two young men again. This time, they had switched positions. I noticed that they had torn athletic tape covering their hands. We, however, enjoyed our time on the bridge in the usual fashion.

Once back in our car, we wandered in town a bit. At some point we turned toward the coastline but quickly were lost. Kong pulled over to the curb as we surveyed the situation, checked the GPS and an old-fashioned map. I looked up and realized that we were directly in front of the Pacific Ocean. "Oh, that's the Pacific!" Kong didn't appear to be impressed. He wanted to find the marker for the western terminus of the Lincoln Highway. He has a sick compulsion for roadside attractions, and I have to admit that I share that interest to some degree. However, if I were given a choice between seeing a concrete Lincoln Highway marker or the Pacific Ocean, I'm quite sure the ocean would rule the day for me. He fiddled with the GPS a few more times, turned the car around in a few likely places and peered into the woods of a city park. But even Kong gave up the search when he spied someone relieving himself in the woods just inside the tree line. So, off to the beach we went!

It was foggy, as I had expected. It was cold, as I had not expected. I never thought that it would be 60 degrees on a July day anywhere in the lower 48. I had, however, checked a weather report before leaving Sacramento, so I was prepared with a fleece jacket, which I wore for most of the day. Kong was more adventurous than I. He rolled up his jeans and took off his shoes to stand in the ocean. I simply reached down and touched it with my hand. Once again, I forgot to ask him to take a photo of me. So, we only have one picture of him. When he dies, there will be lots of great photos to display at his funeral; for me, no so much.

We also enjoyed a stop for lunch in Half Moon Bay where we ate at a cute little cafe. I ordered a simple grilled ham and cheese, but it included the most delicious roasted pepper I have ever had. There was a slice of weak tomato included, and I have to say that my Jersey Pride was restored. We still have better tomatoes back east, thank you very much. After lunch, we drove on south along the Pacific Crest Highway, taking in the beautiful views. We stopped briefly at Pigeon Point Light, where we met a State Park volunteer who had previously lived in Willow Grove, PA. We chatted about the weather, life back east, and she agreed that we grew better tomatoes in the Delaware Valley. I tormented her by telling her that I had 4 foot tall heirloom tomato plants in my backyard. She drooled a little, and I was happy. Outside, we watched harbor seals sunning themselves below the lighthous and watched the fog move along the landscape.

We continued our drive down the coast and turned back toward Sacramento when we reached Santa Cruz. It was a lovely day on the road. Today, we'll be at the track, as Chuck competes in the 800 meter finals this afternoon. Perhaps we'll roll into Old Sacramento this evening and check out the local life.