One of the best weekends... ever

I forgot how much I enjoy traveling on my own. It’s almost a spiritual experience… one has the opportunity to think, reflect and, of course, talk continuously to their company, even if he is only a fish. I now write (started this post on Sunday night) while sitting in a hostel nestled into the Redwood Forest, across from the Pacific Ocean, listening to a random guy strum beautifully on his guitar, with the crashing waves providing any needed back-up.

I was very nervous to embark on this journey, being so entirely unsure about where I would be in these upcoming months, where I would live and what job I might find. Worrying about the future I forgot to remember it’s really about the experience of all the present moments that counts. Life is the journey, not the destination after all.

This has been an incredible, needed, journey over the past two days. I went from being remorseful over losing my “woo-hoo” spot, to remembering that I will never lose what is mine, it shall merely follow me wherever I chose to go. I know that might sound silly, however remembering that my life isn’t what I am (or am not) doing nor where I live (or or don't live), has been uplifting.

Aiding in this uplifting time has been scenic routes and good friends. On my way to meet Sizz, Nihilistic, Michael and Mr. Rodacre I drove on Hwy 1. It was narrow, steep, curvy… and gorgeous. (Not unlike my company that evening.) Many of my friends think its weird that I have met “online friends”, but when you “meet” people especially through the blogs, you already have a sense of their personality… we read one another’s blogs because we like what they have to say, in person it is only better. I hope that there shall be more fun with blogger friends* in the future.

Heading north out of Santa Cruz I saw this beautiful lighthouse, after stopping and taking pictures I saw that it was a hostel and it gave me the great idea that perhaps there was a hostel in the Redwoods I could stay. I thought that would be better than some random motel on the Oregon Coast. With a friend’s help one was located just south of Crescent City, so in lieu of taking the 1 north I hopped on the 101 outside of San Francisco (I know that driving talking on the phone and shooting pictures might not be the safest thing... but, come on.) and headed through the wine country. Gas was getting less expensive by the mile, and when I saw it as low as $3.15 just south of Eureka, I waited for it to drop even more in Eureka… no such luck. It was back to the SoCal prices of $3.40 a gallon.

I stopped for lunch at a diner in town, bringing Sampson in with me, as he couldn’t stay in the car, lest the water heat up and I have a cooked fish upon my return. As I left the diner, a man appearing homeless looked at me weird as I left carrying my fish. One must truly reflect upon themselves when hobo’s steer clear from you.

As I headed north on the 101 I saw a couple pulled over in a distinctly marked “No Parking” area taking photos. I looked over to see what they were taking pictures of, and walking through a bay bordering the ocean, were about two dozen elk cow. It was unbelievable. I immediately pulled over and parked and also took a few snapshots.

When I got to the hostel, it was unbelievable. It was nestled in the Redwoods, just across from the ocean. There were hiking paths all around it… it was truly amazing. I recommend to anyone heading that way to stay there. The young hippie couple that ran the place were very nice. While the guy pushed the stroller of their very young child around outside, trying to get him to fall asleep, I walked in the house to check in with the girl. I talked about the drive up and the road conditions while she finished opening the place for the evening. I was in mid-sentence telling her of a road closure along the one, due to “rock sli…..” I was completely unable to finish my word as she lifted her arms to put a cardigan over her tank top, and a hugely hairy mass was visible under her armpit. Now I have told you before about how I feel about hair… this stunned me. Being in OC for so long allowed me to forget about hippies and those living “at one” with nature. I tried to finish my word and look cool with the situation. It didn’t work. I went on, “the rock sluds.. the slu.. god I can’t speak today”. Yeah, so not cool.

I arose early on Monday to go see the “Trees of Mystery” before I hit the road. Being the first one in the park was a very nice experience. Just me and nature… although traveling by myself, and having no one else in the park available to take my picture next to some of the trees kinda sucked. I mean I can tell you a particular picture is of a tree over nineteen feet in diameter, but without something next to it to show you the scale, it does kind of lose something.

I headed north, and decided not to take the 101 through Oregon, it was time for me to sack up and head home (although I honestly was having thoughts about just staying on this road trip…I was having far too much fun). I passed by the Smith River and the National Forest, and it was unbelievable. I got on the 5 and headed home. Just in time for my mom to take me to get a mani, and return home where her fiancé had cooked us dinner. He had put out an array of appetizers for us to nibble on, including assorted crackers and cheeses, pickled asparagus and peppers, vegetables… and Cheetos. Yeah, I think he and I will get along just fine. Home, sweet home.

* “Blogger friends” imply that you must have a blog… if you merely read and comment you are a “commenting person” ;-)