Today was planned as a day for meandering through the redwoods, and working my way down to the San Francisco Bay Area, where I was going to stay north of the Golden Gate in San Anselmo with my friends Paul and Marybeth. I’ve been on the Redwood Highway (US 101) many times, but always on my way somewhere else, except for two years ago when I did my first post-Jonah long motorcycle trip to the Left Coast. This time I promised myself that I’d take my time, explore some of the byways and oddities, and soak in some of the atmosphere of one of the most spectacular places imaginable.
Heading south from Eureka it was cool – almost cold. The coastal fog makes mornings chilly; some days it never quite burns off, but I wasn’t going to be around long enough to see if this was one of those days or not. About 25 miles south of Eureka I was riding alongside of the Eel River on 101, and I turned off for the Avenue of the Giants. I’m pretty sure this is the old 101, the one that meanders through the small towns of what once was one of the great lumber industry areas of the continent, rather than bypassing them. As I crested a hill, I saw a beautiful green bridge spanning the Eel, along with a gigantic lumber processing facility. I pulled off, and began exploring Scotia and the surrounding area. Scotia was home to the Pacific Lumber Company, and was a company town. What had arrested me initially was the view of the uniform worker bungalows neatly aligned in rows above the mill. As I explored a bit, I found more interesting architecture, including a former bank (now a museum) designed in neoclassical style, but with giant redwood logs serving as its Doric columns. There was also a fanciful Union Church, obviously shared by multiple denominations at one point in time (and perhaps even today).
Heading south from Eureka it was cool – almost cold. The coastal fog makes mornings chilly; some days it never quite burns off, but I wasn’t going to be around long enough to see if this was one of those days or not. About 25 miles south of Eureka I was riding alongside of the Eel River on 101, and I turned off for the Avenue of the Giants. I’m pretty sure this is the old 101, the one that meanders through the small towns of what once was one of the great lumber industry areas of the continent, rather than bypassing them. As I crested a hill, I saw a beautiful green bridge spanning the Eel, along with a gigantic lumber processing facility. I pulled off, and began exploring Scotia and the surrounding area. Scotia was home to the Pacific Lumber Company, and was a company town. What had arrested me initially was the view of the uniform worker bungalows neatly aligned in rows above the mill. As I explored a bit, I found more interesting architecture, including a former bank (now a museum) designed in neoclassical style, but with giant redwood logs serving as its Doric columns. There was also a fanciful Union Church, obviously shared by multiple denominations at one point in time (and perhaps even today).
I crossed the Eel to get a picture of the green bridge, and stopped near a hillside on which a couple were doing some landscaping. There were fresh scars from a set of large redwoods that had been cut down. When they saw me taking pictures, the couple came down to talk, and told me that they had had the redwoods taken down because they had become unstable. They told me that despite their size, redwoods have shallow root systems, and are susceptible to blowovers. The area where they are located gets winds up to 75 mph, and they were worried that the trees would fall on the hillside house. “They’re beautiful, but they’re really just big weeds. You can’t kill them off. These were just cut down earlier this year, and look at all the shoots they’re putting out!”
After Scotia I motored through the redwoods, stopping often to take pictures. At Founders Grove I spent a bit of time walking around some of the largest of the trees. People often talk about the cathedral-like nature of the redwoods – the immense height of the trees, and the way they block light contributes to a feeling of being in the nave of a gigantic church. What struck me most, though, was the almost complete silence in the groves. Perhaps because the trees so completely block the light from reaching the forest floor there isn’t much in the way of understory vegetation. Although birds proliferate at the margins of the groves (they’re often located along river banks), in the groves themselves there isn’t much evidence of them. The stillness is eerie and beautiful. The vegetation is low-lying, and often quite verdant.
The Avenue of the Giants exists both for closer access to the magnificent trees and for the somewhat less transcendental tourist traps that form the current economic backbone of many of these towns. Trees of Mystery, The Indestructable Tree, The Drive-thru Tree (there are three of these), the Single Log House – these are remnants of an auto-touring culture with its roots in the 1930s, and they still retain that slightly breathless, carny-like flavor of hucksterism that used to be such an integral part of American roadways. This area still retains that earlier flavor – there is much less evidence of the franchise culture that has homogenized so much of our national landscape.
After savoring the redwoods, I decided to have some fun on my way south. Instead of heading directly to San Anselmo on 101, I decided to pop over to the coast on CA 1, going through Fort Bragg and Mendocino (one of my favorite spots in the world), and then taking CA 128 back over the coastal hills (mountains?) back to US 101. Ideally I would have spent at least a few hours in Mendocino, but I was doing this for the fun of riding some of the most interesting roads in this area of the northern California coast. Filled with switchbacks, sharp curves, and amazing scenery, this is motorcycle heaven. It took slightly more than an hour to ride 40 miles –when the signs on these roads say “15 mph curve,” they’re serious. My bike was laden down with luggage, and I’m not a great sport-bike-style rider to begin with. I thought I was doing quite well until I was passed by a Prius, who proceeded to disappear in front of me! (Granted, he was someone who was local and knew the road intimately, but . . . a Prius? As Kurtz might have said, “The horror, the horror . . .”
I arrived at Paul and Marybeth’s around 7:00, after 10 hours of riding and sightseeing. After a shower, I felt fantastic. Paul and Marybeth are some of my oldest friends – I met Marybeth when we were taking a course on The Rise of the Novel as undergrad English majors at Berkeley back in the early 70s. They live in a stunningly cool house on the side of Mount Tamalpais, above San Anselmo, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, and west of San Rafael. Built as a hunting cottage or lodge in the 1880s, their house has been added to over the years. They have a spectacular view out over the valley, and a wonderful garden (fenced, as part of the ongoing war with the deer). The road to their house is even twistier than the one I took to the Shoreline Highway north of Fort Bragg – I was in first gear almost the entire way up. And their driveway almost requires Sherpas to negotiate. But they are incredibly welcoming, as is their house, which they’ve been renovating for the past 20 years. I was a bit shocked to find that they’re both talking quite seriously about retirement –Paul has already retired from his adjunct position at SF State teaching creative writing, but still has a job as a writer for a Catholic health care organization. Marybeth has had numerous careers, but is thinking about giving up her dental one – and all of this talk suddenly made me realize that I, too, have aged (probably less gracefully than they have).
After an amazing dinner of grilled seared tuna steak with mango glaze on a black bean chutney salad, we gave up the ghost and turned in. Really, one of the best days in recent memory!
After Scotia I motored through the redwoods, stopping often to take pictures. At Founders Grove I spent a bit of time walking around some of the largest of the trees. People often talk about the cathedral-like nature of the redwoods – the immense height of the trees, and the way they block light contributes to a feeling of being in the nave of a gigantic church. What struck me most, though, was the almost complete silence in the groves. Perhaps because the trees so completely block the light from reaching the forest floor there isn’t much in the way of understory vegetation. Although birds proliferate at the margins of the groves (they’re often located along river banks), in the groves themselves there isn’t much evidence of them. The stillness is eerie and beautiful. The vegetation is low-lying, and often quite verdant.
The Avenue of the Giants exists both for closer access to the magnificent trees and for the somewhat less transcendental tourist traps that form the current economic backbone of many of these towns. Trees of Mystery, The Indestructable Tree, The Drive-thru Tree (there are three of these), the Single Log House – these are remnants of an auto-touring culture with its roots in the 1930s, and they still retain that slightly breathless, carny-like flavor of hucksterism that used to be such an integral part of American roadways. This area still retains that earlier flavor – there is much less evidence of the franchise culture that has homogenized so much of our national landscape.
After savoring the redwoods, I decided to have some fun on my way south. Instead of heading directly to San Anselmo on 101, I decided to pop over to the coast on CA 1, going through Fort Bragg and Mendocino (one of my favorite spots in the world), and then taking CA 128 back over the coastal hills (mountains?) back to US 101. Ideally I would have spent at least a few hours in Mendocino, but I was doing this for the fun of riding some of the most interesting roads in this area of the northern California coast. Filled with switchbacks, sharp curves, and amazing scenery, this is motorcycle heaven. It took slightly more than an hour to ride 40 miles –when the signs on these roads say “15 mph curve,” they’re serious. My bike was laden down with luggage, and I’m not a great sport-bike-style rider to begin with. I thought I was doing quite well until I was passed by a Prius, who proceeded to disappear in front of me! (Granted, he was someone who was local and knew the road intimately, but . . . a Prius? As Kurtz might have said, “The horror, the horror . . .”
I arrived at Paul and Marybeth’s around 7:00, after 10 hours of riding and sightseeing. After a shower, I felt fantastic. Paul and Marybeth are some of my oldest friends – I met Marybeth when we were taking a course on The Rise of the Novel as undergrad English majors at Berkeley back in the early 70s. They live in a stunningly cool house on the side of Mount Tamalpais, above San Anselmo, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, and west of San Rafael. Built as a hunting cottage or lodge in the 1880s, their house has been added to over the years. They have a spectacular view out over the valley, and a wonderful garden (fenced, as part of the ongoing war with the deer). The road to their house is even twistier than the one I took to the Shoreline Highway north of Fort Bragg – I was in first gear almost the entire way up. And their driveway almost requires Sherpas to negotiate. But they are incredibly welcoming, as is their house, which they’ve been renovating for the past 20 years. I was a bit shocked to find that they’re both talking quite seriously about retirement –Paul has already retired from his adjunct position at SF State teaching creative writing, but still has a job as a writer for a Catholic health care organization. Marybeth has had numerous careers, but is thinking about giving up her dental one – and all of this talk suddenly made me realize that I, too, have aged (probably less gracefully than they have).
After an amazing dinner of grilled seared tuna steak with mango glaze on a black bean chutney salad, we gave up the ghost and turned in. Really, one of the best days in recent memory!
Nice post, Roger. Sounds like a great trip.
ReplyDeleteBut what kind of mileage was that No-Cal Prius getting, one wonders. I myself would never think of passing a motorcycle in my Prius (or anything else for that matter).
The mileage probably wasn't too bad -- it was on a downhill section of a very twisty road. On my bike I tend to slow down, particularly when I can't see around the corners. Someone who knows the road has the advantage of being able to accelerate where I would brake! By the way, I was passed on a straightaway -- and because the Prius had been following me through the twisties I made sure he had the opportunity to pass.
ReplyDelete