We awoke to the strains of Robert Schumann’s *Träumerei* flowing from my iPhone. There is, quite simply, no better way to begin the day. If you’re not familiar with it, check it out. It may be the most civilized thing that ever came out of my iPhone.
There comes a time on every trip when one or both of us looks at the other and says, “I want to go home.” Sometimes it happens after a week; sometimes it takes twenty days. But sooner or later, it always happens. This morning, apparently, was our turn.
After checking the reservations, we discovered it was too late to cancel Salinas without sacrificing a small fortune. Salinas, therefore, was spared. Paso Robles and Needles were not so fortunate. Both were viable candidates for cancellation, and both promptly met the ax.
A quick consultation with online maps, the stars, and the tides—why not, we were at the ocean—led us to an overnight in Barstow and home one day sooner.
With that decision in the books, we headed off to our innkeeper’s morning offering. This inn is first-class, from the Lincoln stretch limo that ferries guests to dinner to the real eggs featured in its breakfast spread. Oh, how sweet the morning is without powdered eggs.
Once the car was loaded, we were off for another day’s adventure. And by “off,” I mean we made it all of a quarter mile to Starbucks for the usual. Only after the coffee had been secured could we actually hit the road.
Not wanting to arrive at tonight’s stop two hours early, we decided to take a drive along the Avenue of the Giants. This part of Northern California is home to the magnificent Coast Redwoods, the tallest of all tree species. Some can reach heights of more than 350 feet and measure as much as 20 feet across at the base.
They are truly the elders of the forest, with some reported to be more than 2,000 years old. So, yes, considerably older than me—but not by nearly as much as you might think.
For some reason, this giant corn stands shoulder to shoulder—or at least corn stalk to redwood—with its brethren, the giant redwoods.
The drive up to this point had been thoroughly enjoyable. We had encountered a dozen or more construction zones, but none caused any significant delay; on an otherwise perfect day, they were easy to overlook. Santa Rosa was our lunch stop, where Alex at Jersey Mike’s assembled one outstanding sandwich.
Once past Santa Rosa, the scenery began to fade, traffic increased, and my previously quiet nerves started edging toward the surface. Wanting to avoid San Francisco—and the Golden Gate Bridge toll, which can reach $11.25—we chose an alternate route. Yes, $11.25 for one trip across one bridge. Later, on Interstate 580, we discovered that motorists were also being charged to use the High-Occupancy Vehicle lanes. The siphoning of money is truly an art.
After checking in, we had a light supper and are now looking forward to a peaceful night’s sleep—hopefully enough to settle the nerves and prepare us for tomorrow.
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