Big Sur

The alarm on my watch woke me from a deep sleep as the first rays of light lit up the eastern sky.  At dark thirty  places can look similar and for a few moments I peered through the windows of my van, trying to remember where I had parked the night before.   The Large redwoods tipped it off.  A 35-dollar-per-night campground in Big Sur, or so they charge if you check in and out during normal business hours.

Five more minutes?  No I shouldn't push it.

Leaving the comfort of my sleeping bag,  I crawled to the front seat and fired up the Syncro's 2.0L Audi engine.   I motored out of the spot and followed arrows pinned to trees towards the exit in first gear.  For what seemed like an eternity,  the path wrapped around redwoods exposing RV's and groups' tents before ending at an unattended gate.  "35 dollars the richer, " I grinned to myself as I shifted into second.  In 10 minutes, I emerged from the fog laden valley and pulled off Highway 1 at an appealing pull off with the false notion of falling back asleep for an hour or so.

Instead of crawling back into the fold-out bed,  I sat in the driver's seat and looked towards the east.  The light increased and every few minutes.  I turned my head and inspected the shadows retreating down the nearby hills.  The occasional pickup sped by on its way to who-knows-where, rocking the van briefly.  Time check: 7:03.  I erected my two burner Coleman stove and opened a pack of bacon.   In ten minutes or so the sun will begin to warm up the beach.  Bacon or beach, decisions.  Deliberation.  Reaching for the bacon, I put it back in the cooler.  "That can wait,  sunrise cant."  Throwing on my Nike Free's, I hopped the fence and headed towards the beach.

Last light at Andrew Molera State Park.

#vanlife.

As a taxpayer and owner of multiple state parks passes, I take offense at paying shitty motel rates to park my van for a night.  Ten dollars perhaps, but $35 is out of the question.

Drive by.

Jay Carroll. Splash.

Duly noted.

Supplies.

Kelp.

Capturing the capturer.

I walked through waist high grass before reaching a well used trail.  Snaking through a grove of eucalyptus trees, it ran a mile or so along a stream before ending up at small lagoon and sand bar.  The sun lit up the top of the largest trees.  I took this as a cue, and started jogging.  I can make it there by sunrise.  The sun was now on the hills some hundred feet away.  Time to run.   Breaking out onto the lagoon,  I was just in time.  Finding a seat on a rock I sat for twenty minutes.  Shivers and the promise of bacon and eggs cooked on a cast iron pan finally lodged me from my perch.  This time I walked.

People talk about Big Sur like it's the first Star Wars,  it changes their lives and is a constant reference point.   Mention the place to anyone on the West Coast, and their eyes light up with a story,  After exploring the area on a few trips,  I now know why it lights up people's eyes when discussed.  It's gorgeous and relatively accessible at two and half hours from San Francisco and six hours from LA.   As drives go,  it can't be beat.  Highway 1 wraps around countless points and hundred-foot plunges into the ocean,  conjuring plenty of "what if" thoughts.  As for the Coastline,  take a look at the photos in this post.  If you ever have the chance go to Big Sur, do it.  Just don't sneak in and out of campgrounds, or at least you didn't hear it from me.

Here are some more links,

@Fosterhunting (Twitter),

#Vanlife.

Southbound Again

Getting ready to hit the road always takes longer than planned.  Packing up, making last minute tweaks to the van, and saying the good bye put me half a day behind.  Due to the short days,  I decided to leave the next morning instead of driving 400 miles in the dark.  Waking up before dawn,  I scraped the frost off the windshield of the Syncro with a CD case,  took a swig of orange juice from the fridge and motored out of my mom's driveway.  Taking the 11 hour option over the nine and half direct shot on I-5,  I headed south on the east side of the Cascades through central Oregon and Northern California before crossing over through the Trinity Alps to the Humboldt Coast.  When in doubt, take the prettier route.

A month in the Northwest working on the manuscript for the Burning House book and enjoying Thanksgiving had made me stir crazy.  In addition to the angst that goes along with staying in any place for too long,  I missed California's warmer waters and longed to surf sans booties and gloves.  On December 1st,  I left Underwood, Washington and headed south towards Arcata, California on the northern Humboldt coast.  These photos are in chronological order, from a solid 11 hour day of driving.

Sunrise on Mt. Hood.

Blocked on Highway 26 heading down from Mt. Hood into central Oregon.

An abandoned house outside of Madras Oregon. Everything was frosty.

I'm always on the lookout for vans for #Vanlife,  I spotted this one in Madras.  Scooby Doo.

"Welcome to California,  any fruit or vegetables?"

Mt. Shasta from the north.

The sun set around 4:50 as I wound along Route 3 through the Trinity Alps.  True to its name,  the area feels worlds away from California.  Snaking through a small valley,  the two lane road made the Pacific Coastal Highway look straight.  Stopping to take a piss at a turnout, the last rays of sun bounced around the small valley.  "Just two more hours," I grinned to myself.  Hopping back into Syncro in shorts and barefoot,  I didn't need to crank the heater.  Change is good.

Here are some more links,

#Vanlife (Facebook),

Southbound Again (Picasa),

South Bound Again (Dire Straits).

12,000 mi.

Since leaving New York in early August, I have put 12,000 miles on my VW Syncro.  That's about 600 gallons of gas or a little more than 100 miles a day.  Up and down the West Coast, cruising around the Rockies, and exploring the deserts,  I'm always looking out the windows.  Here are some of my favorites views from the last 12,000 miles.  I'm excited to work on more video projects in the future.

Here are some more links,

(Vimeo),

(Twitter),

 (Facebook).

Rain Shadow

When people talk about the Northwest,  they most often refer to to a 100 mile section from the coast to the Cascades. The Cascade Mountains run from northern California to southern British Columbia, separating the area into two distinct sections.  The western part has the cultural centers, coastal climate, and the majority of the population. The eastern part falls in the rain shadow and takes up most of the real estate and houses most of the Republicans.  West of the Cascades, people drive hybrids with bike racks. East of the mountains  people drive lifted pickup trucks with gun racks.   Growing up I spent time between the two areas and have both pickup and hybrid in me.

Months in the desert and the California sun had made me soft, or so my family claimed, and  after two weeks of constant fog and rain, I had to get out.  Leaving Washougal,  I drove east on highway 14,  a two lane scenic route through the Columbia River Gorge.  Each mile east of Stevenson equates to one and half less inches of annual precipitation.  I kept driving.  Like clockwork, the clouds  opened up around Underwood.  I drove farther.  At Lyle the clouds were gone,  exposing sun.  Sunglasses.

A break in the clouds.

An aspen grove.

Running from the rain.

Tim on a hike.

Chinchillen'

Some times a little change in weather is all you need, or sometimes it just whets the appetite.  A little is rarely enough.

Here are some more links,

Running up the hill (Picasa),

A Restless Transplant (Facebook).