What began as years of dreaming and months of planning, resulted in a whirlwind tour: from San Francisco, where we picked up what was to become our means of exploration (and source of countless headaches), and visited family and friends, to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, then a night at a campground in Big Sur with our friend Regina. The next day took us down ever-winding PCH (tip: this is a bad idea in an RV, and a worse one with consitutionally sensitive children) to Solvang, a surprisingly beautiful "Danish" village in the 100° heat of central California. While there, Chloe spied her favorite car - a Fiat 500. For the rest of the trip, whenever we caught one on the road, she'd hurriedly look out the window to ooh and ahh.
Then came the big time - navigating our way to and through southern California past Brandon's old stomping grounds. The kids were irrationally thrilled when we entered Hollywood and saw the sign. Chloe excitedly noted they might see, "someone famous, like from America's Got Talent." Okay, so our kids don't understand the definition of "celebrity", but they know how to deal with moose and bears; it's all relative. We finally found our way to Anaheim in the growing darkness, ready to tackle Disneyland first thing in the morning. We were fortunate enough to not only have our dear friend and handler extraordinaire Andi there, along with her beau Gabe, but also Brandon's old high school friends Phil and Melanie, and their amazingly cool son Tyler. Malcolm and Tyler have loved hanging out over the years, and that day was no exception. A blast was had by all.
The next morning we set our course due west, toward Joshua Tree National Park. It was easily a highlight of our trip, and after finding a spot in Jumbo Rocks Campground, we spent hours hiking, climbing and crawling on the rocks, and chasing hapless lizards. Miraculously, it had rained the day before, and the occasional thunderstorm (complete with breathtaking desert lightning) lingered long enough to cool what would otherwise have been a baking hot stay.
Of course, in the end, the desert always has its way. Our next stop was along a stretch of Route 66 through Mojave National Preserve, on our fateful way to Las Vegas. The temperature there reached 107°. We've lived in Alaska since 2005, more than long enough to grow accustomed to our cold winters and cool summers. 107° may as well be 407° to northfolk like us. We wilted in the heat and crisped in the sun, and the constant cigarette smoke, unavoidable adult ads and pushy hotel sales staff convinced us Vegas was a major blemish in an otherwise fun vacation. We did manage to see a cheesy but enjoyable medieval tournament show, and the truly amazing Lion King production, which made up for everything. And while there, Chloe finally got her ears pierced. As far as she's concerned, Las Vegas is great. But Chloe's 6, so whatever.
Making our way back across open desert, we chugged through some desolate areas before joining what would become one of the two most beautiful highways (along with PCH) of the trip: Route 395. The mostly two-lane highway winds its way up California's length east of the Sierra Nevada mountains, from baking desert floor to cooler high desert, through rugged river canyons and past sleepy ranching towns, up sagebrush foothills and into surrounding areas like Mammoth and Mono Lake and Yosemite. Mammoth Brewing Company even brews an excellent sage- and juniper-infused IPA in honor of the 395, which Brandon and Stephanie enjoyed while camping in picturesque June Lake.
Yosemite is doubtlessly all it's cracked up to be, but when you're sailing a lumbering pleasure barge amidst the swift currents of choked two-lane roads and twisting mountain doglegs, its sublime wonders are quickly worn thin. Brandon even managed to lose a jousting match with a roadside snow marker, and a side view mirror in the process. Such roads are excellent for photographers and motorcyclists, but hell for silly renters of land whales. Lesson learned.
After two nights, we picked up and headed farther north, settling in among the sequoias between Lake Tahoe and Sacramento. The next day took us finally to our old college town of Chico. The temperature was a brisk 85°, and though we sweated as ever, the locals seemed to be enjoying a cool summer. We swam with the kids at One Mile, strolled past the Bidwell Mansion and onto campus, into downtown for an ice cream, and ended up at Sierra Nevada for dinner. We had a lot of fun, and shared some great memories.
One more night at an RV park. We quickly found these to be unintentionally hilarious and often annoying places, with one blinged-out RV on top of another, wealthy tanned seniors walking tiny dogs and assinine rules that defy logic if you're not retired and rich. Easily the best RV park we found was a dusty, forgotten place along a stretch of the 395. The locals running it were already into their evening beers when we arrived, and they made us feel genuinely welcome. Tumbleweeds and passing 18-wheelers did little to stop us from enjoying the quaint pool and the sleepy rural atmosphere. The pomeranian and tennis club set can keep their ridiculous lifestyle; we'll take unassuming smalltown Americana any day.
The morning after Chico we were making our way west, through another endless slog of hills, twists and turns, small towns, slow traffic, more twists and turns, and easily the worst road of the trip - a rutted, rotting, often single-lane, curving track that ran like slow torture from Ukiah to the coast. The scenery was superb, naturally, but weaving our absurd RV through it was madness - as evidenced by Calvin losing his breakfast, as he had previously on PCH. Again, such routes are to be avoided when giant vehicles and children are involved. Learn from our mistake.
A final evening in Mendocino was another highlight, giving us time to explore some cool, quiet driftwood-strewn beaches, and one last night of camping. Stephanie and Brandon plan on retiring in the area eventually, anywhere from about Mendocino north, in among the myriad tiny towns, farms and forested hillsides. It's a largely forgotten corner of California that we've always loved, and it was good to see nothing there has changed.
We returned the next day (via a mercifully easier stretch of PCH) to the major freeways of northern California, across the Golden Gate and on into San Francisco. Unfortunately, Google felt it necessary to lead us into the hilly heart of the city, and at one point Brandon was convinced we were going to bottom out at one particular crest, though we took it at an angle and speed the San Francisco Police Department frowns upon. Somehow, we survived, and lumbered on back to our original hotel. The RV was booted unceremoniously from our possession - we'd had more than enough of "black water", wide turns, low overhangs, parking problems, gas prices, wind noise, cramped quarters, and the eternal, bone-shaking rattle that comes of driving a kitchen down the road. Good riddance, and never again. RVs suck.
One last full day in the city: Stephanie and Andi took Chloe and Calvin to the Japanese Tea Garden, as well as one more visit with Stephanie's parents, while Brandon took Malcolm to a Giants game - his first major league baseball game. After the game, Brandon and Malcolm made their way up to Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf. The others joined them after dinner, as well as our good friend Kevin and his pal Tim, and the lot of us hiked up to Ghirardelli Square for some much needed ice cream and malted shakes.
The next day we said our goodbyes to California, and made our way wearily back to Alaska. Waiting for us was blessedly cool 60° weather, clear skies and a quiet home. It was a wonderful vacation and a truly memorable experience, and we're very glad we had the chance to do it. We saw loved ones, visited some beautiful places, had a lot of fun and spent nearly three weeks together, which we never tire of.
But boy is it good to be back home. :)
