NorCal (That Means Northern California)

The Oregon coast was going to be tough to top, and we probably should have just driven home after that, as I was skeptical that anything could beat it.  After a twenty three hour argument with Amanda about continuing the trip versus not continuing the trip, Amanda won and we continued into California.  She should be a lawyer.  No she shouldn’t.  I couldn’t be married to a lawyer.  They stink.  Very much.

Anyways, back to the trip.  We started our day making our way through the pretty tremendous Humboldt Redwoods State Park (Specifically, The Avenue of the Giants).  It has all of the giant and famous trees that are older than time (AD time that is).  The trees didn’t disappoint.  They are enormous.

Fun fact:  These trees can have their insides burned out and still live.  It’s crazy.  Amanda is standing inside a cavity created by fire years ago.  The tree is not only still standing, but has all green at the top of it.  It’s crazy.

Not only are these trees huge and almost unbelievable when they are alive, but they get even more ridiculous when they finally fall over.  Here’s the beginning of a fallen tree’s root system:

Pretty big looking, right?  The problem with the picture is that there isn’t much scale in it.  There’s no sense, for the viewer, of the actual size of the tree, as those posts/beams could be really small or really big or something.  This should help:

I’m six feet, six inches tall.  That tree is much bigger.  I’m kind of embarrassed to be that small.  I wish I had a way to look taller in that picture.

Much better.  Amanda is tiny.  Phew.

In another part of the very large park, there’s this:

It’s apparently an important one, as it has it’s own info sign:

It’s really a very big tree.

After some more driving and some more stops to look at huge trees, it was time for lunch.  Luckily, we happened upon what appeared to be the only place to eat for miles and miles:

The food was pretty terrible, and I didn’t take any pictures of what I had (club sandwich or something) not because I forgot my camera, but because I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.  Why?  Because, and I am not making this up, the local high school (a few hundred yards from the Cafe) goes to this place everyday to eat lunch.  I was amazed.  They literally serve as the school’s cafeteria.  That’s crazy.

Soon after we sat down to eat, sure enough, a parade of high school kids came walking up and into the restaurant.  They were super annoying and very loud.  That’s why we wanted to leave.  Here are a few of them:

And a few more, seated right near us:

The young fellow lounging there on the left was the worst one.  He was fairly obnoxious and basically didn’t shut up the whole time.  he also had (and presumably still has) hair like the lead singer from Puddle of Mudd, which is a great look…  He probably doesn’t get enough attention at home or something.

After lunch, we made a few more huge tree gawking stops and finally made our way down the coast for the night.  On the way to our hotel, we stopped at this church:

Movie fans might notice it from a pretty famous Hitchcock film.  Good luck figuring it out.*

After that quick pit stop, we made our way further down the coast to our destination for the evening, San Francisco.  But not before stopping for a quick series of pictures (dur):

How does one enter San Francisco?  The Golden Something Something Tarmac That Spans Water or whatever:

Once we were in the city, we parked the car (only ten bucks for ten hours) and headed down to touristville by the water.  Not too bad view wise:

Including Alcatraz, which was apparently tough to break out of or whatever:

Another fun view, this time of boats:

Along the way, Amanda’s Bread-Dar started to chirp.  She loves bread.  Too much.  Luckily for me, she didn’t want to head in and buy what was assuredly far too expensive:

She likely wanted these things even more, as she loves both turtles and small things:

I really am shocked we didn’t leave San Francisco with a bread turtle. 

Once Amanda had left enough finger and nose prints on the windows of the breadery, we finally made it to the main water tourist attraction of San Francisco: Pier 39:

These piers are home to a bunch of sea creatures who like to jump up on docks:

While they did smell terrible, they were actually kind of amusing.  They yelled at each other, pushed each other over/off and generally did weird things while other tried to sleep or something.  Good time.

After twenty or so minutes of watching, we headed back to tourist central on the pier and had dinner here:

The menu boasted that The San Francisco Chronicle, a local failing newspaper, had rated the clam chowder, which I enjoy, as the best cup in the city.  I decided to put it to the Ryan Test of Chowder Greatness in San Francisco:

As chowder goes, it was tasty.  My palette is not refined enough to sense the difference between great chowder and good chowder, you know, because chowder all tastes the same.  I can say, however, that it was a little less chunky than I would have liked, so strike 1. 

Next up was the main course of linguini and clams:

This was good, but not great.  The sauce was a bit oily, but worst of all, the clams included were tiny.  Like, teeny weeny.  I was a little embarrassed to eat such small and dainty clams.  It was close to not worth the effort of getting them out of the shells, and it wasn’t much effort at all. 

Oh well.  Another mediocre meal.  I’m used to them.

After dinner, we headed to our hotel near Oakland and on the way, or GPS took us through the ghetto.  For real.  Here’s grainy, out of focus proof:

Two hookers.  Awesome.  The neighborhood we were driving through was packed with them.  Saturated with tramps.

We made is through the lovely neighborhoods without being car jacked or shot and finally made it to our hotel. 

Fun fact: the Hyatt Place of San Francisco – Dublin is actually closer to Ireland than it is to San Francisco.  It took us a little over three-quarters of an hour to drive from San Francisco, which is in the name of the hotel, to the parking lot.  How can they get away with this?  I feel like I should be allowed to sue them or something.

Second fun fact: We got a handicapped room for the night.  It was awesome.  The room was super extra large and filled with touches for cripples.  Lower sink, lower bed, enormous, roll in shower, etc.  I recommend, if there are no handi-cappers around, that you request one of these rooms.  It was probably seventy-five percent larger than a regular room and was kind of a novelty, if you find that sort of thing fun.

After sleeping in our super low bed and showering in our huge shower, we made our way back to Oakland to meet up with a friend of mine.  He lives where there are no day time hookers.

This Evan fellow has a regular job, and he also has a smallish, but growing graphic t-shirt company.  He runs it from where he lives.  It is a much larger operation than I had anticipated:

He has a lot of inventory.  You should help him get rid of some of it here.  Adapt Advancement Cooperative.  He makes good stuff.

Once we navigated through the box maze, we made our way to Chinatown for some lunch.  Evan is Asian ( just kidding, he’s America just like us), so he knows all of the good places to eat in Chinatown.  Or at least I trust him more than I would trust a Honkey for sure.  He picked a fantastic little spot:

This place was pretty full of actual Chinese people at lunch, so we knew it would be delicious.  First up was some vegetable soup:

 

It was pretty good, plus everyone loves using those Asian spoons/boats, but no one goes there for soup.

I ordered some chicken fried rice (because Amanda doesn’t like seafood):

This rice was super delicious.  Not too salty, not too soy-y or whatever.  Light, filled with vegetables and chicken and plentiful.  It was great fried rice.

Amanda got some beef lo mien thing (black pepper I think), which was tasty as well:

This was also very good.  The quality of the ingredients was evident to my taste buds.  This looks heavy, but was actually pretty light also. 

Evan also ordered some chicken wings for everyone, which were off the hook.  Or at least bangin’.  Or possibly even off the chain.  You can insert your own hip-hop euphemism for “most excellent” if you like:

The batter was super light (a theme here) and crispy.  The chicken wing hiding inside was moist and super delicious.

In other words, I loved this place.  Nice work Evan.

After lunch, we walked around Oakland a bit (and weren’t murdered or even robbed) and ended up by the water:

After some lingering and conversation about both Calvin and Hobbes and how great it would be if Asian Baptists had church like southern black Baptists do (seriously.  That would be amazing.  Can you imagine a bunch of elderly Asian folks clapping and testifying?), we headed back to the car, parted ways and got to steppin’.

On the trip down to Southern California, I finally dug into the greatest snack food ever, which I had purchased somewhere in Oregon:

I love Hostess cupcakes.  I love them.  Once I saw these hilarious knock-offs, I had to buy them.  How do you call these things Penguins?  Is it because they’re black and white or because penguins are loved by everyone?  They crack me up.  Spanish is the first language on the packaging. 

I finally sullied the packaging and unsheathed the Pinguinos:

They were exactly as I expected: a little smaller with a little less frosting than the Hostess jammers.  Generic versions of things are always the best.  I dug in:

They were dry and certainly more bland than the Hostess ones.  I didn’t care though.  I am a sucker for ridiculous packaging and chocolate cupcakes filled with cream.

Yum.

Lastly, please note all of the great weather shown in all of our pictures.  We sure did.  We also miss it now.  Crap.

*The Birds

Silly Mistakes

Back when I was between eight and twelve years old, I played on a pee-wee football team.  Those who know me now know how ridiculous that sounds, because I am skinny and kind of a sissy.  I was an even bigger sissy back then, if that’s possible. 

I did survive somehow, obviously, and have learned much from my time running from kids bigger than I was.  No I haven't  I didn’t really learn anything, other than I am much better at baseball.

One thing that I didn’t learn, per se, but still recall, was a phrase my coaches would constantly drill into our impressionable and not yet severely concussed minds during practice: don’t make silly mistakes. 

Silly mistakes will kill a football team.  Not literally, but they will contribute to a loss, which to some football coaches, is worse than actually being killed.

Why am I telling you this?  Because I made an incredibly silly mistake in my last post that may have killed the football team that is this web log.  I omitted an incredible experience that Amanda and I, um, experienced in northern Oregon.  This post will hopefully rectify said silly mistake.

Before we got all the way to the coast of Oregon, we had one planned stop in mind.  You will go on the journey with us, through photographs taken from an excited passenger, to a little slice of heaven on earth.

On a desolate road in the farm country of Hillsboro, Oregon:

The signs began appearing:

One after the other:

Encouraging:

Beckoning:

Instructing:

With terrible spelling:

And incredible artistry:

The anticipation builds:

Until finally:

Success!  We made it to the home of the greatest television stars in the history of television: The Roloffs.  Matt Roloff is, without question, the best anti-hero in recorded time.  Anyone who disagrees with me immediately loses not only my respect, but my attention.  Little People Big World is an absolute tour de force on The Learning Channel. 

There was only one problem.

The farm was closed.

Farts.

Not only was the farm closed to visitors (apparently it’s only open on weekends), but since the Roloffs are such stars, the security on the property was pretty high:

Really guys?  A security gate?  The two biggest fans of your show have driven, literally, from Providence, Rhode Island to catch a glimpse of a hilarious midget pratfall and you lock them out?

Needless to mention, Amanda and I were disappointed.  Very disappointed.  We couldn’t even see the main house on their palatial estate (not to mention the ghost town, the grand canyon replica, Molly’s castle, the very dangerous trebuchet, or anything else) from where we were.

Someday…

Oh, and one final note.  Take a look at that squash on the sign.  How phallic can a vegetable be?

Oregon Minus Hipsters

Hipsters can’t afford houses by the beach.  This I have surmised on our trip down the really really nice Oregon coast.  Not a hipster to be found.  Glorious.

This is going to be a pretty short post (for me at least), as we didn’t do much but stare out at the ocean from high cliffs.  We made a few stops to take some pictures and some others to eat and sleep, but most of the time, we were driving along some nice highway.

One of our first stops was a tiny little state park, that boasted the highest waterfall in Oregon: Munson Creek Falls.  The falls were a very short hike from the parking lot and wound through what seemed to be an enchanted forest:

It enchanted because the trees have moss on them.  Duh.

The falls:

After a few minutes admiring and a few minutes of hiking, we were back in the car and on our way.  For a short time.  Not a long time.  We were stalled by brand new road lines being painted:

Awesome.

Once the lines were dry, we followed the pilot car really slowly through some farmland.  Amanda didn’t much like the smell of things:

Once things cleared up a bit, we made our way down the coast and finally to some dinner:

This place boasted being “right on the beach”.  It was not.  It was basically on a river or bay or something, as there was no sand, or waves, to be found.  Regardless of our disappointment, we headed upstairs (as the owners lived on the first floor), sat down and ordered some food:

Some clam chowder with a light dusting of paprika.  It was good, but the clams and potatoes in it were diced a little small for my liking.  Next up? A burger and vegetables:

Meh.

The burger was standard, but the vegetables were waaay overcooked.  I like them a little crunchier than not crunchy at all.  They were basically much.  I could have eaten them toothless.  No good.

Amanda had higher hopes for dessert:

Chocolate mousse is always good.  Nice work.

The next day, we started our drive down the coast in earnest, stopping at various points of interest.

Cape Foulweather (which had very nice weather):

Somewhere near Cape Foulweather:

Near a lighthouse whose name escapes me (I have a terrible memory.  This is why I take so many pictures):

This next one is from the same little beach near the lighthouse.  For some reason, the lighting was crazy:

Just kidding.  Photoshop is something I’m good at.

The next stop was The Devil’s Churn, which is basically a big inlet with crashing waves.  It was super violent:

The above picture was taken right after this:

I was wet.

The walk up from Devil’s Churn was a little less violent, and frankly, much better looking:

Photoshop strikes again.

Somewhere down the coast, we happened upon some sweet sea lion caves.  Sadly, we weren’t the first folks to happen upon them, as there’s a tourist trap attached to them.  We paid our crazy fee and headed down the elevator (200 feet down) to see some smelly sea lions yelling at each other inside a cave:

This cave only smelled like sea lions.  There were none.  Crap.

Apparently, this time of year they spend their time outside of the cave.  What a gyp. We did walk a few tens of feet to another little viewing area where we could see about fifty of so of them smashing up against some rocks trying to climb them in the surf:

You can see a bunch in the water near the rocks and a bunch that actually made it up somehow.  Well done basking sea lions.

After watching the sea lions get injured for awhile, we headed down the coast further for some lunch:

A muscle car themed diner?  In America?  What?!?

More on the inside:

I only know a few things for certain.  This is one of them: Old women like trundle seats almost as much as they love purple.

Oh, one more thing I know for certain: Pictures of old men missing limbs standing outside of a chopped old car holding some sort of achievement plaque will always make me laugh:

I had a humongous chocolate milkshake and a humongous cheeseburger:

 

Sure, it doesn’t look too huge there, but trust me, I had to fit it into my mouth; i was big:

The reason we stopped at that sweet diner was because we were on our way to the Oregon Sand Dunes and their State Park.  Since we had terrible luck with the stupid wet dunes in Idaho, we figured we should give dunes at least one more try.  This time, we had much better weather:

Not to mention rented ATVs.  They were sweet:

What’s it like driving around in some sand dunes?  It’s like this:

And this:

And this:

Awesome!

After we dusted ourselves off and handed the keys back to the greasy depressed man at the ATV garage, we hopped back into the car and kept on driving.  And stopped for a few more panoramamamamas:

And one last series of pictures connected together:

Sunsets on the west coast are much nicer than those on the east coast.

See?  A short one.