When we last left off, we'd departed from Grammy and Grandpa's house near Sacramento for all points CAMP. Our first campground location was on the North California coast in Mendocino. I thought I would deviate from my standard of giving you an establishing scenery-type photograph of our locale and instead let you say hi to this guy:
Yep, a banana slug. Spotty, slimy, beloved mascot of UC Santa Cruz, where the school motto is "We don't have any sports, anyway." These big guys were everywhere, and each day we had to do a new slug relocation program to avoid squishing them; they were nearly impossible to see until you were right up on them!
Aah, that's a little more like it: the scenic view we've been looking for with sandy beach, flowing waves, craggy rocks, and pensive poet. Our winding trip from Sacramento out to the coast spat us out on Highway 1 (aka The Pacific Coast Highway) in Fort Bragg, a small city with a preserved, quaint little downtown in addition to the bigger grocery stores and a plethora of Rite Aids. From my pre-made list of Farmers Markets, I knew there was one happening right then in Fort Bragg, conveniently on our way to Mendocino 10 miles south. You know how they always say not to shop hungry, because you'll buy way too much? For me this is true about it not being a good time to shop, but it's because I'm so hungry that my blood sugar falls out the window and my brains and reason will hop out after it. Rather than arriving home with a half-empty family-sized bag of Doritos, orange fingers and a sick feeling in my stomach that's not just diet guilt, I'm more likely to wander the same three aisles over and over, staring into space and dizzy with hunger, and decide that what I really need to make is lasagna. From scratch. A great hunger-killer if it didn't take about four hours to cook when you count the tomato sauce simmering time. Bad idea.
So with cash in hand, hungry bellies, and plenty of dinner food already in the car, we staggered around the teeny farmer's market, glossing over flower/seed stalls and trying to envision a future meal out of the goods in front of us.
I recalled this grilled pizza recipe that we'd done in the past on the barbecue, and had a mind to re-create that over the campfire. We grabbed a fresh round loaf of ciabatta, a bunch of arugula, and a package of semi-soft chevito goat cheese.
Once checked in at the campsite and the gear/tent unloaded and set up, Andy labored once again in wind that seemed to come from all directions at once to build us a campfire. I peered at my assembled batch of ingredients--what was I thinking, again? I washed and tore the arugula, cut strips of the tender, slightly damp cheese, and looked again over my stash. Andy had a stolen pear, pretty firm still, from his work event of the previous day. I amended my plan from pizze to panini, slid my knife through the middle of the ciabatta and sliced the hard pear. Andy took Alton on a bridge walk down a nearby trail...
...while I grilled the pear slices to soften them up and Minerva looked at me skeptically.
I circled our fire ring as the smoke stung my eyes, making me tear up and curse, and the misshapen slats of our grill caused me to lose more than one pear to the ashes below. I drizzled the ciabatta with olive oil and toasted it, then Andy and Alton came back and suddenly we had...panini. Grilled pear and chevito with fresh arugula on toasted ciabatta, no less. I was weak with relief that after all that effort, they were ridiculously good.
After that first night, we were treated to bright, sunny days while we were there, so we went down to the nearby beach from our heavily-wooded, slug-filled campsite.
Although we brought Alton's sand pail and shovel along, he was most interested in the driftwood and seaweed and appropriating sticks to whack against those two things as much as possible.
After I had layered him in sunscreen on his uncovered portions, he daubed some wet sand on each cheek to get that extra element of protection. "I'm putting on my sunscream," he informed us.
Of course, the beach is the best place to relax!
Minerva was a different story, however. Anxious at the best of times to jump in any body of water she sees and go for a swim, her leashless days on the beach in Mexico completely ruined her for the rest of the trip. She did not understand why in Mendocino we wanted to tether her to a fallen tree instead of launching stick after stick into the surf for her. Poor girl. In a weak moment, we decided to unclip her and risk the ranger's wrath (and probably a fine) to let her "fetch" a couple dozen times before we re-harnessed her and persuaded her to rest on the sand.
The town of Mendocino is another preserved, picturesque little handful of streets where B&Bs abound and local business owners are king. We enjoyed a yummy couple of lunches over the days after our morning fun, including a visit to Mendocino's own Farmers Market (more appropriately just called "Market"--a scant dozen vendors with too many offering flowers, pricey sea salt and olive oil, and not a vegetable to be found). One restaurant we visited in town had a kids' play area already occupied by another three-year-old boy; he and Alton shared some giggles, but sadly I think Alton knew from his experience of our Kerouac lifestyle not to get too attached to an impermanent friend and we bid the little boy farewell once we finished our food.
He consoled himself with slug friends. Andy and I both would crack up at the very human and very non-sequiter ways he would converse with the forest dwellers on the trip. When Andy spotted a banana slug on a fence rail and pointed it out to Alton, he exclaimed, "Banana slug! What are you DOING?" Another time, with me crouching quietly next to him to indicate a deer grazing through nearby bushes, he waved his granola bar and intoned, "Hi Deer. I have this."
Ah, here's your Mendocino sunset picture! Hard-won by Andy, who noticed the fading light and raced out to a lookout point to snap his photos. (Edit by Katie: Andy may have been the one hustling to drive to the lookout point, but he informed me this photo was actually taken by Alton, who I must mention is getting VERY adept at looking through the viewfinder with one eye.)
The Drive to Coos Bay, OR
But the fun didn't end in Mendocino by far. Our departure day had us staring down Highways 1 and 101 at seven and a half hours of driving, the longest traveling time of our trip thus far. Originally I'd planned shorter visits at campgrounds closer together, but we did some re-organizing midstream when we saw how long our setup and teardown processes were and how much the upheaval of constant new places was hard on Alton. So we called campgrounds and arranged for slightly longer stays at a few places and had to delete a few stops, such as the Humboldt Forest a few hours north in California.
So for this day of car riding ahead of us, we rose and packed early in the misty morning while sleepy campers around us made their ways to the bathroom or prepared coffee (and I'm STILL waiting for a round of applause or something during our takedown time--c'mon, getting all our mass of gear compactly concertina'd into the Mini is pretty unbelievable), then grabbed breakfast on the go and wound our way up Highway 1. Twisting, turning...I get carsick so I was driving and felt okay, but the hairpin turns and bright sunlight strobing the windows through the tall trees were trying the iron stomach abilities of my three passengers. Minerva in the front seat next to me could not lie down, but kept her eyes trained on the highway, swaying back and forth like a buoy with all the curves. Andy swallowed hard and tried to focus ahead as well while tending to a greenish Alton at the same time. Poor little dude inhaled fresh air from the open window and looked wan and pale, but eventually succumbed to a body system re-boot and just passed out asleep.
He awakened when we got to Leggett, the next landmark on the highway which housed almost nothing save for...the drive-thru tree! Yep, a redwood big enough to still be standing after you hollowed out a tunnel in its trunk to drive a car through. Andy got out to snap pictures and verify that we'd still fit with the box on top of our car. We did, and after preserving the memory Andy hopped in the car at Alton's insistence that we drive through it again so Andy could experience it.
The redwood highway up to Eureka is beautiful, and once we were past that first winding part it was a shame we had to scoot by so quickly without admiring our surroundings. Just south of Fortuna we discovered the town of Alton! Yep, population 275.
Before long we found ourselves back in our homeland of no sales tax: good 'ol Oregon. Once we hit the Rogue River, a potty break/leg stretch stop at Jerry's mail boat was necessary (Mail delivered to a town by boat, where the industry is supplemented by river tours and, I think, jetski rentals. They seemed surprised that we weren't boating, but the photo op bitty boat was enough for us.).
Andy also saw a cool-looking wreck in the water nearby.
Finally we arrived! Sunset Bay State Beach (not to be confused with Sunset Dunes in Watsonville from a few weeks ago), our first Oregon State Park experience. Can't wait!
Grammy and Grandpa (a.k.a. Jennifer and Charlie, Andy's parents) live just outside of Sacramento, a little over an hour's drive from our previous wine country stop. Although the day felt cool to them, we were happy to soak up the afternoon sun once we left behind the drizzles of Sonoma County. We crowded into the backyard as Minerva joyously reacquainted herself with the other members of the Rhyne Black Dog Club: resident pooch Tye, and Molson, Zach and Karen's dog who is temporarily housed with the grandparents.
Grandpa and Andy darted out to get haircuts (hey, that mohawk of Andy's is not going to trim itself), then home again to light the barbecue and start going on upright "beer can" grilled chicken, minus the beer can. With the water in the outdoor spa tub heated to a cozy 101 degrees, Grammy was happy to use it as ammo with her little co-conspirator.
We all had to keep our wits about us as Alton's aim with the water shooter varied in skill--he made targets out of the backside of the grill, the bushes, occasionally (accidentally?) our pants, and often, the dogs (whose reactions ranged as follows: sad[der] looks from Minerva, dramatic and hyperactive jumps as if he were getting a leg full of shrapnel from Tye, and no acknowledgement whatsoever that anything had happened from Molson).
Grandpa saved us all from sporting "accident" pants for the rest of the night by teaching Alton how to transplant flower starts.
Little Mr. Green Thumb was entranced!
Then came more watering, which he couldn't help but enjoy, of course.
The next day was Monday, which saw Grandpa back at the salt mines, but Grammy had the day off to visit with us. I'd heard from other Sacramento-area folks about Fairy Tale Town, a park themed around children's stories and nursery rhymes, and since the weather was fair we opted for a visit. It had been years since Grammy Jennifer had visited this place, and then only with chaotic field trip groups, so she was dubious about how nice we'd find it. She was happy to be surprised by how tidy and fresh it all looked, and since it was a school day we meandered through fairly crowd-free, save for one small field trip group that cut out early.
Alton and Grammy on a throne at King Arthur's court.
Admission a paltry four dollars, Fairy Tale Town is a collection of play structures with slides, ladders, stairs, and paths to take you into a literary world amalgamated out of characters ranging from Cinderella to the Three Little Pigs, Winnie the Pooh to the Crooked Man who walked a Crooked Mile, Peter Rabbit to, um, Pirates. Scattered throughout are animal pens, some "petting zoo"-style and some not, housing (among others) a donkey, two sheep, a calf, four rabbits, a tarantula (not for petting) and some newly hatched chicks.
Farmer Brown's barnyard had a tractor for Alton to pose on.
The Little Engine that Could captivated his attention, of course.
He popped his head down the White Rabbit's Hole.
We went around and around the whole place, earning our picnic lunch!
Alton shows off one of the twistier slides on the property.
Heading home, Andy prepared to attend an evening work function in a nearby city; a worldwide summit of energy managers (one of the many "hats" he wears) from his employer was happening a short drive away. Although he was on sabbatical, Andy was extremely personally motivated to attend the conference because of the opportunity he'd have to meet folks from other worksites (Ireland, Switzerland, and Singapore, to name a few). We welcomed the chance this event would give us to spend more time with Alton's grandparents and enjoyed our stay at their house splashing in the hot tub, barbecuing, re-organizing our belongings and soaking up the free wi-fi, and doing laundry, of course. The couple days flew by, and soon it was time to take one last shower and wash/dry one last load before decamping to the dirt once again. Here we embark upon another nine nights of camping at three different locations. And something tells me that the two pairs of long johns EACH that we packed are about to come in handy....
Next on our Tour de Bay Area was the city of Vallejo, one of the northernmost spots professing to still be part of the San Francisco/Oakland metro area. This is where Andy and I lived when we were first married (awww), and when, through my employment and his schooling, we became close with a pack of other worker bees from the California Maritime Academy. We were generously hosted for the weekend by our friend Bobbie (who has a granddaughter in the Midwest just one day younger than Alton!) and by proxy, her sister Peg, who lives nearby enough to cruise over early in the a.m. and tag team with Bobbie in making us eggs and bacon for breakfast. Yes, please! You avid Walk the Rhyne readers will remember hearing in past posts about Bobbie and Peg's camping prowess, so they were interested in hearing about our outdoor experiences thus far, and proudly acknowledged with the eyes of mentors how efficient our packing and gear stash had become. We were extremely well taken care of, especially when I came to the sinking realization that it had taken us no time at all to reacclimate to the good life. You know, with indoor plumbing. We'd have a rude awakening when it was time to take to the "forests" once again, where I would find myself looking forward to fast food bathrooms and rest areas, where they might have hand dryers, or better yet, paper towels for the water closet patrons' use.
After we'd been foiled by the steam train on our way to Vallejo, we took a passerby's advice and investigated the Sonoma Train Town instead. Vallejo sits happily on the edge of wine country, making it an easy point of origin for tasting trips to Napa, Sonoma, Carneros, etc. We were playing a vineyard visit by ear, unsure of whether Alton would tolerate a bustling tasting room with adult-only libations, but upon hearing about Train Town, we knew we had our Saturday activity. We invited some more local friends, Jenna and Megan and their 2 & 1/2 year old train-loving son, to join us, and the overcast morning saw our sextet zooming happily toward all points rail.
Train Town was the perfect toddler haven. With a working steam train that rode you all around the heavily wooded park and petting zoo, the two little boys couldn't get enough of the train cars, the scenery (some real and some fake animals), the many bridges and tunnels on our journey, and so on. Once back at the station, the mini amusement park had a few rides and full-size train cars to explore.
The boys climb aboard some lofted bench seats in an old passenger car--Andy thought this looked like a good candidate for their first album cover.
Alton waving hello to photographer Daddy from the carousel.
The little pond was home to a mama duck and her seven fluffy ducklings.
After a day of fun, Jenna and Meg opened their home for a big reunion dinner to get as many friends as possible in one place. In addition to Peg and Bobbie, another girlfriend Jennifer came over with her four-year-old daughter. The three kids had a great time exploring and sharing toys and eating at the Kid Table!
Click to enlarge if you need to in order to see Alton with drumstick in one hand, cookie in the other, and mouth mid-chomp.
Minerva was in good company in baby gated dog jail with Jenna and Meg's Aussie, Scout, and fellow Lab Regatta (who belongs to our recently-transplanted friend Chris in Seattle, even though she's currently residing with Chris's mom in Cali).
Too much fun and Jenna's good chili! The next morning we were optimistic about a winery foray on our way out, and were dying to re-visit an old favorite, Cline, where Andy had purchased me a wine club membership for a Mother's Day gift. Peg and Bobbie needed very little coaxing to come along, and with Alton outnumbered by adults 4 to 1 we felt confident about our odds.
Upon arrival, we outfitted Alton with his camping trip camera and took a restorative stroll around the grounds. Cline has beautiful lawns for special events, a guesthouse, and gardens with some native birds.
The little guy happily snapped pictures of birds along the way: Andy's protege.
We meandered over to the tasting room, where folks were two and three deep at the bar waiting their turns for reds and whites. When I revealed myself to be a club member, however, we were pointed in the direction of the smaller, quiet clubhouse off to one side, empty in both the bar interior and the table-spotted patio exterior. Score! We had the place nearly to ourselves as we sampled, swapped glasses, deliberated over what to buy, then made our bottle selections with my 20% off discount. I have a feeling that some of these full-bodied, fortifying selections will be very comforting on rainy nights in the Oregon campgrounds to come, if only I can save them that long....
Alton took pictures, had a snack, played with sticks, and all in all performed admirably on the winetasting excursion. Not about to push our luck, we drove a bit up the road to have lunch, bid adieu to Bobbie and Peg, and shuttled our way to the highway for destination: Grammy and Grandpa's!
Blogspot.com has had a few glitches lately, so you might notice a slight delay in posts or some out of order.
After our visit to Monterey's Coast, we hit our first hotel stop after nine days of camping. Emeryville is located on the East Bay side of the SF area, adjacent to Berkeley, Oakland, and our old neighborhood! When we were planning our overnight stops in the Bay Area, we knew we wanted to be in the city, not camping somewhere farther away, and after spending a little time on Expedia we learned that we'd be paying big bucks for parking and pet fees if we stayed in anyplace touristy (Fisherman's Wharf, Union Square, etc). It was time to capitalize on our familiarity with our former hometown and find someplace off the beaten path in the "Easy" Bay. This place actually ended up being the first official online booking of our trip's lodging plans, so it had been quite awhile since I'd perused the hotel's location and amenities by the time we arrived for our reservation. We followed directions to a shining 12-story building right in the middle of several swanky shopping centers and the Amtrak station (naturally). Our suite had a living room with separate bedroom, DVD player, and kitchenette with full-sized fridge, table- and cookware, and stovetop. Cha-ching!
We'd already been considering extending our stay from our pre-arranged two nights to a few more, and the comfort of our room solidified the deal. We grabbed a bellhop's cart, loaded it down with all of our bags (minus camping gear), and dumped our dusty assortment on the floor while we devised a game plan. Alton was rewarded for surviving the trip thus far by letting him watch Cars, one of the DVDs we'd brought along with us, and Andy and I unearthed all of our clothing to take a laundry inventory. When it was discovered that I had yet a few clean garments and the guys did not, I took a HOT shower ("Hello, Front Desk? We need more soap."), got dressed, and left the two AJs in towels while I loaded every stitch we had into the car and headed for a laundromat.
After the first couple GPS searches for a nearby "laundry" led me to dry cleaners, I threw up the white flag and drove a little farther to our old Oakland subsection of Rockridge. The little wash 'n fold resided on a busy streetcorner, making it perfect access for students from California College of the Arts and hip metro apartment-dwellers with no machines of their own. Part of my project was procuring dinner for our family, and I'd deliberated on the mechanics of putting clothes in the washer or dryer, rushing out to get dinner, then returning as the cycle ended to retrieve my belongings and add more quarters as needed. Andy was concerned about the safety of our stuff at the laundromat in my absence, a legitimate fear in most cases...except this one. I sorted into the big commercial washers and doled out my quarters, then leaned against the counter (no chairs in the place, probably to discourage squatters) with my paperback and nothing to look at but spinning clothing and my fellow patrons. Amongst the aforementioned students and young professionals, neighborhood weirdos and lab rat types, there was me: the Kamper. I brought in all my belongings in a motley crew of grime-spattered duffel bags, sported a pair of athletic warmup pants and a black fleece sweatshirt, stinky closed-toe Keens and a bathing suit instead of a bra...seriously, people should have been hiding their clothes from ME.
Well, I held out, not going anywhere in my sweaty, weird outfit 'til the dry cycle with my novel on my slab of counter (mainly because I needed to claim at least a few dryers away from the Joel Grey stunt double, who was stuffing three or four single items into the rest of them), but then I got so hungry that I darted out to an Indian joint a few doors down to grab some freshly grilled Naan. Before long, the clothes were done, so was my snack, and I was able to move on to the good part of my errand: Zachary's pizza! Stuffed, deep-dish pizza with rave reviews from around the globe and very much missed by Andy and me since our move to Hillsboro a few years back, where we have still not found good takeout pizza that even comes close to Zachary's. The Portland gourmand scene certainly holds its own in terms of the thin crust, wood-fired artisan pizzas, but we've never had it so good as running a mile down the road to pick up a half-baked deep dish, finishing it in our oven at home, then enjoying the hot, tomato-and-cheese-covered deliciousness burning the roofs of our mouths.
A little Zachary's and Lightning McQueen and we were ready to pass out. Bliss.
The next day we decided to keep our first of now FOUR days in the Bay Area pretty low-key and walk around the corner (getting to cross a tall pedestrian bridge to go over the train tracks!) to a nearby park. On the way, of course an overexcited Minerva managed to mow Alton down on the sidewalk, earning him some more road rash scabbing on his arm AND spilling all of the snack cup he had in hand. We did a mid-walk bandaid application and pressed on to the funky little park and its goofy playground.
It looked like the same kind of postmodern jungle gym we saw in San Diego last summer.
My little twins regard the play structure together.
A nice nap, some more takeout (Chinese this time), and we were ready to gear up for San Francisco the next morning. We left Minerva snuggled and snoozing in her bed at the hotel and drove over to Fisherman's Wharf (long underwear optional--brr!).
We walked around a bit, but all Alton wanted to do was ride a boat. Since we didn't think the big-ticket tourist liner out to Alcatraz was what he had in mind, we went with Plan B: the Exploratorium.
The Exploratorium is a hands-on science and discovery museum, much like our beloved OMSI back home. Two hours of Alton running from exhibit to exhibit pressing buttons and turning levers was just what the doctor ordered.
(Andy and I had fun, too.)
After a nice long afternoon nap, the little guy and his parents got spruced up and ready to go out to dinner to Dopo, our favorite Italian place in the area. We were so early for their dinner seating, we were the first patrons in the door! Alton had fun playing with some origami fish Andy had made for him from an instructional book, a thoughtful "road trip" gift from Grammy and Grandpa.
Proving that it's a small world after all, during our meal we ran into my college friend Steph who lives with her family in the East Bay. It was the first time we'd met their baby girl, and she reached for me with both arms right away!
Since we were having so much fun on "our" side of the Bay, the next day we opted for some playtime at a big park in Alameda (playground for me and Alton, our favorite former dog park for Andy and Minerva) before scooting back into Oakland and Lake Merritt, a lovely lagoon surrounded by parks, running trails, and a boathouse, where we rented our paddle boats for the day.
(I think somewhere at home we have a picture of Andy in the same position with the same expression.)
Our little First Mate got his boat trip after all, sans island prison.
We ducked in to the iconic Fenton's Creamery for a sweet afternoon snack, then the usual nap before another dinner favorite (Hudson Oakland, this time), a little packing, and breakfast in the a.m. with some friends at Pizzaiolo, an upscale pizza place that has breakfast food, including to-die-for pumpkin fritters, in the morning. Who knew? We tried for the Tilden Park Steam Train, but it was a weekday and they are only open during the year on weekends. Curses! And so on to our next destination....
We left the Central Coast to continue our journey north through California. Sunset State Beach Dunes campground is technically located in Watsonville, a place which conjures up (for those in the know) images of a dusty farm town too far away from the main highway to actualize its aspirations of true suburbia (seriously, we got some weird looks in Carpinteria when we said we were next camping in Watsonville), but if you keep driving past the strawberry fields, you arrive at the state beach and its hilly, snug little campground.
Gusty, car-rocking winds followed us all the way there, so strong that when we arrived at camp we found that a sleeping bag had half-billowed its way out of our rooftop cargo box and was wedged partway out of the opening like a blue marshmallow. We didn't lose anything, thankfully, and Andy got our tent all set up while I drove back into town with sleeping Alton for a grocery store dinner run. When we returned to Andy, he was walking Minerva around and snapping sunset pictures, pointing out the shortcut he'd taken through the brush...right before he caught a tick crawling on his neck. He was saddled with a big fat case of the heebie-jeebies for the rest of our stay, and we put a mandatory moratorium on bushwalking in the area.
In Carpinteria we'd been getting by with "cat splash" sink baths (or no bath at all, really), so the tick incident solidified for us that not only did we need showers, we needed showers TONIGHT, before bed. In days hence, Andy and I would laugh at our bathroom situations. During the first camping leg of our trip, we were staying in three different campgrounds for three nights each, with a hotel stay waiting at the end. At the first (KOA) campground, the bathrooms were around the corner of a well-lit little kampground "street." Spacious bathroom stalls with soap dispensers and hand dryers shared building space with private shower cubicles offering up all the free hot water we wanted. Not a bad transition to outdoor living. At the second campground (Carpinteria state beach), we needed to use our headlamps to walk the short, but dark, distance to the bathroom building, but once there the bathrooms were individual little rooms with sink and toilet, and there were showers available as well. Okay, so the toilet chambers didn't have soap or a way to dry your hands and the showers weren't free, but there was hot water and we'd come freshly bathed from KOA, so we were doing fine.
Now at campground number three, all civilization bets were off. The trip from our campsite down in Dog Tick Gulch was a 1-2 minute walk up a hill to the bathroom building; not too bad IF you aren't traveling with a recently potty-trained toddler. Once there, the stalls were cramped, the sinks had no hot water, and the single bulb to illuminate the women's room was burnt out. Hoo, boy. On that first night, ignorant of the lampless state of the bathroom, I nominated myself to shower with Alton. I gathered up our pajamas, towels, toiletries and quarters and headed up the hill, thankfully appropriating our headlamps for us to walk up through the deepening dark--they became our only source of light for the shower. Concrete floors and cinder block walls sucked all warmth out of the room, and I realized that in our chilly cubicle I'd have to manage to wash us both without putting Alton down on the too-cold surfaces. A small wooden bench gave me a small spot to temporarily put him alongside our dry clothing as I undressed, shivering, and precariously perched our headlamps above the showerhead on the adjoining wall. I got the water going--a warmish, irregular gurgle--then hurriedly stripped Alton down to jump in. Accustomed to showering at home on his own, he squawked to be let down out of my arms and stand on his own, then yelped for me to pick him up when, as I suspected, he decided the floor was too cold for him. I shoved my foggy, droplet-spattered glasses up higher on my nose as I juggled our soaps with one arm and a slippery Freeloader with the other arm, my burden protesting loudly anytime my awkward motions aimed him out of the water and exposed to the cold air. I moved through our ablutions as quickly as I could, then wrapped the little guy in a towel on the bench as I dabbed myself dry and shoved my clammy legs into sweats to turn my attention to Alton. In the stall next to us, a clutch of teenage girls seemed to be trading shower products and time in the water with one another, chatting animatedly. As I gathered up my damp towels, dripping toiletries, headlamps, dirty clothes and kid, one girl squealed, "Omigod, I just did, like, the WORST shaving job!" Oh, to be fifteen again.
Our cleanliness uncomfortably achieved, we bedded down for the night and awoke to pancakes made by Andy and big plans in store: the Monterey Bay Aquarium! Minerva was dispatched to a local doggie day care in La Selva Beach, a huge, fenced 5-acre property a short walk from the water (we later heard that she had a blast and played all day, even when the other dogs would lay down to take a rest). To incite Alton's interest in the aquarium, we speculated about the kinds of sea creatures we'd encounter, including sharks, octopi, and clownfish, a.k.a. "Nemo," of course. Well, Mom and Dad nearly shot themselves in the feet on that one; giddy to meet his favorite orange undersea-dweller, Alton was ready to find Nemo at every exhibit, while Andy and I tried to intuit where the Disney fish and his gang would reside amongst areas entitled "Splash Zone," "Deep Reefs," and so on. We DID eventually manage to find a tank housing Nemo, Dory, and many other varieties of fish featured in the movie (thank you, MB Aquarium!), which left Alton's attention more receptive to admire some of the other animalia on display, like flamingoes, jellyfish, the aforementioned sharks, and some adorable sea turtles, who crowded in front of the one-way glass of their enlosure (think police interrogation room) to stare at their reflections for so long, Alton smooched the glass surface on his side to show them how much he cared. Awww.
We grabbed lunch at a brewery, sitting outside on the patio to soak up some sun before taking a stroll along the beach near Cannery Row. Alton was adamant about staying out of the water, and looking at the goosebumps on the pale legs of some kids brave enough to roll up their jeans and play in the surf, I wasn't going to argue. We all got a little pink in the face before deciding to take a sundae break at the Ghirardelli Chocolate shop...
...then piled into the car just in time for Alton to fall asleep and his parents to begin a wild multitasking frenzy of gas stop, grocery stop, laundromat, and more grocery before it was time to pick up the oh-so-tired Nerve. We feasted on campfire steak and artichokes (for which the area is known) before the wind picked up and it was time to turn in. I awoke sometime in the night to find Alton turning to me, with the chipper excitement that comes from being three and awake in the middle of the night, and announcing that he had to go potty. I tried to interest him in making it a manly adventure to share with his Daddy, but he wasn't having it, so all three of us donned headlamps for a "safety in numbers" trip. I hoisted Alton onto my hip and staggered up the hill to the bathroom, with the little dude's headlamp glare zooming crazily around the dark campground as he took in the sleeping surroundings. Andy trod drowsily next to me, looked at his watch, and chuckled. "Happy Mother's Day," he said.
Despite its unexpected start in the wee hours, my Mother's Day on the road was actually pretty nice and relaxing. We breakfasted on oatmeal, Andy revealing my gift to be a wine club membership at Cline, one of our favorite California wineries and a tentative future stop on our tour, then Andy tackled cleanup and took Alton on a mammoth pinecone-hunting walk while I read and hung out with Minerva. The winds from the night before started up again, keeping a consistent cloud cover and chilling me through as I reclined sedentary. When the guys passed through again to show me their bounty of pinecones and abandoned firewood appropriated from Sunday-departed campsites, I leapt into motion and gathered a picnic lunch, suggesting we find a park where we could enjoy it and play a little. We drove into Watsonville and easily found such a place. Chowing down on sandwiches, we finished quickly and Andy and Alton investigated the play structures all around. Strolling down a hill, they found another jungle gym and the biggest slide you've ever seen!
Complete with warnings about how hot it gets when blasted by the sun in the summertime. Not a problem for today--the Mini's dashboard gauge said the temp was 55 degrees! Andy and Alton found some cardboard box halves to use as ghetto sliding seats (rejected there for just that purpose, no doubt), and enjoyed turn after turn on the gigantic slide until a pack of daredevil kids had them scooting away.
Ready for his midday siesta, Alton and I dozed a bit in the windblown tent while Andy assembled ingredients for a Mother's Day feast. Driving around to various sweets bakeries in the small town and finding them either closed or cleaned out, even the grocery store, Andy dragged back into camp with a chicken breast (for chicken tacos) and a chocolate bar. Assuring me that we'd indulge in a proper MD celebratory dessert once we hit the next stop on our trip, Andy led the three of us up the stairs that climbed the dunes and over to the beach, providing us with a great sunset beach walk AND cell reception to call my mom for Mother's Day (love you, Nonna!). We crept along the windswept sand until it was time to head back and cook dinner. By this time, the windy day had progressed from Blustery to Gusty to Jet Turbine, and with the sun setting on the other side of the bluffs, we were getting less light and no heat at all. We settled Alton on the table with a yogurt while Andy tried to light the campfire...unsuccessfully. The wind was so intense he couldn't even light a match! When we found Alton's yogurty fingers blue with the cold (Mini temp now reads 51 degrees), we decided it was time to give up on the home cookin' and head to Applebee's, where we enjoyed both a hot meal and an order of molten chocolate cake with ice cream. Happy Mother's Day all around!
Sometime in the night the wind finally died down (which we noticed on 3a.m. Family Potty Break #2) and in the morning we were able to speed through our camp teardown process with relative ease. We were excited to depart this day for two reasons: first, that we'd be able to meet up for a brief morning's visit with Andy's cousin Brenton and his family just over an hour's drive away, and secondly that our next lodging site was a hotel! A room with real walls and a door! A private bathroom with loads of fluffy towels! A bed! The list goes on and on. After nine nights' camping in three diverse locations and climates, I asked Andy whether he was most looking forward to a hot shower, kicking back in front of the TV (including our days in Mexico, it had been more than two weeks since we'd looked at a set), or a real bed. He didn't hesitate when he looked at me, slightly surprised I didn't guess the obvious answer: "The shower. They're going to need to install a new hot water heater after I'm through." I couldn't agree more.
