Replenished our fruit and veggies at a roadside stand bursting with colour and fresh produce . . . avocados and kiwis 7 for a dollar . . . vibrant oranges, mandarins and tangelos . . . asparagus 1.99 a bunch (it would easily be 5.99 in BC).

The Monterey Aquarium doesn’t have its own parking space, so we scouted around  several nearby lots – but they were all multistoried – and we didn’t feel comfortable dragging a trailer around in there.  Opted instead for a parking meter on a side street – good for four hours.  Plenty of time to visit the aquarium. A name caught my attention . . . Sly McFly’s Ocean View Grill – apparently Cannery Row’s number one refueling (food) station. Further along Cannery Row, what did we spy but a large, open lot with room galore for trailers, buses, RVs . . . you name it . . . just steps away from the aquarium . . . and virtually empty! Who Knew?  Oh well.

Masks on . . . vaccines and ID checked . . .  hands sanitized . .  . in we go.  You can see why it’s a why it’s a world-class facility with over 2 million visitors per year.  Thoughtfully laid out exhibits . . . exquisitely presented tanks and displays . . .  jaw-dropping variety of creatures.  One ginormous tank held what appeared to be an entire ocean of fish . . . huge, lumbering groupers . . .  tiger sharks, hammerheads, dog fish, perch, sturgeon, rock fish, and a mesmerizing ball of hundreds and hundreds of mackerel swirling, dividing, reforming .  I could have sat watching all day.

Another vast tank was filled with a veritable forest of 30 foot kelp plants gently swaying in the sunlight.  Rapidly becoming depleted in many areas thanks to an overpopulation of sea urchins, which graze on the roots.  A re-introduction of Sea Otters has helped reduce urchin numbers, and interestingly, the Californian Sheephead wrasse also finds these spiny creatures a tasty delicacy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eme0Igx4rL0

Slow, pulsing Moon Jellies, miniscule ghostly jellyfish with iridescent outlines, firey orange sea wasps with frilly undersides and long, trailing tentacles.  Octopus, squid and cuttle fish showing off their colour changing abilities.  A veritable  rainbow of crabs, urchins, seastars, corals and anemones . . . and even a diver or two cleaning the tank walls.  One could stand under a crashing wave (protected by a glass bubble), or watch puffins and murres dive for fish . . . see shore birds up close or observe a colony of Jackass Penguins go about their daily routines.  Four hours well spent.

A Baklava and Turkish Delight shop beckoned enticingly on our way back to the car . . . we bought two pistachio and honey pastries.  Hope they are as good as the ones in Corfu.  Disappointingly – they were not.  Rather soggy and lacking in nuts, and like everything else in California – expensive at $6.00 apiece!

Coast road spectacular, but once again internet/cell phone coverage is non-existent.  Stopped for gas . . . no prices shown . . . $7.00 a Gallons!!!  Gasp. But not sure when the next gas station might materialize.  Cute blue ‘bus’ shop.

It was beyond dusk as we pulled into the Big Sur State Park – the tall trees making it even darker.  Counting off the sites . . . 45 … 46 … 47 … 48 – this is it.  Oh my, its very small and NOT an easy access. Fortunately, the site directly opposite was vacant for manoeuvring use but the increasing dark, and inconvenient posts made the sharp angle a nightmare – even with a lantern and me calling out distances.  With a hairsbreadth to spare we made it – although until we could unhook the truck, we’d got the road blocked.  A couple patiently waiting in a van gave Glen a standing … well sitting … ovation on his skillful operation. Didn’t seem put out in the slightest . . . and thanked us as we guided them around our roadblock . . . before we unhooked and squeezed the truck in the tiny pocket remaining.  Note to selves . .  . arrive with plenty of daylight in future.

Quite a weather change overnight!  Awoke to chilly fog, so glad of jackets today.  Leaving town we spied a single Peahen scratching around in some fallen leaves.  Could imagine her enjoying a bit of peace and quiet away from her rather more flamboyant husband . . . “Oh for Pete’s sake, George, the neighbours don’t want to see that tail thing again”.

Through Silicon Valley with headquarters of Seagate, Western Digital, Tesla, Hewlet Packard and more.  There’s even a Pay Pal Stadium.  A watery sun appeared around Los Gatos (The Cats) with clearing towards to coast. Now there’s a sign I haven’t seen in a long time — “Be Alert”  . . .  well, the world needs more Lerts!

Santa Cruz was interesting but a bit touristy.  Huge fairground along the shore, however nothing seems to be operational – maybe too early in the season.  Long pier – celebrating its centenary this year . . .  packed with upscale eateries, gift and nick-knack shops . . .  good there weren’t hoards of people.   Right at the end a herd? .. colony? … raft?  of Sea Lions had taken up residence, lolling about on the support beams.  Goodness knows how they got up there – it was a fair distance down to the water.  Did they hop up when the tide was higher?  Younger ones, who had obviously not yet mastered the technique, were swimming about en-masse trying to figure a way up.  Already ensconced adults were unconcerned about their pleas.  The croaks and bellows echoed eerily under the pier – sounding for all the world some someone in desperate need of Buckleys Extra Strength cough mixture.

Fifteen minutes left on our parking spot . . .  just enough for a restorative cup of tea . . .  then  On to Monterey.

Salinas Valley – many of the vast fields already planted with strawberries and greens . . .others tilled and ready to seed.  As far as the eye can see. Staggering!  Crossed the Salinas River – and there, bobbing like a furry bath toy . . . . a SEA OTTER!  Have always wanted to see one in the wild.  Campsite located – a KOA Express at Moss Landing . . . not normally our style, but this one was beautifully set up, with very personable operators who handily guided us into our spot.  Every possible camping conveyance on wheels was on display . . . tiny teardrop pull-along to the monstrous semi-trailer-sized affairs with pushed out sides, chaise lounges fire pits and bristling with antennae and satellite dishes.  Probably had washers and dryers too.  We’re not the only mad cap Canadians though . .  . there’s a huge rig from Quebec, and right across the way an elderly trio from Northampton displaying British, Canadian and US flags in the window – who recommended us to Phil’s Fish Market and Eatery, as the best place in town.

Two outsized chimneys, although no longer functioning, create a landmark for local boaters.  The plant, however, is developing one of the largest battery energy storage projects in the world.  Moss Landing is a delightfully funky mix of working fishing village, whale watching, the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute and industrial . . . plus sea otters.  Groups of young single males (a raft) often hang out during the day feeding and playing . . . at night securing themselves together in the kelp so they don’t float away.  There were several in the slough floating on their backs, munching fish/crabs/mussels they’d just caught, or rolling/tumbling about, just for fun.  Flights of brown pelicans swooped down . . . . black cormorants in ones and twos skimmed across the surface with rapidly beating wings, gathering to roost on some old pilings – breeding males have bright turquoise under their chins. One local family had set up fishing rods on the rocks  but became worried as a group of sealions muscled over to investigate the easy bait . . .  his buddies on the bridge offered ‘helpful’ advice in Spanish from above.

The fish restaurant did not disappoint. Extensive menu.  One can eat inside or out . . . there are propane heaters galore and billowing curtains to mitigate the cool night temperatures.  The food arrived piping hot on platters that could have fed a small family of four.  We both opted for fish and chips . . . I counted 5 pieces of fish on mine . . . a mountain of crisp, golden chips and an overflowing dish of coleslaw, not your usual soggy spoonful.  I managed three of the pieces of fish before grinding to a halt, stuffed (appropriately enough) to the gills.  The rest will make tasty fish sandwiches tomorrow.  Fortunate we have a bit of a walk home to aid in the digestion.  The sea lions are in particularly fine form and will probably serenade us all night long.

Sunday 13^th – a day of rest . . . well, sort of.  Trailer definitely needs a cleanup. Very pleasant sitting in the shade, beside massive 3ft spiky Aloe Veras and assorted potted plants (not pot plants!) colourful strings of flags,  hanging ‘goldfish’ made from garbage cans (brilliant) . . . I s’pose they should really be ‘aluminumfish’ . . . Bruce is hugely artistic AND a musician to boot. All manner of birds chirping and trilling lustily.  What a wonderful funky place. There are trains though . . . two-decker ‘Go’ or West Coast Express types and long goods trains that rumble through but thankfully stop running overnight.  Apparently today is Super Bowl, but we’re not particularly interested, so took the opportunity to book further campsites along the way . . . a mug of tea and some bikkies to hand.  Reserve California don’t make it a simple process!!  A large, friendly and slobbery black lab came for a visit . . . not sure where from . . . perhaps the Catholic church across the way – he was wearing a St Francis of Assisi tag with scripture on the back . . . no name though.

I’ve included a couple of photos inside our home-away-from-home (not the messy end though!).

Explored the town . . . admiring the orange and lemon trees in just about everyone’s gardens.  Quite envious.  The Essonay Theatre Museum only opens on weekends but we missed the 4 o’clock closing.  Famous for Broncho Billy Anderson – one of the first well-known cowboy stars of stage and screen – –  who made hundreds of movies between 1912 and 1917 . . .  even luring a then relatively unknown Charlie Chaplin away from Mat Sennet’s movie studios.  The Tramp was filmed in the area.  A collection of wonderful old cars and trucks are parked along the main street for visitors to see … there’s a train museum too.

Eastwards now, away from the coast and up into wine country and our first camp with Harvest Host. This is a network of farms, wineries, breweries, museums across the United States and Canada that allow campers to book an overnight stay.  Worryingly, the road again rose to dizzying  heights in a series of nerve-wracking loops – each tighter than the last.  Surely  ’round the next bend we’d start to descend . . .  nope, still going up.  Remembering the overheating brakes last time, I was somewhat concerned – we were higher than before.  However, worry not, the downward side was long and gentle.  Phew!

Our stop for the night was Mia Bea Winery in the beautiful Mendocino valley.  https://miabeawines.com/about Started over a hundred years ago by the son of an Italian immigrant and his Mexican-born Dutch wife . . . now run by their three daughters.  Chris had been so helpful to us long before we arrived – with endless suggestions of where to camp, eat and visit.  It was like meeting family when we actually got to visit face to face.  And what a setting!  Surrounded by vineyards of Chardonay, Petite Sirah and newly planted Pinot Noir grapes.  The folded, grass covered hills silhouetted in the background against the setting sun. A table with welcome sign, visitors book and cookies just for us!

All wine tastings should be like this one.  Received a text to say they were all set up whenever we were ready.  Glen grabbed a lantern, although there was plenty of light from the half moon, and we walked the tractor-rutted lane to the campfire and circle of chairs. A mirror-smooth lake reflected the deep blue sky, a chorus of frogs serenaded us as the fire crackled and we sipped  — first, fruity, tangy smooth Chardonnay not overpowered by oak barrels . . . then the aromatic, blackberry-rich/dark chocolate Petite Syrah.  Delicious.   Chris’ sister Cyndi and husband Mike joined us and we chatted like old friends till just the embers glowed.  And in case you’re wondering, we did make it safely back down the lane with hardly a stumble!

Another gorgeous morning . . . birds singing . .  . wisps of smoke drifted along the lush, green hills.  Chris and other sister Lori delivered the bottles of wine we’d ordered – they’d be busy today spreading the tons and tons of fertilizer over the rows of vines. We’ve been invited back anytime . . . nice to know.

South now – towards Freemont where friends have a house.  They are in BC right now but offered us a place to park (use their house too, but we won’t).  Avoiding the freeways as much as possible we took the 128 . . . down through the Sonoma Valley . . . much larger wineries now. Wait . . . what was that? An enormous Wart Hog made of rusted metal at Soda Rock.  Pulled over and walked back for a photo.  Amazing detail.  Although the vines aren’t in leaf, the rows are filled with drifts of snow-white daisies and tall primrose-yellow mustard . . . cherry trees and flowering quince are in bloom .  . .  and even a host or two of daffodils.

Stopped for lunch at Smoke House Union 707 . . . the aroma greeted us before we pulled over.  Smoked Pork Loin on a crispy bun and homemade coleslaw.  Glad we only ordered one – it was huge.  Succulent, tender pork . . . . just the right amount of smoke and salt . . .  and the perfect BBQ dipping sauce.  No shortage of good food on the trip so far.

Much busier in the Napa Valley – more upscale too.  People taking advantage of the hot weekend temperatures.  Highways widened into ten lanes (5 each way) . . . and I thought the I-5 was bumpy . . . . hardly dared to look in the trailer . . . I’m sure there’ll be stuff everywhere.  Thank goodness for Miss Google – highway access is abysmal when changing from one to another . . . outer lanes pealing off willy-nilly . . .  underpasses that look like dead ends.  Glad Glen was driving.  Light was fading as we pulled into Niles (near Freemont) where our friends live. Oh oh. Their house was at the end of a quiet, residential street, as we expected . . . and with plenty of space to park out front . . . . but no place for a truck and trailer to turn around.  Glen pulled off a magnificent 3-point-turn . . .  backing into a tiny driveway opposite . . . squeezing between a parked truck and the substantial telephone pole before lining up along the curb on the other side.  Me of little faith!   I honestly didn’t think he’d make it. I bet neighbours were anxiously peeking from behind curtains.   Dinner tonight at Brocho Billy’s Pizza Palace – true wild west style.  Niles is where some of the very first movies were made – with Broncho Billy, Charlie Chaplin, etc.  Hope we can visit the museum.

Nary a creature big or small stirred in the night . . .  and still only three people camping in the morning.  Such a shame in this glorious weather.

Again we opted for the scenic route down to Fort Bragg.  Did we make the right choice?  An ominous sign warned “No vehicles over 40 feet”.  They weren’t kidding. Twenty-two miles of narrow, winding hair-pin bends climbing up through gorgeous tall redwoods – their new growth gleaming golden green . . . the dappled sunlight criss-crossing the road.  Sheer drops to the valley floor far below, often with no guardrail . . . or room to spare!  Pull outs – or turn-outs as they’re called here, are a must for slower vehicles to allow others to overtake on the way up . . .  but even more important on the way down, to give red-hot brakes a chance to cool down.

Rounding a corner and there was the Pacific in it’s vastness . . . . huge rocky outcrops . . . some flat, some jaggy . .  . some with holes through which the surf crashes. Line after line of powerful, foam-topped rollers thundering into shore.  Awesome in the true sense of the word.  There are several cliff-top campsites along the way with surprisingly few campers.  We made use of one for lunch – enjoying the sun, surf and Cormorants preening on their rocky castles.

Cute seaside village of Westport – every conceivable style of house from painted beachfront, Mexican, elaborate stone, expensive ranch, ramshackle wood (this one had a magnificent corrugated roof done in stripes – rust and aluminum!).  No place to park and take a photo.

Still no internet on the road, but campsite found – wonderfully spacious, treed and private – each with its own “Bear Box”.  Not, as one might imagine, a nicely stored larder for bears . . . but to keep bears OUT of YOUR food. Not sure how well they work, but we don’t have to worry.  Campsite seems to be a popular place — many of the spots were already booked for the weekend.

Fort Bragg is a pleasant place – has it’s own craft brewery “Northcoast” – their Red Seal Ale  looked good so we bought some.  Being later in the day many of the stores were shutting or already closed, but the local deli/butcher shop was doing a fine trade.  Wonderful aromas . . . no end of custom-smoked bacon and sausages.  We settled on “Turducken” sausages (can’t go wrong with three meats!), locally baked bread rolls and some lovely grainy mustard made with Northcoast ale.  Onions and sausages cooked on the barbecue – what a feast.  A walk along the board walks over the dunes to catch the sunset and rocky bays.  Suddenly a head popped up . . .  a young seal drifting effortlessly in the pockets of surf, rear flippers out of the water, totally relaxed.  One cool dude!

Another beautiful morning.  Dragged all the sleeping bags, towels etc. outside to air in the warm sunshine.  A welcome shower left us feeling clean and refreshed.  I love our little bathroom.  Took our bikes along the trail into Fort Bragg.  Fantastic vistas all the way.  Wildflowers in abundance . . . . banks of Ice Flowers in pink, yellow and white carpeted the sand dunes . . .  Californian Poppies and Indian Paint brush just starting to make an appearance.  A profusion of delicate blue stars and yellow daisies.  Row upon row of 2-storey ocean front rental complexes . . .  all with bright red patio chairs, which people drag across the walkway in order to gain a better sunset view.  A long trestle joined one side of the wide sandy bay to the other, allowing people to walk or bike across, while people below walked, paddled or let their kids/dogs dig to their hearts content in the vast, sandy bay.  Warning signs a-plenty though, on the dangers of rogue waves and undertows.

The downside to pulling one’s house along . . .  the matter of <Whisper … Waste Disposal> . . . so off to the sani-dump and the fun job of emptying both tanks – ‘blackwater’ first . . . flushed afterwards by the ‘greywater’.  Plastic gloves and lots of handwashing.  There . . . aren’t you glad you came with us?

Internet  . . . in fact ALL services (including phone) are spotty to non-existent for vast swaths of the northern coast.  There are emergency call boxes every mile along the road so I guess this is normal.  In the event of a breakdown one would have to trudge to the nearest, and hope you’d picked the right direction.

Over breakfast of Corn Flakes and Granola, we opted for the Coast road.  Phoning ahead to book some overnight stays at wineries, and finding out that many County campsites had plenty of spots available.  A myriad of exotic places await — Illinois Valley . . .  Samoa Landing . . .  Trinidad.  No wonder Glen’s GPS tried sending directions for Bella Coola via Alaska! A wonderful twisty road lead out of town —  shady tunnels of evergreen, arbutus and shaggy Ponderosa Pines.   At the State border, Miss Google cheerfully announced, “welcome to California” seconds before a road-side sign requested we “come back to Oregon soon”.  So there, with the sun shining warmly, in the 100 feet or so of no-mans-land, we ate the last of our oranges and made lemonade from the one remaining lemon.  We can officially enter California.  All that effort was for naught though — the customs building was shut tight with a sign saying “Closed Today, Proceed with Caution!”

More steep hills — but less than before. Rocky red cliffs one side of the road. .  . the Smith River (!) tumbling and frothing its way on the other.  First sighting of Redwood trees — absolutely massive – like Cathedral Grove on steroids.  Made all the more impressive due to their proximity on the narrow road — one even had a chunk out of it to allow vehicles to pass!

Ocean views at Crescent City — huge rollers , their vapoury tops swept backwards.  Wide sandy beach very like our own Long Beach —  hardy surfers, dog walkers and people like us just sitting on a weathered log enjoying the sun . . . in our case consuming two of Creswell Bakery’s delicious pies.  Met several road crews making major repairs in the off-season.  Then, what we first thought was ocean mist became more evident as smoke . . .  most likely from fires inland around Sacramento.  Just seems odd that the wind was blowing east towards the coast.  Quite patchy and thick at times as it collected in the inlets and bays.  Hmm.  Camping in this would not be ideal – although we do have N95 masks!

Sign “Elk Viewing” . . . Oh, too late!  There they were on the side of the road munching grass happily right beside a wooden replica of an Elk.  Neither seemed to mind.

Our phone call to the Humbolt County campgrounds this morning proved invaluable (especially as all State Park offices appear to close at 4:00pm.)  A notice for Big Lagoon Campsite – quick, turn right!  Pot-holey hump-backed road with speed signs sternly stating ’10 MPH’ . . . we’d be lucky to maintain 5!  Rounding a corner, there were the 25 campsites — in among the trees and most with amazing views of the lagoon.  A huge rim of sand dunes separated the ocean from lagoon . . . but you could certainly hear the waves thundering and booming on the other side.  Riding down the road on a bicycle of every hue was a character one could only meet in California — the campground host!  Older gent, but of indiscriminate age, long beard and a woolly hat he welcomed us in and offered us the pick of all but two campsites . . .  one was already occupied with a tent . .  . the other reserved for a late arrival.  Shortly afterwards other campers trickled in . .  . tenters . . .  campers . . .  fancy RV . . .  one SUV came equipped with a full-sized mattress folded double on top!  I hope they had a tent as well.  A lady in a bright pink jacket peddled energetically around the camp, exercising her small black dog. “Hello” she exclaimed on each passing.

We’d left the trailer connected, so packing up the next morning was a piece of cake.  Just as we were leaving, the camp host trundled around the corner and waved.  “Can we take your photo?”  He seemed quite pleased and introduced himself in a polite southern drawl, “My name is Dude . . . that’s the name my parents gave me.”  Maybe he grew into the name, but it fitted perfectly!  A few miles on, we spotted a young man, backpack, cell phone and skateboard, being pulled along by his dog.  We’re definitely in California!

Approaching Eureka, the road was lined on the seaward side with old Eucalyptus trees.  Eureka turned out to be a quaint place, filled with beautifully restored Victorian houses . . . curlicues, turrets and stained glass windows.  One over-the-top building was some sort of private club, surrounded by manicured lawns, stately palms and pointy wrought iron fences with gates firmly shut. None of your Hoi Poloi  welcome.  Quite a contrast to the community of Samoa across the causeway.  An old lumber community with rows of small company houses . . .  once neglected but now being renovated and painted pleasing pastel colours.  An elementary school and playground, an historical maritime museum and restaurant, all have the makings of a lovely community.  Many of the small towns seem to thrive on a grid of one-way streets, and Eureka was no exception — however we managed to extricate ourselves, and chanced upon a fruit/veggie stall stacked with fresh local produce.  Three kinds of oranges, pomellos, lemons, several types of onion and squash, apples, garlic.  Our fridge is re-stocked.  On to the Redwood State Parks.

For some obscure reason, California has leased out its State and National campsite reservations to a third party.  One cannot make contact with an actual human and the website stoutly maintains that there are NO campsites available, anywhere, period. Can it really be that busy?  We arrived in some trepidation . . . . would there be room?  We had all 170 campsites to ourselves!! Which to choose!  Cindy the volunteer Parks person (retired) zoomed up in her official golf cart . . . only too pleased to have someone to talk to and break the monotony.  What she had to say about the reservations system is unprintable here.  Beautiful trails, massive, and I mean MASSIVE Redwoods abound – one stump dating back 1200 years!, trickling streams dappled sunlight . . . . and we’re the only ones here . . . apart from Cindy.  Oh wait . . . a pick up truck has just arrived and set up a tent waaay on the other side.  Incredibly peaceful . . . . wonder if this constitutes Tree Bathing?

Arms topped up with booster shots, our very own mobile bubble (trailer/caravan) and copious supplies of masks and sanitizer, a trip down south to hopefully warmer climes seemed a safer option for travel.  Initial plans for taking the Black Ball ferries and cutting 60 miles off the dreaded I-5 highway went out the window when CBC news announced another Trucker’s protest in Victoria — in front of the Parliament buildings and right outside the Ferry terminal the weekend we planned to leave! Hmph!  So, we resorted to BC ferries and spent the night at Glen’s sister’s on the Mainland — it was lovely to catch up after two years – a real bonus.

Sunday dawned sunny.  The US border was unusually quiet.  A pair of very pleasant guards, armed with our fist full of keys for the various locks and padlocks, did a quick check of the trailer and shiny new aluminum truck box containing our folding bikes and generator . . .  they especially liked the bikes!  Of course me still being a ‘landed innergrunt’ (permanent resident) I had to provide finger prints, an additional mugshot and fervent protestations to return to Canada before May 1st.  They also had to check that carrots and bell peppers were not on the prohibited list. . . but we’ll have to eat the oranges before reaching California. Passport duly stamped and back to the parking lot, where some poor souls were waiting forlornly as their mini van was being thoroughly searched. . .  personal belongings scattered far and wide.  Luck was with us . . . perhaps it was our honest faces . . . . more likely it was the bright orange folding bikes.   No self-respecting criminal would be seen with those!

Mount Baker gleamed crisply like a freshly iced Christmas Cake as we travelled south.  I don’t know what it is about Washington State highways, but they set up a resonance-bouncing between truck and trailer which becomes unmanageable at higher speeds — the jolts make normal speech virtually impossible –like talking through hiccups.  And despite monstrous billboards extolling their benefits, all T-Mobile stores kept well hidden until already past!  Guess you need a phone card to find one!!!
As in the past, the convenience of highway Rest Stops can’t be beaten for a quick over-nighter (no need to unhitch). However selecting a suitable one is crucial — a thick, treed barrier from the highway, and separated section for RVs and Transport trucks (who leave their engines running all the while) is essential.  Ear plugs provide the final ingredient for a peaceful night.

Early breakfast and on the road.   Past Boeing Field, and the massive, city-sized Joint Army/Airforce training centre Lewis-McChord-  which appears to go on for miles.  The Willamete valley is as flat as a pancake, the distant mountains providing a picturesque backdrop.  Vineyards aplenty, hazel nut trees with catkins dangling, blueberry farms, their red stems glowing.  The flatness gradually transformed into undulating grass-covered hills topped with swaths of darker woodland, sheep and newborn lambs dotted the slopes.  Apparently Linn County has over 1300 grass seed farms and claims it is the grass seed capitol of the world.  How would they know?. . . who counts the seeds, I wonder?

Sadly, the embankments leading into Portland are lined with tented homeless camps – an all-too-familiar sight in most places these days.  Service workers were battling manfully . . . . personfully? . . . to overcome the avalanche of garbage  sliding down to the freeway.

A constant stream of transporter trucks thundered along . . . .  shiny red or silver cabs, dusty mud-streaked blue and black models.  One stood out from the rest — a gleaming purple rig with every chrome surface polished to mirror quality.  Pride of ownership indeed.   Then we drove past a sign for Drain, Oregon .. . what a great place to hold a convention for Public Health Officers!

Just south of Eugene we stopped for gas and noticed a large billboard advertising  Creswell Bakery as a must stop.  https://www.creswellbakery.com/  Tiny town with one main street, a library and city hall we wondered if it would be worth it, but if you are in the neighbourhood . . . please DO NOT MISS this gem.  Been around since 2008 . . . part of the building looks like an old church hall.  Face masks required — you enter and place your order . . . are given an odd-looking round red ‘puck’ with lights and asked to wait outside for your ‘puck’ to buzz  – indicating your food is ready.   Outdoor picnic benches socially distanced in the sun, surrounded by vines and trees was not hard to take . . .  perhaps not quite so enchanting in the pouring rain, but then eating in your car would always be an option.   DO try the Chicken Hand Pies . . .  piping hot . . .  golden brown flaky pastry surrounded shredded and chunked chicken with a subtle amount of veggies and just the barest dash of salt.  We went back in for more to stash in the fridge for future lunches. Some outstanding Sourdough bread too. This is one of those memorable places you’d like to keep hidden in case it gets too popular.

A change in the landscape again . . . this time the scenery was distinctly more BC in appearance.  Steep hillsides cloaked in dark evergreens like crumpled eiderdowns with rushing creeks at their base.   Long inclines rising 2000 ft — now all those truck who had roared past us so easily, were reduced to a crawling, lumbering line.  Grant’s Pass —  a junction.  Do we continue on the I-5 into central California, or turn right and travel the coastal road.  There appear to be some forest fires inland, however the coast road could be foggy.  Decisions, decisions.  Will stay overnight and decide in the morning.