Bull Frog Toes - Adventures and Stories: Part 6 - The Lost Coast Trail

START HERE - LOST COAST PART 1

continued from PART 5 .....
Rental cars to me are the most noble of all automobiles. They are the ultimate disposable appliance - a true people's car (volkswagen). If you buy the insurance then you don’t have to worry about damage of any sort. You don’t have to schedule their oil changes or other maintenance. The tires can be shredded like a stuffed animal in a puppy's mouth. You don’t care where you park it. They are in essence the perfect care free solution for getting around – just add the hamburger behind the wheel.

San Francisco Bridge to Marin County

The car Flyrod and I picked up was a real screamer – a 2011 Kia Forte. Whitey picked up a 2011 Nissan Versa. Both of these cars are market competitors. The market being thirty-something men who live at home with their parents, but don’t want to buy anything too flashy that may tip off that they are doing pretty good with the free rent deal. In short, four doors, front-wheel drive, 107hp under the hood (Nissan), a whopping 154hp for the twin-cammer Kia Forte, and as exciting to drive as a shopping cart with a bad pull to the left. I did not drive the Nissan, but I can tell you the Forte was the most predictable car in the world to drive. If you exceed the speed limit around a corner, the car will continue to go straight when you turn (Push for NASCAR boys, Understeer for everyone else). Adding more power will only increase the screaming of your tires and passenger. In the end though, it proved to be a great car to flog about on the twisty roads of the North Coast. Flick the wheel hard before the turn – get the tires pointing where you wanted to go – then add power to drag the back end around. You can then make some quick time. The six speed auto trans had a nice “manual” gate that let me shift when I wanted. It was great fun and something to remember when I move back home.

A tall caramel mocha skinny please....

Our first stop after passing over the SF Bridge into Marin County (I have been told Marin people are just a bit different from the rest of the Bay Area people – like custom flavored coffees instead of just black) was to get some food. We were starving so we banged a right at the first exit – Sausolito. I was in heaven – my kind of town. Houses terraced up on the hills, artists, houseboats, sea-planes, great views of downtown SF, tons of bike riders (I am an avid cyclist). It was awesome. We had agreed to not eat at chains or fast food places. We wanted to experience the local color instead of the same crap you can get in every town across the US. So we stopped at the Bar Bocce - a really cool pizza place right on Richardson’s Bay. They had a great terrace bathed in the fall sunshine that was packed with beautiful people. Flyrod and I took a table inside (there was nothing available outside) and I guess I lucked out with the best seat in the house looking outside toward the water. I didn’t do it on purpose. And it was near the bathroom – you say that is bad I know – but the entire place has to cycle through there eventually. It was a parade of one small-bladdered-beautiful-girl-in-a-see-thru-sundress after the next. Even their small bladdered mothers were gorgeous. It was like the movie Shallow Hal - everyone was beautiful. I suffered the first of many of my Stendhal Syndrome attacks here as a result. I was ready to move to Sausolito, wash dishes forever, and live in some 200 sq ft apartment above a lady with too many cats. But alas, the Lost Coast beckons.

Bar Bocce

Whitey on the other hand was leaving us cryptic voice mails - "Guys - I tried to camp out last night but all the campgrounds are closed. There are State Police with guns telling me to turn around - it is not safe. I already bought a 100lbs of firewood and it is stuffed in the back of the Nissan - I am screwed. I just spent the night in Willets - it was crazy"

Whitey you see would rather sleep under the stars than in a stuffy hotel room. You can see why he was a bit annoyed. Turns out the fuss was because an ex-con named Aaron Bassler was on the loose after murdering some people. Aaron was growing a large supply of marijuana (the medicine - as they say in these parts) under some giant redwood trees; a common problem in the North Coast. When the ex-Ft Bragg mayor Jere Melo and another fellow approached Aaron's botanical garden (August 27), they we fired upon. Sadly Melo was killed in the exchange and Aaron got away and was on the loose. Aaron had also killed Matthew Coleman a few weeks before (August 11). Officials were searching a 400 square mile area and seemed to believe he was holed up in a campground near Ft Bragg (Mendicino County) - the very place Whitey wanted to lay his head down. The hotel did not seem too bad after all.

Flyrod and I on the other hand were still recovering from the overload of pizza and Marin lovelies when we pulled into Santa Rosa in Sonoma County (California Wine Country). There are tons of vineyards along the way making my Loudoun County (Virginia Wine Country) - look a bit amateurish in application. But Virginia is getting there. The old town of Santa Rosa was very charming - we took a pit stop, grabbed some drinks and headed out. On the on-ramp to the 101 freeway we encountered two young hippie chicks doing everything in their power to seduce us to pull over and give them a ride. They were like mermaids on the shore trying to lure ships onto the rocks - unfortunately no bare breasts on the hippies. But, they were cute, free spirited, and yes very charming with their white shiny smiles. They were wearing what could only be described as grunge; clothing that has lost all brightness in color and form and could easily be used as a sniper's ghillie suit. Their hair also lacked any luster or separation of strands - just pony-tail mats coming down - very Rasta. After we went past them there was some debate whether we should turn around to pick them up. We almost did about five times. It would make the ride more interesting - and if they were heading toward Humboldt County then we might have some good conversations along the way - perhaps they would even share some of their medicine. I was concerned about their smell to be honest - body odor. If you are a sailor, and the mermaid crashes you onto the rocks, at that point you are just trying to keep your head above water, she is the last thing on your mind. But if you have two unwashed stoned hippie chicks in the back of your Kia Forte, there could be a problem the ventilation system might not solve. After twenty miles we wrapped up our debate about the potential merits of the hippie chicks and focused on heading up coast. Whitey was waiting - I think he last contacted us in Garberville, CA before heading in toward Shelter Cove to a campground (No Aaron Bassler we hoped) - the King Range.

Left Turn Clyde

The rest of our drive North was pretty uneventful other than trying get the Kia to go faster, turn when asked, and not lean so much in the turns. I kept forgetting it had over 100lbs of gear in the trunk and two blokes in the front that probably should have worked out a little more before the trip. We passed through Willets and I think our hippie chick girls must have beat us there and multiplied - there was a serious Haight-Ashbury vibe going on there. We had to dodge a few more "mermaids" on the way out of town.

The road from Garberville down to Shelter Cove is really fantastic. It needs a good repaving of course, but it is 20+ miles of tight twisting turns without guard rails, and large trees straight ahead in the turns that the Kia seemed to gravitate toward. In the fading light we hustled down the road to find Whitey waiting in his bright orange Crocs. The expedition team had gathered. Now for some beers and dinner in Shelter Cove. Tomorrow the trail head.

Tonight's Inn of the Lost Coast web cam pic.