All set for the big lie

From Wikipedia:
Big Sur is a sparsely populated region of the Central Coast of California where the Santa Lucia Mountains rise abruptly from the Pacific Ocean. The name "Big Sur" is derived from the original Spanish-language "el sur grande", meaning "the big south", or from "el país grande del sur", "the big country of the south", referring to its location south of the Monterey Peninsula. The terrain offers stunning views, making Big Sur a popular tourist destination. Big Sur's Cone Peak is the highest coastal mountain in the contiguous 48 states, ascending nearly a mile (5,155 feet/1571 m) above sea level, only three miles (4.8 km) from the ocean.


The road is very narrow and quite high up, with little to no shoulder room, and abrupt cliffs that go way down to the rocky ocean below. I've done it before in a small car, a VW van, and a camper van. All three times, I was pretty terrified. There was no way I was going to do it towing a 25' trailer.


Our neighbour in the RV park, from Brampton, Ontario, was one of those braggardly types who likes to show off. He was getting set to move on south as well. We were speaking about routes and he went on and on about how he wasn't afraid of the Big Sur highway, he was a big tough man, unafraid of anything. We watched him take 20 tries at backing up his truck to his trailer, while his wife was inside cleaning the blinds, and wondered if anyone will ever see those two again.



So we took highway 101 down south to Paso Robles, passing right on through. It was hard not to stop at the wineries, but we knew we'd be back in a few days, so we cut over to the coast and made our way the campground.



Morro Strand State Beach officially limits RVs to 24' (27' including hitch) and below. We're at 25', or 27'11" with the hitch. On the web site, they say they are very strict about it. The campground isn't much, just some parking spaces, fire rings, and washrooms, but it's the location that we were after, right on the beach.

I'd been training Harold and I, to answer 24' when asked about our size since before we'd even left home. We got up there, all nervous and ready to lie and they didn't even ask. Then we drove in to choose our spot and saw RVs that were much bigger than ours. On the rules, they state they will charge for two spots if you don't fit inside the parking lines, but nobody even checked us. Obviously they are not as strict as they say.


The campground was fairly busy, though far from full. There were two sets of camp hosts here, sharing shifts, selling fire wood and answering questions. Camp hosts are typically unpaid retired volunteers, usually couples. They are given a free camp site and may be paid if they are expected to do any grounds work. Even when paid, it is very low, so  it is really only of interest to older RVers looking to spread out their costs and income. I don't think you could support a couple on the income.


One of the old guys (the friendly one), was born in Winnipeg, MB but has never been back to Canada. He said he'd like to take his kids up there one day. I figured he must be on his second family, as he was definitely older than us, and looked more Grandfatherly. The other guy was a grumpy, old, curmudgeon. Not ideal for the camp host business. They must not do in-person interviews.

No dogs allowed on this end of the beach, which was just fine with us. Toonie hates the wind. So we took off our flip flops and walked way up the beach, through the surf. The water was jarringly cold at first, but you get used to it. There were birds everywhere, racing along the beach, chasing the waves, or rather, what they could find in the sand, once the water receded.

We saw a group of one-legged birds, and we had to have a picture. How awesome that these four, poor, handicapped birds had banded together. They hopped along through the surf, after the same food their two legged brethren were after, and I was quite impressed at how quick they were hopping. I mused aloud about how they were probably all kicked out of their flocks for being different and had found each other, forming their own group. It was such a romantic, touching story, and made me feel an even bigger fool, when one by one, they unfolded their second legs, and flew off.

Further down there was a huge flock of gulls roosting in the sand. The younger ones were down at the front, with the older ones in behind. There were hundreds of them there and we took a big berth around them, so as to not disturb them. Of course, the three teen boys coming the other way had different desires, and ran right through them all, scattering them all down the beach. They aggravated me. I wanted to push them all in the ocean.

There was a lone fisherman casting away in the surf. We asked him what he was trying to catch, and he said he was mostly out there to have some alone time while the kids and grandkids are visiting, but occasionally he will catch a Perch.

That night we had our first camp fire of the trip, and as befitting such an occasion, dinner was camp fire smokies. Alas, no S'mores were to be had. Instead, we had pre-mixed Golden Margaritas from Costco, our new favorite drinks. $12 for 1.75 litres of pre-mixed Margaritas. No muss, no fuss, and almost no cost.

The most beautiful place in the world

The Monterey Peninsula is my favorite place in the world. With the rocky shores thriving with sea life: otters, dolphins, sea lions, elephant seals, whales, cormorants and other birds, the fields and fields of fruit and vegetables, all the homes, from more modest beach side cottages to sprawling mansions looking out over the waves crashing against the cliff sides, there are few places more perfect, in my eyes. 

We drove down to Monterey first, and parked near the marina. Harold and I had been wanting clam chowder the last few days since San Francisco, so we were thinking of visiting one of the restaurants out on the pier for lunch.


They all called out to us, trying to get our patronage, telling us our dog was welcome on their patios, and offering us a taste of their wonderful clam chowder. They were all just a little different and it was hard to say which was best. One thing was for certain though, by the time we'd had all their samples, we no longer had a need to stop for lunch. 

We wandered down the pier, watching the sea lions, checking out the boats, and enjoying a beautiful, sunny, but windy day. Toonie was not enjoying it at all. It turns out she might not make a very good sailboat dog.

She hates the wind, and cowered from it, shielding her face in my shirt, and was not at all happy when I tried to move her, letting out a howl like I was beating her. It was rather embarrassing, having so many people looking at me, wondering what I'd done to her.

We came upon a man sitting at a public piano. He fell in love with Toonie, especially her tongue. We asked him if he could play anything and he obliged by playing the absolute worst rendition of chaotic banging on keys, for us. He was very cute, in a "I haven't been sober in a very long time!" sort of way. Surprisingly, he did not ask us for money. It endeared me more to him.

Sea Lions are everywhere in the bay, perched on every flat surface they can heave their porky bodies up onto.

Walking up into the town, we found the streets quiet. There were a few souvenir places, coffee shops, a drug store and restaurants, and my favorite place, Pink Berry! 

Though similar style yogurt places have opened all over, it's Pink Berry that I love. I know we have a few at home, West Van, Metrotown, Richmond, and Abbotsford (why does Abby get it and not Poco???) but none close enough to us, so it remains something I only ever have elsewhere. Probably a good thing. 

Of course we each had one, and they were just as good as ever. My selections were peach and grapefruit yogurt with pineapple, strawberries and mochi. Mochi is a Japanese rice cake made of mochigome, a short-grain japonica glutinous rice. They are kinda like a little marshmallow, except better. I don't like marshmallows, but these were very tasty.


Harold wanted the Butter Pecan, but they were out, so he settled on the original with pumpkin seeds and candied pecans. I thought the pumpkin seeds were a weird choice, but they were actually quite good. So that was our lunch, some tiny samples of clam chowder and pink berry yogurt.

Next we drove down the coast,along the 17-mile drive that runs from Pacific Grove to Pebble Beach. The coast is just so gorgeous and almost takes your breath away, at every turn. They charge a $9.95 fee to take the drive, but it's definitely worth it, even on my fifth time down.

There is world famous golf here at Pebble Beach. Not our sort of thing, but it makes for a beautiful manicured backdrop for all the rugged beauty. There are trails for hiking and bird watching, and it's the perfect cycling route. Harold's brakes still aren't fixed so our bikes stayed in the back of the truck, unfortunately. Next time, we'll park the truck.

Seal Rock and Bird Rock sit next to each other. Some of them obviously have their addresses wrong as we saw birds on Seal Rock, and Seals on Bird Rock.







We especially enjoyed watching the seals jumping in and out of the waves.

There are many places I wonder if people take for granted when they live there. You never appreciate places as much as the first time you see it, of course, but there are some places that are just so amazing, you'd have to appreciate them every day. This coast is that sort of place. I bet I'd be aggravated by the tourists driving past my house every day, though.

The Lone Cypress, the symbol of the Pebble Beach Company, has prevailed on its rocky perch for over 250 years. They have put a lot of work into protecting the roots, and it makes me thing of the stump in Stanley Park that has cost so much money to protect. These icons are so much more to us than just trees.

Up at the Lodge at Pebble Beach, we came across a trio of deer munching away just off the fairway. They are completely unafraid of humans. I hope they are welcome there, and not considered pests.

We got down to Carmel, and seemingly forgot to take any pictures. It's a charming little town, with quaint shops, wine sampling, and many B&B's. Our only disappointment was the wine shop we chose. They sample only the varieties from the Carmel area, to be expected, so we shared 3 types of Brut, 1 Rose, and 2 Pinot Noirs. We typically aren't fans of any of them, but I am finding the California Pinots are much more robust than Oregon Pinots.

About half way through our sampling, I had an emergency text message from a client so we had to race back to the trailer to get to work. I'm finding that working on the road sounds better than it is. I expect it will be better when we have more time and take things slower, spending more time in each place. It's hard to pull yourself away from vacation time and race off to work instead, but that's what pays the bills.

From wild paradise to trailer court ... but oh ... is that a Costco?

We hadn't disconnected from the trailer so it was a really quick exit from the berry farm, this morning. We were within 20 miles of Santa Cruz, and on the lookout for a Walmart or Safeway. I searched Google maps but couldn't find a Walmart anywhere nearby, so we were absolutely shocked when we saw a Costco coming up on our left. "Left! Left! Turn left!" I exclaimed, and hot damned if Harold didn't respond immediately, jumping us on over to the turning lane in time to make the turn on the green light.

We took another turn, a road too early and had to stop to ask for directions from a woman with short, cropped, neon, fire-engine red hair. I had to wonder, knowing how quickly red hair loses it's luster, and how quickly her roots would grow in, just how often she had to  re-dye her hair ... but of course, I couldn't ask ... I was listening to directions. Harold started off again, just as some idiot woman jumped out in front of us, from the other side. He stopped almost before we'd even started, but that didn't stop her from yelling at us, scrunching up her face, and balling her fist at us in anger. Made me wish we'd just hit her. But that would have slowed us down.

We finally got into Costco, and what a Costco it was. Twice as big as our local one back home, it was full of all sorts of things we don't have at home, like wine, hard liquor and pre-mixed drinks, and all kinds of different food items we don't have at home. I kept on saying "We don't have this at home!" and then was surprised enough to laugh when we saw a package of Paneer Cheese from Surrey, B.C. We don't have that either!

We hadn't had breakfast and it was almost lunchtime, so we allowed ourselves to do something we never do at home. We ate at Costco! We had a hotdog and lemonade, and a slice of deluxe pizza, all for the low price of $3.00. How can you beat that?

We cruised through the farmlands where most of our produce comes from, and as we approached Gilroy, I could smell nothing but garlic. It was so intoxicating. Arriving at the RV park, we couldn't help but notice this one was more of a full-time place. Most of the rigs were quite old and looked like they wouldn't be movable. A few were so full of junk, it was spilling outside. It was a depressing place.

I had called the day before to make sure they had room for us, and the manager told us he had no room for Thursday night as he had a group coming in for the weekend. I asked about just Wednesday and he figured that would be okay. So when I came in the next day, and he asked me how many nights we wanted to stay, I was a little taken aback as I said "Two?" and he responded, "No problem." We pulled into the site, and plugged ourselves in, and were out again as quick as we could.

Up the road a bit was our first destination, the historic old town of Gilroy. I'd been through here 12 years ago, when Cairo was in Grade 1, and I'd thought the town was so cute. Calling itself the "Garlic capital of the world", it was very worthy of the title. The whole town smelled of garlic, and everything in it, all the stores in the downtown sold every imaginable sort of garlic, even garlic ice cream. It was surprisingly tasty.

I was so disappointed, this time, when I couldn't smell anything, upon getting out of the truck. I kept telling myself that we just hadn't got to the area yet. But as we got further I noticed the stores were now empty, and the town was like a ghost town. I asked someone what had happened to the town, but of course, it's the same thing that has happened to so many small towns in America. 2008 is what happened.

We drove out of town, to find the new areas that cater to folks who live there, thriving. It's the tourist area that hasn't come back. We stopped at a winery down the road to taste some wines, and they told us there have been stores that moved in and tried to start up the tourist trade again, but they all fail eventually.

We drove around the countryside for a while, past many, many vineyards we didn't have time for, then drove down the highway to Salinas, the birthplace of writer and Nobel Prize laureate John Steinbeck, where he based many of his novels. There was a touristy looking area there devoted to Steinbeck, but it was mid-construction, and nothing else. We didn't find it stop-worthy so kept driving.

On the way back, we saw an In-N-Out Burger, one of two burger places I'd told Harold I want to try, if we see it. (The other being a White Castle, only due to the movies) I swear my parents told me they had fantastic burgers, but we just found them okay. Cheap, but okay. What we found most interesting, was their minimalist menu. A double burger, a cheeseburger, a hamburger, and fries. Those are your only choices for food.

He didn't leave me after all!

I haven't always treated him right ... I've dragged him, dropped him,  frozen him,  tried to drown him ... smashed him, bashed him, ranted at him ... and made him follow me wherever I go, demanding he do my bidding, whether by boat, plane, bike, car, or on foot. I even let my daughter mistreat him. We've taken him for granted,  but he just kept trudging on, happy to just let us push his buttons. This time though, I worried this was it, he'd left for good.

Imagine my joy, when he showed up again this morning, no worse for wear, in the exact same shape I'd left him in, no important bits missing, ready to do it all over again with me!

I know what you're thinking.  No, I'm not talking about my husband. I'm talking about what my husband found sitting right under my seat in the truck. My camera! I swear we both looked under and around both our seats multiple times,  but it must have been stuck on the side where we couldn't see it and it finally got loose. I'd promise I'll treat it better this time around,  but I probably won't.

We got ourselves unshackled from our Rv connections and headed out.  The park we'd stayed at was in a good location,  where we could select to go south across the Golden Gate or east, then south to the Bay bridge. We chose the Bay bridge since traffic reports showed it as better, and we knew from the day before how bad the construction was after the Golden Gate.

It was all great until we got to the toll bridge and realized our error. The toll stations were all out at the Golden Gate so there was no toll and you get right through. On the Bay bridge we had a 30 minute wait and a $20 toll. Yeah, yeah, chump change, but still we coulda had it free!

The Bay bridge took us from Oakland over to San Francisco where we could head down south, towards San Jose, and then cut over the hills to the coast. It was still morning when we got to Half Moon Bay, and the beaches were covered in fog. Everytime I've visited this area, the mornings have been foggy, and the afternoons have been nice and sunny. By the time we arrived at our destination, the sun was already out, but the wind was still up, keeping things blustery. I call that temperature 'Harold-hoody weather', since my southern boy husband feels the cooler temps more than me, and needs his hoody. I was fine in just a tshirt.

This place, Swanton Berry Farm, is our second free spot we've been able to stay at due to our membership in Harvest Hosts. This one was quite different to the winery we stayed at a few days ago. First,  we couldn't reach anyone to see if they had room for us. I sent email a week ago and never heard back, then called and left a couple messages, none returned. We figured we'd just show up and if they told us to get lost,  we'd find another place. 

The farm is all on its own, in Davenport, Ca. We drove into the yard, where we saw a few cars and an Rv in  the parking lot. I went inside to find a little cafe/store, where they sold coffee, drinks, pies, soup, and jams. They had baskets if you wanted to go pick berries, but nothing on the sign so I figured there were none for picking this time of year.

I looked for someone to ask about staying, but everyone in there were patrons.  They had a self serve pay station all based on the honor system. Pay what you owe and make your own change. I admire systems like this.  It makes you recognize, most of us are just really decent, especially the sort of people who frequent hippie style organic berry and veggie farms, and only a rare few will steal.

The woman who sold local handicrafts outside from a small airstream trailer couldn't help me, except to tell me I should knock on the door to the kitchen. Oh, and she had a perfect trucker shirt for me. "They're all the rage!" She told me.

I went back inside, knocked, then swung  open the kitchen door. Two Hispanic women were inside working. They stopped and looked over at me. I asked them about Rv parking overnight, and they didn't understand what I'd asked at first, but then told me "Oh! Park over there!", pointing towards the south side of the building.

I wandered out into a farm lot full of equipment and tractors and vehicles and just knew this would never work, but then over behind the buildings, I found a pasture, with hard, packed ground. A sign read "Secondary parking lot". This must be it.

We set ourselves up facing the ocean. Oh, did I forget to mention that? The ocean is right across the road, just some pastures between us and the Pacific. We worried it might be a mistake to face that way because of the wind but decided to chance it and fix things later, if necessary. For the rest of the day and night, the wind came from the north so we were perfectly situated.

A three minute walk down the road was the most gorgeous beach, with huge, crashing waves, and soft sand our feet sank into as we walked. There are a few homes down there and a community beach. As we left to head back, we saw a few surfers arriving.

Up at the berry farm again, we decided on two bowls of chowder full of cauliflower, potatoes, and other veggies. It was very tasty and filling. I was tempted by the berry pies, but instead we bought a jar of their strawberry jam, after tasting them all at the jam tasting station. We headed back to the trailer where we whiled away the afternoon reading and exploring the cliffs along the ocean.

Harold had noticed one of the farmhands dumping vegetables in the compost and went over to check.  "They have loads of cauliflower and broccoli over there!" he told me, "Should I grab some?" I was resistant to the idea until he brought back three heads of perfectly good cauliflower. The broccolli was too wilted to use, but the cauliflower was fantastic. 

We had some for an appy with a salsa dip Harold made up, then the rest in a curry. I felt like a part of a cooking show where we had to use one item, the found cauliflower, in multiple courses. I figured,  to win, Harold needed to mash and bake some of that cauliflower into a crust we could slather with some of our strawberry jam .... a kind of strawberry-cauliflower tart. Harold wouldn't go for it. He was just proud of our entry to the Freecycle movement.

Cycling San Francisco

We found a place in San Francisco that could look at our air conditioning,  so we headed off early, leaving the trailer,  and taking the bikes. The highway after the Golden Gate bridge is under heavy construction and very tight. We soon turned off to our road and of course it was one of the steepest in the city.  I was afraid driving up, and thought there was no way I'd cycle down that.  I remember walking down this part, when we were here last, and how hard it was. 

Dropping the car off in the Haight, (an area known for it's history of hippie subculture), they told us they'd get back to us later to tell us what the problem was. We grabbed the bikes out of the truck, put Toonie on the back of my bike, and had all the mechanics running up to take pictures with their phones ... for their girlfriends.

The west side of the city is less steep, with a more gradual hill. We took that down to Market, and stopped at a Boudin bakery, a San Francisco staple, known for their sourdough bread. The first bakery was started in 1849. They took the sourdough used by Gold Rush Miners and blended it with master baker techniques brought from Burgundy, France. They are found all over San Francisco.

We shared a great Denver scramble in a sourdough bowl. It was so yummy and there was no way we could have had one to ourselves. 

Sitting out on the patio, it was fun to watch all the people walk by the bikes oblivious, and then some would stop, double-take, and start oohing and aahing over Toonie, before taking her picture. She just poses there with her big pitiful eyes, tongue hanging out the side off her mouth.

After breakfast we cycled down along the waterfront,  through all the tourist traps, where we connected to the bike paths along the water.  

We could see smoke coming from up ahead at the Presidio, and the closer we got, the harder it was to breathe and see. When we got up to it, we saw the fire was in the trees up the hill, between the park and highway. There was an ABC correspondent there getting opinions from the pedestrians around, but we just kept going.

It was about this time the shop called.  Turns out our a/c problem is worse than we'd thought.  There's a leak that will take 5 hours to fix, and they can't get it done today. We don't want to wait another day,  so we just got them to recharge it and hope it will last until we get home.

Bikes are a huge deal in San Francisco, much like all the other west coast cities. In the city, it was all commuters, and then, on the waterfront,  it was all tourists. There were so many cyclists and pedestrians, it was hard to cycle the first half of the Golden Gate bridge, but after that it was smooth sailing. 

Once off the bridge we had a short trek up the hill and then a longer,  fun, curvy ride down to Sausalito. Fun for me at least, Harold's back brakes broke part way down, and he had a less reliable ride down. I'm glad I didnt know until he got down or I'd be afraid he'd break his neck.

We'd have loved to stop for a drink and lunch in Sausalito - such a cute little town sandwiched between the cliffs and bay - but we were concerned with getting back before the auto shop closed.

I zipped Toonie into her bag, and got into line behind the droves of cyclists waiting for the ferry. We all put our bikes into the racks at the back of the boat, and everyone went up to look at the view. I stayed down to watch Toonie, but still got a good view from down below.

Toonie popped her head out a few times, and eventually I figured I'd just let her. Not like they could kick us off. What could they do? Make us walk the plank? On the way out everyone was cooing at her and none of the employees said even a word about her.

We cycled back across town,  but there was no way we could get up the top portion of that San Francisco hill. I did see one guy do it, but he was a bike courier, and covered in muscles. We were quite happy to walk up. We got back to the shop earlier than expected, with lots of time to spare, paid up, and headed back to our temporary home. A great day!

Chariot in the mud flats

We turned everything upside down this morning and can't find the camera anywhere. We still have Harold's Dslr but this little one was such a nice little camera.  Shockproof, freezeproof, and waterproof, it's our go to camera for all our sports, cycling, swimming, snowshoeing, kayaking, etc.

It's gone, and we can't figure out where it was lost. We looked at the cameras at Walmart, and bought a cheap little replacement, and if it doesn't turn up,  we'll have to look into a better one when we get home.

We were out of the vineyard before it opened. It was supposed to be a short day, an estimated 1:45 drive, but with grocery shopping and expanding traffic as we get closer to San Francisco, we didn't get to the RV park until the afternoon.

This is our first time in a place where we can hook up, but it's all rather simplistic. Black hose in the drain, white hose to the water, plug to the outlet, cable in the appropriate slot.

The RV park is pretty basic. Our site is no more than a parking space with hookups. Up near the entrance, there is a laundromat, tiny little pool, and showers. I don't think we're going to use any of it, but it is a nice experience to be hooked up, and not worrying about water levels, and electricity levels, black water and grey water, and blowing the generator with my blowdryer.

We back onto a tidal area, on the north side of San Francisco Bay. When the tide is out, it leaves a reedy, grassy, muddy area full of birds, and that not so pleasant smell you get in all tidal mud flats.

We found a Trader Joe's just down the road from us. It is smaller than our Bellingham store, and the patrons were grumpier, the coffee section was miniscule, but they had one thing that made up for it all -- a huge allotment of an old favorite wine of our's, Chariot Gypsy!

Chariot is a $4.99 red blend we haven't had in years. We used to buy it by the caseload, when we lived in Birch Bay and could stockpile it. We looked forward to tasting it again, and finding out if it was as we'd remembered. To be on the safe side, we bought only one bottle. It turned out to be enjoyable, but not as wonderful as we remembered. But it's $4.99! In Canada, you can't even buy rotgut for that price.

BevMo, our new favorite liquor and more store, is just as awesome here in Greenbrae, Ca, as it is in Bellingham, Wa. It can feel somewhat overwhelming though, with so many options. We bought two bottles of our favorite Earthquake Petite Syrah, a brick of dill havarti, and got out while we could.