Rubber Reality

Monterey is a fairly well know speck on the map. All the people there refer to it as a small town. Not sure if they've ever been to Jellico Ontario, but that sort of thing is relative isn't it? In addition to being the birth place of a cheese that jacked the name, Monterey is also the site of Jimi Hendrix's first guitar smashing and burning. During that same Pop Festival Janis Joplin was signed to Arista records by Clive Baker. History seeps out of the concrete there. In fact much of the town was built using lime that was harvested in a place south of Big Sur, that now bears the name Limekiln. The things you learn from informative plaques.

Whilst at the hostel i was toying with a bunch of ways i could continue this journey, this walk. My legs have eased in their shooting pains. My shovel foot is still bearing testimony to the 300 + miles it has traversed. But the pain really isn't that great. It only gets bad if i walk more than 20 miles in a day. I mentioned my need to change modes to Tracy, the girl who runs the front desk in the evenings at Monterey HI. She was all to happy to offer a ride up to San Fransico. Her and her boyfriend were going there for the weekend.

I toyed with the idea for a while. Then figured that I would take the ride to Santa Cruz instead. Brian and Tracy picked me up at the hostel at 11:00 am on Friday. We drove up one towards Santa Cruz. I watched as we flew past one of the nicest bunch of dunes I have ever seen. They would have been fab for walking. As we passed through Moss Landing i was informed of the Tweekers That live there. Could've been an interesting story there, but i was glad to have avoided it.

the lovely couple

I was dropped off at a Gas station on 41 street. The sun was out and they had Dr. Peppers in the ice box. I grabbed one that is cold. Quaffed it in a mighty slurp. The bubbles didn't get a chance to dispearse. It was a pleasurable afternoon. I took my sweet time getting down to the beach. Stopped for a burrito along the way.

Santa Cruz is full of surfers, and skateboarders. Lots of cruiser bikes as well. Its almost like the scene originated there. I saw alot of company vehicles along the beach road. It seems that people surf on their lunch break, or just blow off work for an afternoon surf. Every car had a board on it or in it. The head of every driver jerked backwards as they passed the various beaches. It was dangerous as a pedestrian. Forget about blind corners. Surfers passing beaches are way scarier. Some people stop just to stare at the surf. Then move along when they have determined that there are to many dudes catching that one.

I ambled across town. Unconcered about distance. Just rambling. I stopped all over the place. Just to make sure that i wasn't going to fast. Quite the nice town that Santa Cruz. The Manic street preacher of Californian Catholocism from Monterey, enlightened me with the morsel of knowledge that: Santa Cruz means "holy cross." I didn't see any crucifix on the hill. Not like the big one back in Monterey.

On my way across town I was listening to Bad Religion. Really loud. So loud that i couldn't hear anything that was going on. When to punk kids tried to pass me on the sidewalk i couldn't hear them yelling at me to get out of the way. As they passed they shouted something obscene that i didn't hear. I smiled politely and kept walking.

At some point around there i got onto the train tracks. Always a pleasure those. In Santa Cruz no one has bothered to put up no tresspassing signs on the tracks. The path beside the tracks was well walked. A main throughfare for cyclists and pedestrians. As i drew nearer to the fair grounds I ran into a girl taking a leak under a bridge. Her friends up the tracks pointed out this fact to me. They were all tattooed and partially dirty. 3/4 of the group had forties of Malt Liquor. I talked to them long enough to find out some info on the town and the lay of the land. They pointed out downtown, and the quickest route out of town. I went with the latter.

The tracks were the fastest. It would have been out of the way to head downtown. I stuck to the tracks. On the other side of the fairgrounds I ran into the punk kids that had passed me earlier. I went over to say hello. They seemed to recognize me. They apologized for being jerks. And chatted me up. They were drinking vodka and Sunny D. They pointed to a wet patch on the ground "Thats the rest of our Vodka Dude." I took my hat of in honour of the spilt juice. They thought it was funny.

Those kids were ridiculous. They were hanging outside of a closed off skatepark. Hollering at all the pretty girls. Saying things like "I want to drink Your bath water." They told me a story about this hispanic break-dancer who required that they drink 12 6-packs so he could have enough cardboard to dance on.

They supplied me with a little lettuce for the road. Not alot just a taste. Something to keep me from walking to far. I didn't take any of their precious Vodka. Wasn't into it at the time. Just a hoot for the road.

Down the tracks there was a really odd back yard. Someone had gone to the trouble of whitewashing all the trees in their back yard. I could see and reason clearly. Perhaps they are gallery owners and have just grown to like stark white things.

Art or huck finn run amok?

I slept on the edge of town under a cypress tree. The ground was spongy underneath. The softest so far. beats the underside of a bridge anyday. As the full moon rose the feild seemed to stir with all sorts of wild life.

I woke up with the dawn the next day. Had some soymilk and granola, and went back into Santa Cruz to find coffee. I passed by the 7-11, continuing on to a little donut shop. Across the street from the donut shop was a motel with some free wireless. So I was able to fix a bunch of brokeness to these pages. Pints make for sloppy code. Its easy to write. Not so easy to be precise.

I didn' walk very far that day. Just 15 miles or so. didn't want to overdo it. There were plenty of distractions along the way. On the edge of town were brusselsprout farms. I guess it was a bad year for sprouts. Alot of the produce from the season lay rotting in piles next to the feild. Brusselsprouts smell like horse dung when they rot. The farms gave way to rugged coast soon after. Every 1/4 mile there was a fantastic beach. I can see why people say California is falling into the ocean. Most of the coast is sand stone, or close to it. Its almost as if this place is one big beach waiting to happen. All along the coast there is evidence of errosion in action. The coast slowly slipping into the sea. I wonder how much of it disappears a year. There always seems to be a trickle of sand flowing down the cliffs and into the ocean.

one big beach thats californias future

I stopped in Davenport. Had a burger that didn't come with fries. I was a little disappointed to say the least. It was tastey though. The Whalers Cafe is a nice little gem of a diner. Just the right amount of crap on the walls.

The tracks disappeared just past the huge batch plant. It was road walking from then on. A bitch for a flat foot. But i went on. Not very fast.

a less negative sign

I stopped for the night atop some sand dunes. I have found that there are ticks in the area. I found one on me that evening, while i was checking over my body. It is an important thing to do when you run amok in the country side. At least once a day give your entire body a good once over. They are easy to find with your fingers, but you'll rarely feel them tread. If you can avoid a bite at all costs. These fuckers can carry the potentially fatal lyme-disease.

I was woken up once through that night. The stink of a skunk. A fearful enemy while on the road. Should you get stinked, no one will be your friend, not even a dog. I usually keep my stinky socks out just to disuade those bad boys. It seems to work with them. I have had no bad skunk run-ins yet. Don't intend to either. It was nice to be woken up though. I have a feeling that last night was the full moon. It was brightest last night by far.

There was a soap-opera glow to the morning. A fine mist hung in the air, giving everything that soft gracing of light. I walked up an huge hill first thing. It gave me a quite the view of the coast ahead. I could make out an Island which was correctly labeled on the map. I verified this with a couple of early morning surfers.

Mile by mile i continued on. Still taking my time. I stopped numerous times just to sit and look. There were some trails here and there that i took as a winding route along the 1. They were soft underfoot and made for better walking.

I ran into a cyclist on the shoulder. He was headed up to Seattle coming from Santa Anna. He tried to sell me some phone cards for cheap, then he tried to sell me a Football jacket. He wanted $300 for it. I declined. Not much of a fan anyway. He told me that there was a hostel just up ahead. At the lighthouse.

Just around the corner i came upon a gas station unexpectadly. There was restaurant as well. I strolled in for a burger. They made a fairly descent one. It came with one of those lame little bags of chips. I ordered some fries. The basket had the smallest mound in the centre. A complete ripoff. Thank god the burger was decent.

I got to the Lighthouse Hostel at around 4:00pm I decided to stay there for the night. I have become hopelessly addicted to the internet on this trip. Plus now i can say i stayed at a lighthouse. I get the impression that this place is haunted. Not that i believe in that crap. Weird shit has been happening though. Doors randomly open and close. I saw the lid of the garbage can open by itself. Strange. Then again this place has been around for a while. Ships have wrecked on the rocks out front. Whatever is hanging out here lets hope they don't know how to use a keyboard.

Well another Super-bowl Sunday has come and gone and I have managed to miss every minute of it so far. Go Raiders!!