Day 193 - The Longest Day Is Actually In May

Author - Grant

From - Mendocino, California

To - A Dank Cabin Deep In The Middle Of A Bear Filled Forest

Miles Driven - It Felt Like Thousands

Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157618352901666/

Today was a long day.  Sometimes that means more time to pack in more fun stuff and sometimes it means that it felt like there were more than 24 hours between midnights.  Today was the latter and can justifiably be spelt with more than one ‘o’.

Firstly I was inexplicably awake just after 6am.  At first I thought it was the ghost of Jessica Fletcher goading me to join her in a morning jog (complete with white rolled up towel round the neck)...but then I remembered that she isn’t dead.  The elderly ladies bladder, however, is with us as Molly was demanding her morning walk a whole hour earlier than usual.  It did, however, allow me to explore the bluffs of Mendocino which were pretty spectacular in the daily morning fog.  A few miles under the belt even before the milk man had thought about stirring - could this be the beginning of a fit new regime?  In a word, nope.  All it did was to bring on a rampant hunger that hopefully Norm could satisfy.  Given that we were the only people staying in the B&B (well, apart from crazy Lisa who seems to earn her keep by massaging landlord Norm in the kind of arrangement usually reserved for senior politicians), breakfast was a veritable platter of goodies but the only thing more rampant than our hunger for food was our thirst for knowledge about the houses history.  Unfortunately it turned out to be a bit of a damp squib for a couple of reasons.  Firstly, the interior of the house was never used for filming so only a few shots of the exterior were filmed which rarely required Angela’s attendance and secondly, Norm was clearly bored of regaling the story and was too busy blushing at Lisa’s brazen insistence that today’s ‘massage’ will be at 10:45am.  It’s enough to put you off your granola...ish.

So after leaving the house to the mysterious background sound of squelching, we once again braved the wobbly, puke-inducing northbound Route 1 in search of the abundant redwood forests that blanket Northern California.  Whilst clearly still a bit groggy from the drive, we found ourselves forking over the princely sum of $5 for the privilege of driving through a massive redwood with a Dodge Grand Caravan sized hole in it.  This was wrong for a couple of reasons.  Firstly we had been through a sequoia with a hole in it, albeit on foot, just a couple of weeks ago and I feel there is only so many trees a man should pass through on one trip and secondly, from that experience we learnt that cutting a car sized hole in a tree shortens its lifespan.  Still, we’d already parted with the $5 by the time these two thoughts had properly formed so the priority turned to obtaining full value for money.  As such, we drove through the tree...twice, walked through it once, all three of us emptied our bladders and the only reason we didn’t reverse through it was because Kate vetoed it because she was embarrassed.  That girl will never understand the value of the dollar.

Next up was the 30 mile Avenue of The Giants which you probably don’t need me to explain was a crooked country road through a forest of redwoods that were up to 500 feet high and 2000 years old.  Our tour was cut short, however, by fallen tree that had brought down a power line.  Upon closer inspection, the scene  was a bit more gruesome as a car had ploughed head on into one of the trees.  We arrived at the same time as the first response fire vehicle and only after considerable goading did the lone fireman check inside the car for victims; using the excuse that some of the power lines might be down and live to delay his inevitable inspection despite all the wires clearly still being accounted for propping up the fallen tree.  Thankfully however, the car was empty so we’ll just assume that the occupants had got out and walked northbound for assistance.  I also like to believe that my childhood pets are either still touring with the circus or romping round that animal friendly, 100 acre farm in the country.

In all the excitement, neither of us had noticed that midday had long gone without either of us demanding lunch.  Earlier in the day Kate had suggested that we stop in Eureka for a bite to eat which I thought was a fantastic moment of inspiration (please tell me I’m not the only person that finds that funny) and so we rolled into town looking forward to some country charm.  Instead, we found out where tramps and street cleaners retire to.  Kate insisted on eating lunch in sight of the car for fear of it being sold for parts and I think even Molly found the dominant scent of urine overpowering.  It didn’t put me off annihilating a curry infused cream cheese bagel with shredded carrot and cucumber though.

After lunch we only had another seven thousand or so mile to drive before reaching relative civilisation but our lack of earlier planning blew up in our face when neither of our phones had reception meaning we were forced to drive blindly through the state park in search of a roof for the night.  After a few dead ends, both figuratively and literally, we have settled for staying the next two nights in a 150 sq ft cabin made of cardboard that sits just yards from the highway.  As a result, when an articulated lorry passes at 65 mph, it feels like the huff and puff of a certain insistent little piggy.  On the plus side, it’s got a couple of electric hobs so let the magic commence.  All we need now is a shop.