Roadtrip: Days 18-19

8-28-12 LAS UVAS DE LA IRA
Wednesday morning I left Madera and as I made for the coast, orchard country slowly changed to vegetable country. I made a detour through Salinas, kinda felt like I had to with all the Steinbeck I've been reading lately. The Grapes of Wrath has been in my stereo since I entered the state nearly a week before, and as the Joads learned California, I learned California.

The resemblance became eerie as I neared Monterey County. Strawberries were coming in. Broccoli, cabbage, and cauliflower were coming in too. The dirt roads that broke up the green rows were lined, here and there, with Astrovans and Corollas, dusty and tired-looking. In the fields, bent backs combed the rows, filling styrofoam boxes.

Then it was noon, and groups of eight or a dozen clustered around the flat-bed pickups, pilled high with produce. The lucky ones had tents where they escaped the sun and dozed in plastic chairs. The sun was full, but the wind whipped at a chilly 64 degrees.

Castroville, the Artichoke Center of the World! Where Salinas had lost much of its oldness and nostalgia in growth, Castroville looked like the 21st century hadn't had much of an effect. And then, before long, I was on Highway 1, California's Pacific Coast Highway. The road was choked with construction and lumbering RV's, but easily entered my list of things every American needs to see/experience.

I wound my way up the coast, loving the postcard towns and stunning coastal vistas. Then across the underwhelming Golden Gate Bridge, a brief stop at Muir Woods National Monument (which the solitude-loving John Muir wouldn't have recognized for the boisterous crowds), and up to Santa Rosa. Upon arriving, my friend Jared hastened to take me to Russian River Brewery, where I imbibed sixteen flights, their full roster of delicious beers.

8-29-12 BREAKS BRAKES

Leaving Santa Rosa behind, I attempted Highway 1 again, but soon realized it would take me three months to make it to Eureka what with all the construction and the casual nature of the road's design. I consulted the road atlas and found the nearest east-bound road that would connect me to Highway 101. The road atlas failed to convey that there were a great deal of mountains over and through which my chosen road wound. In the course of my passage, I began to fret about the well-being of my brakes and suspension and tires and engine, but I came out the other side more-or-less in one piece. Or so I thought.

About halfway from Santa Rosa to Eureka on the 101, a terrible grating noise began to emanate from the passenger-side front wheel well. Without anywhere to stop and deal with the disturbance, I pushed my luck and squealed my way up to Eureka, where the O'Reilly Auto Parts cashier gave me the number of a guy who  could check it out in the morning. I grabbed dinner and a pint at Lost Coast Brewery and retired to a cozy Kmart parking lot for the night. 

TOTD: James Vincent McMorrow - We Don't Eat