Another grey but dry morning greeted us in Tomales but this time those conditions seemed to persist. The cooler conditions seemed ideal for walking, though; it was time to make use of the walking map and guide book that we had bought yesterday. We packed a lunch and pointed Softly Spoken Sue , the alter-ego for the car’s navigation system, at Bear Valley Visitor Center (giving it the American spelling since that where it is) just south of Point Reyes Station.

About five miles down the road beside Tomales Bay the sky cleared to my very favourite colour: unadulterated blue. We were beginning to spot a pattern, here. Tomales is usually shrouded in what must be higher-level fog but surrounding areas may be clear. Conditions were clearly not going to be as cool as we thought but I’ll take a fabulous day any way I can get it.

Muggins managed to miss the final right turn towards the visitor centre. Softly Spoken Sue calmly told me to, “make a legal U-turn ahead” and retrace my steps. Getting it right second time around, after about another mile we were soon parking at our destination, the head of several “hiking trails” (in Amerispeak) that explore the coastal range beside Drake’s Bay.

The trails are shared with horses and a special parking area for horse-boxes is provided and was being well used. The horse boxes are a very different design to those used in England, with flaps that open along their side. Open a side window in a car that contains a dog and the dog sticks it head out into the air flow and looks forward. Open a flap on a horse box containing a horse and the horse pretends it’s a dog and sticks its head out into the air flow and looks forward. We’d like to do the same thing but our signs above train windows forbid it. Darn!

As well as the longer trails there is a 0.7 mile paved wander to get up close and personal with the San Andreas fault line. Lunchtime was approaching so we decided to use this as a limbering-up exercise before refuelling on our lamb sandwiches prior to attacking something a little more serious. There is a series of blue posts placed to mark the fault line itself. At one point, these posts march through a dislocated fence. The hapless fence lined up until the San Francisco earthquake of 1906 caused one part of it to march north by about 18 feet. We expected to see obvious earth disturbance but oddly, none seems to be in evidence, just a fence that’s no longer linked.

To reduce our calorie footprint after lunch, we chose a circuit 2 miles up Mount Wittenberg Trail to the highest point here at about 1400 feet, a mile along the ridge on Sky Trail, then 2 miles back down Old Pine Trail before returning the 1.5 miles to base on Bear Valley Trail.

The lower levels of the trails were very dry and dusty but, since the ridge is, as we’ve seen, frequently shrouded in the coastal fog, the upper levels were damp and quite boggy in places. Moss-covered tree trunks and branches bore witness to the frequently damp conditions. Drake’s Bay beneath us was still very foggy. We noticed disturbingly regular over flights by the ubiquitous turkey vultures. Could they be keeping an eye on us, waiting for a potential late lunch to succumb? Fortunately, we foiled them and completed our circuit, albeit with an aching joint or two. We are clearly out of practice.

Back home in still foggy Tomales, the first Anchor Steam lasted about 30 seconds.

The early morning overcast was clearing up very nicely as we headed back down by the side of Tomales Bay (also known as the San Andreas fault) intent on investigating Point Reyes Station. Keeping a careful eye on the rear view mirror so as not to impede faster traffic, I managed to cruise totally silently at about 30 mph on the hybrid Camry’s battery power for several of the very twisting, mostly flat stretches of road. It’s fun to see what you can do provided the road is otherwise deserted and you are not in a hurry.

We called in to a parking area at Nick’s Seafood beside Tomales Bay to let Carol wander around with her camera. I dawdled around the parking lot, again entirely on battery power for some fun but mainly to avoid the $5 parking fee. Cheapskate! When we eventually parked in Point Reyes Station, the car was kind enough to congratulate me on “excellent” fuel economy: about 43 mpg (equivalent to over 50 mpg on an imperial gallon).

Point Reyes Station lies at the southern extremity of Tomales Bay. Apparently, in the days of a former railroad in these parts, it did used to be a station. Now it seems a very pleasant, sometimes sleepy centre for tourism of the Point Reyes National Seashore which includes Drake’s Bay, as in Sir Francis Drake. To quote the literature:

This is thought to be the most likely spot where Drake would have landed on the west coast when he circumnavigated the globe in 1580.

Let’s pretend that the literature knows what it is talking about.

The Point Reyes National Seashore is disconnected from the mainland by the infamous San Andreas fault. The disconnected chunk of land on the west of the fault line is drifting north by approximately 2in/5cm per year. We would have expected that rate of drift to do some interesting things to the roads which cross on to it but, thus far, we haven’t seen any evidence of disruption.

We spent a pleasant two hours or so wandering around looking at the old western-style buildings, eating a spinach, mango and black bean salad for lunch, and buying a walking trail map and guide book in case we started feeling energetic.

Taking a different cross-country route back through some very rural countryside, we stumbled across the Marin French Cheese Company. Being a confirmed, certifiable cheeseaholic, this was like a red rag to a bull so I made a U-turn and stopped. It looks like a good venue for lunch as they have provided a small lake/large pond and some picnic tables in the shade of a few surrounding trees.

During our initial investigation of the grounds, one of the locally plentiful turkey vultures was kind enough to present itself within range of some half-way reasonable shots. Turkey vultures seem to be to California what buzzards are to France; they cruise around all over the place. Their curiosity is that they apparently hunt by smell whereas most raptors hunt by sight.

Wildlife interlude over, we bought a chunk of Marin-made Camembert-shaped Brie before continuing home. (Note: American Brie seems to be shaped like Camembert whereas American Camembert is shaped like Brie. Go figure!)

The Tomales regular late afternoon/early evening fog rolled back in to stop us eating our barbecued rib eye steak out on the deck. The American Camembrie rounded it off quite nicely.

Technorati Tags: travel,Point Reyes Station,Turkey vulture,Marin French Cheese Company

We awoke to an overcast sky and occasional spells of gentle rain. Realizing that yesterday we had omitted to go to the Tomales post office and empty Bets and Bryan’s mail boxes, I somewhat hastily threw on some clothes and made the short trip to do just that. The amount of mail they both receive is such that the boxes could soon be full to overflowing, I think. The post mistress was very helpful and gave me a mail bin to ease my collection of everything while they are away.

As the rain continued sporadically, we were kept busy by a couple of callers with more deliveries. Our house-sitting duties got particularly interesting when Bryan’s fax machine burst into life and shortly started bleating about a paper jam. Meanwhile the phone rang; it was the sender of said jammed fax wondering if it had been received correctly. Not being cleared to fly the fax machine solo, Carol gamely set about clearing the paper jam while I was on the phone. The pages that we had received were time-stamped but blank. The sender thought he might have fed the source pages in upside down; he’d try again. More success this time; printed pages began to appear. The fax machine jammed again. Engineer Carol cleared it again and the final page appeared. Phew!

The irritation drizzle ceased by later afternoon for us to drive to Fred and Lorraine’s house, thence to Sonoma for our planned jazz-accompanied picnic and farmer’s market. Crossing the hills into the Sonoma valley changed the weather dramatically; clear skies greeted us. The market/picnic is apparently a two-weekly affair during the summer. Regrettably, this was the last one this year.

Sonoma is a wonderfully atmospheric little town with a grassy central square surrounded by interesting buildings, alleys and, on one corner, an old mission. Steve and Kathy had already staked claim to some grass when we arrived. Our party was soon underway accompanied by some relaxing jazz to aid digestion. Nobody seemed too concerned about the market so we talked, ate, drank and listened.

The party continued as daylight faded and lights came on around the square. I managed to grab one shot of the illuminated Sebastiani Theatre but we should, perhaps, try to return one evening armed with our well-travelled tripod for a better attempt.

We were still nattering when we realized the the square was now pretty much deserted except for ourselves and the now packing up jazz musicians. Time to head back home to finish off the bottle of wine.

Technorati Tags: Sonoma,farmer’s market

We needed a little more serious shopping today. We were especially anxious to get a supply of fermented grape juice to feed our habit so we thought we might try a larger, and hopefully cheaper supermarket. ‘T was clearly time to investigate the Safeway in Petaluma.

Not wishing to leave shopping sitting in a backing hot car, we decided to go and visit the historic areas of downtown Petaluma first. Finding parking spots and interpreting the parking regulations is always interesting on a first visit to a place that’s new to us but after a few right turns we found a two hour parking spot and set out on foot.

While we were sauntering down one street, Denice Borse spotted us from inside the store she works at and came out to greet us. She’d done very well to recognize us on the strength of one meeting. I would have been hard pressed to reciprocate given her lack of cycling helmet, this time. She directed us to the Petaluma Market store which we duly investigated. They had some sturgeon which I have eaten only once and, on that occasion, it was delicious. The beef looked very good, too. We must return and hope that they have sturgeon again but, for now, this was an exploratory visit.

Time was marching on so we called in what looked like a newish Mexican restaurant called Mi Pueblo el Centro for a spot of lunch washed down with a Dos Equis before retrieving the car before it turned into a pumpkin after its two hour stay, then it was off to find Safeway.

We found Safeway easily enough but I don’t think we’ll bother again. It’s a reasonable store but the main reason for going there would be prices. These are great if you are a  Safeway Club member but we are not. This is very like our perceived difference between Waitrose and Tesco in the UK; Tesco is certainly cheaper but the “shopping experience” in Waitrose is much more pleasant. Just so here where Safeway may be cheaper (even without being a club member) but the quality and ambience of Whole Foods or Petaluma Market is better. So, we bailed out and called into Whole Foods which was on the way back home and on the correct side of the road.

We’d turned off the air conditioning to see what the technologically rich Camry Hybrid would do. Having slowed to make the turn, we glid silently into the car park on battery power. Upon leaving, I made it out into the traffic and up to the first stop light again silently, a distance of, say, 50 yards/metres. The internal pollution engine seems to think about kicking in at about 25 mph. It also kicks in when anything resembling strenuous activity is called for. Any hint of an uphill gradient causes the battery power to demand fossilized fuel assistance. It’s a similar story with acceleration. If you or, more accurately, the 7-litre gas-guzzling Chevy truck up your non-polluting exhaust pipe, is prepared to suffer a stultifying casual zero to 25 mph acceleration time of 5 minutes or so, then the planet is safe from further carbon emissions.

At typical American town speed limits (25 mph) and in very congested situations on an ironing board flat road, this technology may help a little. Most of any saving, though, comes, I suspect, from the engine cutting off when stationary at junctions, particularly traffic lights. This, though, is what several non-battery Volkswagen cars did many years ago. It also strikes me that the potential sport of crossing Milton Keynes using little but interlinked car parks might make a minor saving on carbon emissions. Let’s hope that Tesco is right: every little helps. It won’t, of course, because 2 billion Chinese and 1 billion Indians are furiously engaged in swapping their bicycles for Beemers.

Back at home base, the fog had rolled in faster than a battery-powered car but, nonetheless, we dropped off our shopping and I wondered if Carol would like to check out Dillon Beach, about five miles distant. Having arrived, we didn’t park because somebody with a well-developed sense of humour wanted seven dollars for the privilege. Given some clear weather, that may become worth it but not to sit under a coastal fog bank. One or two cars and a camper van seemed to think differently, though.

Having dropped a U-turn, we spotted what turned out to be a young deer beside the road so I stopped. Surprisingly, it allowed me to retrieve my camera, change to the long lens and posed for pictures. It had relatively quite large ears and reminded me of an African kudu. (I’ll have to seek advice about identification.) We subsequently discovered its relations having a stag party calmly devouring one or two gardens of the coastal cottages along the road. These Dillon Beach deer look as though they might constitute something of a nuisance to some people. Not to us though; we like nothing more than to see wildlife even when it is a little too accustomed to human company.

Technorati Tags: Dillon Beach,carbon emissions,deer,hybrid cars

Normal serviced was resumed this morning with the reappearance of the famous Bay Area coastal fog. It soon receded from our immediate vicinity but we could still see it a little further west over the coast. This may have explained the frequent camper vans and assorted recreational vehicles which kept heading inland on the Tomales-Petaluma road; curtailed weekend trips, perhaps.

Our morning was brightened by the very welcome surprise visit of our friend, Michael Borse and Denice, his wife. They adopted the silent approach and arrived, very energetically, on a tandem. An impressive Sunday ride from their house almost 20 miles distant, and they weren’t finished yet. It was so great of them to call in and see that we had arrived safely. I look forward to seeing them again.

In the evening we were destined to join an Italian wine tasting with appetizers cruise around San Francisco bay on the Angel Island ferry. We were getting together with more friends and former colleagues, Steve and Kathy Delman (who had kindly arranged our tickets) and Fred and Lorraine Webster. How better to renew friendships than over several glasses of wine?

We were meeting at Steve’s house mid-afternoon. I knew the boring route – straight down highway 101 to Terra Linda – but thought it would be much more fun to grapple with more fiendish automotive technology and try to use the satellite navigation system in Bets’s car. (I’m backward – I’ve never played with one before.)

The fog having receded and temperatures having soared, I sat in the now oven-like car and opened the manual. After pressing a few buttons, one of which perversely started the internal combustion engine now that I didn’t yet actually want to go anywhere, I had Steve’s address programmed as a destination, an option of three routes and a very pleasantly spoken American lady who seemed to be willing to take me all the way. Ya gotta love technology! 🙂

Mid-afternoon arrived and off we set. I had selected the most direct and most interesting of the three available routes. This took us down the side of Tomales Bay and then along Lucas Valley Road where George Lucas of Star Wars fame has his Skywalker Ranch. (I guess you’ve truly arrived when the road you live on is named after you.) All I had to do was follow the pleasantly spoken American lady’s instructions to the letter and keep her satisfied. This was great; brainless driving at its best. The accuracy of the system seems almost good enough to take control of the steering wheel and leave me as a passive passenger. I thought I’d switch my brain back on for the return journey.

The coastal fog was persistent and, as we boarded the ferry in Tiburon for the booze cruise, was thickening as it swept in over the coastal hills, the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco itself. Being forewarned, we had our fleeces with us so the worst of the cold was kept at bay (no pun intended). The bottoms of my zip-off convertible trousers would have helped even more but were, sadly, back in Tomales.

Being a ferry, the accommodation was a tad basic but the wine and appetizers were quite pleasant. Some additional seating/tables would have helped, too. I couldn’t help but notice that the ladies seemed to be getting more generous tastings than the men. So much for sexual equality. Having braved the elements watching the lights turn on in all the surrounding expensive communities as the ferry chugged in circles around the bay, we eventually retreated inside until the ferry docked.

A warmer, clearer evening would have helped everyone feel that the three our trip wasn’t about an hour too long but, hey, this is summer in San Francisco.

Technorati Tags: San Francisco, Festa Italiana, Angel Island ferry

Bets and Bryan were off to catch their train for trip number one of our stay late this evening (about 9:00 PM) so we would soon be home alone. This was our last day to learn a few survival techniques while the experts were in town. The experts were, of course, very busy on last minute preparations so our lessons had to be grabbed when possible.

Bets and Bryan have a tenant, a French gentleman called Giles, living in a cottage on their property, so introductions were necessary. Giles also has un chat who, not wishing to be left out, dutifully wandered up and introduced itself to us in the traditional feline fashion, by winding itself around our legs. We couldn’t quite figure out the cat’s name but it seems to be based upon “gaffe” as in faire une gaffe (to make a blunder). Cute! I must quiz Giles when possible and get to the bottom of the mystery.

Giles is apparently planning a weekend trip to Portland, Oregon (his real home base, I think) and was wondering what to do avec son chat pendant le voyage. Since we were already in charge of Betty, we naturally volunteered our services as globetrotting cat sitters.

Because of the Inverse Packing Rule, Carol needed instructions for using the laundry equipment. We were also going to have to get to grips with Bets’s car. That might not seem very much but it is not just a car, this is a Toyota Camry Hybrid car with petrol power, battery power and a bunch of other Japanese technology involved. We decided to have a test trip into Petaluma about ten miles east. That way, as well as familiarizing ourselves with the car, we could find a more fully equipped food store into the bargain.

The car comes with a key fob which, while needed, is rarely actually used. Simply have it about your person. Hmm. Put the key in your pocket, for example, walk up to the car and you can open the previously locked door.

OK, we’re in. Search as one might, there is no ignition switch. There is however, a starter button on the dashboard which seems reminiscent of Jaguar sports saloons of old. Having entered the car with said key fob in ones pocket, one presses the starter button on the dashboard. Nothing happens. Well, more accurately, a light should begin to glow in the starter button indicating that power might be available. This is largely a matter of faith since the engine doesn’t actually burst into life; silence reigns. The car is now supposed to be able to begin moving as silently as a wraith on its battery power, turning on the somewhat more reassuring internal combustion engine only when it is good and ready. Weird.

On my first attempt, that which should happen didn’t. No surprise there, then; no glowing light in the starter button and the automatic gear lever remained firmly locked in “park”. At this point, I didn’t actually know that I was supposed to get a glowing light. More by luck than judgement, a second attempt proved more fruitful but only because, quite by chance, I decided to take off the parking brake first and hold the car on the foot brake whilst trying. It’s the pressing of the foot brake while also pressing the magic starter button that is key, if you’ll pardon the pun. Even weirder!

In practice, of course, the car’s air conditioning tends to be on in these climes meaning that, other than for the initial few feet, the batteries don’t get used and the internal combustion thingy is required. Life does, however, go eerily silent at traffic lights and junctions when the car turns off the internal combustion thingy pending a good bootful of force on the accelerator whereupon the much missed reassuring internal combustion noises return.

One does seem to need the key fob actually to lock the car, though. Talk about hard work.

Having started becoming familiar with the Japanese technological marvel, we managed to find:

1. Petaluma;
2. a Whole Foods Market (organic food store);
3. our way back.

Mission successful.

After a splendid prime rib dinner in the local intriguingly named William Tell restaurant in Tomales, Bets and Bryan left for the train in Bryan’s Subaru. As they disappeared into the night, though the headlights were on, we saw a complete absence of rear lights. Yikes!

No phone calls; I guess they made it.

Jet lag did not let us down and woke us up at 3:00 AM after having crashed out a little before midnight. Fond memories of business travel. Surprisingly, we managed to get back to sleep and stayed that way until just after 6:00 AM.

After an enlivening tea and couple of stimulating coffees, we decided to be very un-American and enjoy the warm, sunny morning walking the mile and a half or so into Tomales for an initial investigation. We had designs on our traditional first breakfast in the States: bagels. Naturally there is no sidewalk along the road into Tomales so some care was necessary walking in the road. Things were made easier by the fact that the road was being resurfaced so traffic was escorted and quite slow. Our walking didn’t seem to cause too many raised eyebrows. Things were warming up nicely with the temperature topping 80°F already.

Tomales is essentially one crossroad with a general store, bakery and hotel occupying three of the four corners. One building looked particularly intriguing being labelled “Not a Bank”. It clearly wasn’t a hairdressers either but that was seemingly not worthy of note.

Judging by a book photograph, Tomales has changed little in the last hundred years. I suspect that some of the paint hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, either. We headed for the bakery in search of our bagels but, bagels being in short supply, we settled for a couple of almond croissants. Breakfast sorted. In addition to we two walkers, a steady stream of cyclists seemed to be keeping the bakery in good business.

We crossed the street to familiarize ourselves with the the general store. This proved to be a glory hole of food, household items and hardware. I think the collection of ammunition is included in the hardware section because it was right next to the fencing staples.

Our return trip was decidedly warm and I was feeling a little overdressed; we were up around 90°F but fortunately it’s a very dry heat. Finally this year, we have found something resembling a genuine summer.

Bets grabbed an hour off work to introduce us to Tony’s Seafood on Tomales Bay for lunch and I realized that I had been here before many years ago for some oysters. This time it was fish tacos all round. Mexican style food – now I know we’re in America.

Our charge, Bryan’s cat Betty, put in a rather brief appearance in the early evening and prompted cat-feeding lessons. Slowly but surely we are getting there.

An unwelcome alarm dragged us back into the land of semi-consciousness at 4:15 AM. The alarm can never complete the job by itself but a good old cup of tea soon managed to finish the job properly. We are off to look after a house and cat for a friend and former colleague, Bets Strohl. The house lies between Tomales and Petaluma, about 50 miles north of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge.

The taxi turned up promptly at 5:45 AM in yet more depressing rain and we had a pleasantly uneventful and swift trip to Heathrow’s terminal 3 for our American Airlines flight. Bets had really spoiled us and had used her air miles to book us business class seats for our trips. Our first luxury was the dedicated business class check-in line. Carol is somewhat used to this treatment given her history of flying to America on American with EDS but, to a mere mortal such as myself, this was an exciting novelty.

Business class entitled us to spend the three hours waiting to depart in the American Airline’s Admiral’s Club Lounge. Here, the day really started with a desperately needed coffee (it was much too early for one at home) washed down with a couple of Bloody Maries. Well, the sun must have been over the yard-arm somewhere in the world.

I like American Airlines a lot. Their cattle class seats have the most generous leg-room that I have ever experienced. Their business class seats were, of course, very comfortable and proved to be something of a technical entertainment, supplementing the on-demand video seat back system. The seat seemed to be infinitely adjustable with four pre-programmed positions but with every aspect of the position then being finely adjustable via separate buttons. Most things were self-explanatory but we couldn’t quite figure out what the “M” button did. Eventually I tried it and was greatly relieved not to end up with a broken back having been power-folded into an M-shaped seating configuration.

AA must have known I was coming. What did I find on the video system? The finest movie of all time: Casablanca. Brilliant! Maybe I could just put it on repeat? Apparently not, but with all this entertainment, the eight hours flying time to Chicago was shrinking all the time.

We landed on time in Chicago to worse weather than in England; thick dark clouds and heavy rain. We found relatively short immigration lines, collected our bags promptly and were soon using the train shuttle system to change to their terminal 3 for our onward flight to San Francisco. We were supposed to leave in three hours but the departure board was littered with about 40 “delayed” flights, including ours, together with a dozen or so “cancelled” flights. Oh dear! More time in the Admiral’s Club.

Our delay kept increasing and eventually went up to two hours. We got a little concerned when a laptop-equipped pair of English guys on the next table turned out to be waiting for our flight and announced that the AA on-line system showed it as having departed. The very time we wanted to be travelling with a laptop, we didn’t have one. I was concerned that Bets would think were on time and spend a fretful time waiting for ever at San Francisco airport.

I wandered over and asked the English chaps on the next table if I might borrow a browser window on one of their laptops to send an email. This they happily agreed to. Even better, one of them loaned me an American cell phone so I could place a mobile call to Bets and let her know the situation. What nice guys! Our small world or, maybe more accurately, small industry, was highlighted when mobile-phone-guy turned out to know one of my former companies, Altergo Software, and its founder, Raj Thomas.

The four of us were eventually relieved to get airborne after five hours. The cloud was now completely on the deck and, having climbed to its cruising altitude of 30,000 feet, the plane remained buried in said cloud. We eventually broke cover into clearer weather and, after four hours at one straight shot of Jack Daniels per hour, we finally arrived, happy and relaxed, in San Francisco where a relieved Bets met us at 9:00 PM local time, about two hours later than planned.

An hour or so driving got us to Tomales and we unwound catching up on some of the last 10 years chatting for an hour or so. After 26 hours travelling, though, we soon hit the sheets. All my previous trips to SF have been on direct flights with British Airways or Virgin. I prefer American’s cabins but you really can’t top a direct flight.

Jet lag woke us up at 3:00 AM.

Just prior to departure for California tomorrow, it was, of course, time to pack. Naturally, there’s nothing particularly scintillating about packing, it’s always something of an agony deciding what’s necessary, but this trip again highlighted a feature that seemed worthy of note.

Something that started becoming evident when we were first able to take longer trips, longer than, say, two weeks, was the Inverse Packing Rule. Travelling for one or two weeks, it is tempting to avoid the need for laundry and to pack sufficient clothing for the duration. This is clearly not possible for longer trips. Firstly, we don’t possess that many clothes and, even if we did, we couldn’t lift the cases required to carry them. Being resigned to doing laundry – well, more accurately, Carol being resigned to doing laundry – though it may at first seem counter-intuitive, it is easier to travel lighter on longer trips.

Such was the case today. September should be one of the best times to visit northern California. Preparing for a little potential chill from the famous coastal fog, we included a fleece each and crammed our chosen clothes together with all other necessities into a modest wheeled Antler soft suitcase each, leaving the now traditional camera rucksacks as carry-on. My case even contains a tripod which is now relatively well-travelled but which remains relatively infrequently used. Let’s hope that something inspires its use on this trip.

We are certainly ready to leave England’s weather and now we’re ready for the 5:45 AM taxi to Heathrow.