California here we come...

     It’s a well-known fact that every good vacation begins with a stroll down a ghetto towards a red light district… wait, they don’t? Well someone should have definitely sent us that memo. Upon paying serious cash to park a classy powder blue grand marquis in a garage overnight, we hiked up streets as steep as the ones in San Francisco towards Chinatown. A California Tourism guide in hand along with two droids and an iPhone streaming mad quantities of data sent us on a meandering journey towards a nonexistent brewery. Nevertheless, our effervescent gusto was enough to keep us trudging up a 200 foot elevation change on 45 degree streets and a mile down a street lined with Chinese signs until we officially became the epitome of lost tourists. With a fanfare of screaming and arguing and a quick stint down a street with more than five adult video stores, our sense of adventure had completely worn off, and we turned about face, tails between our legs, back to get our car and our beloved GPS. Needless to say, we were not initially fans of San Francisco.
    A beer at Lefty O’Doul’s put the vigor back in our step, and it was off to chow down on “The best fish sandwich in San Francisco” according to Google. The powder blue beast sailed down bustling city streets into a much better part of town, and with a sign from god as the rain clouds cleared and a parking spot right by the restaurant opened up, we were back in business. Pacific Catch was great, and my Chinatown experience didn’t quite deter me from ordering a delicious Asian Bowl with grilled Mahi Mahi. Add in a Kona Longboard (let’s face it, I’m a sucker for anything Hawaiian), a beer I had only drank a few times on the islands of Hawaii and I was already in a much better mood. Let’s go exploring.
    Driving around the city was both frustrating and amazing at the same time. The traffic and travelers clog the old city streets, and bikers, trolleys and buses make merging and navigating a tall order. However, San Fran never ceased to change. Every few blocks the city morphed into a completely different microcosm of activity, scenery, and atmosphere. The aforementioned Chinatown does not do justice to the true heart of the city. Downtown in a forest of sequoia-sized skyscrapers is a dirty, scary scene where the only refuge lies in back booth seats of the various restaurants and bars within sight. Sneak up the hill and head west and you’re in a town reminiscent of Forest Park in St. Louis, with a large expanse of greenery and trails surrounded by quaint shops, unique architecture and less imposing building facades. Even farther west, and you encounter the shores of Ocean Beach, with a great view of Seal Rock from Highway 101. I’ve concluded that the area of San Francisco is a mirror of Missouri weather: If you don’t like the town, drive ~5 blocks away.
    However, there are a few staples present in any part of the city. The most noticeable is all the fitness junkies, both running and biking to conquer ridiculous hills and annoying intersections to complete a ride or run unimaginably different from any I’ve ever experienced. Along with the fitness junkies, junkies of all kinds line the city streets, cup in hand, begging for money and wishing us a blessed day. These less fortunate strangers become increasingly “friendly” at night, and interactions loom precariously close to confrontations. Also, every road is a free-for-fall, one-way jungle, where rules are nonexistent and tourists are not enjoyed. Less honking occurred than one would imagine, but brake slams, cutoffs, and passes were part of the territory. The only way to escape the hubbub of humanity is to escape the overcrowded San Francisco peninsula and head across the International Orange suspension bridge present in many a postcard.
    Although day one was spent driving in north SF in the Presidio and along Ocean Beach, day two would put us across the 4,200 ft. long Golden Gate Bridge. Although morning was technically later then usual, the 8am Pacific Time rise was still difficult. Only the lure of massive redwoods could get us out the door. A stop at a Lebanese breakfast shop let us collide with the language barrier for the first time, but after multiple verbal exchanges, our orders came out correct. More arguing and GPSing led us to Muir Woods, a grove of redwoods unperturbed by civilization due to foresight of a single man who purchased the area to prevent total deforestation. Although, the government seems to be double dipping, as they purchased the land and deemed it a state park in the 50’s and now have the audacity to charge $5 a head to view what the entire nation once tried to demolish. I suppose the cash does go towards keeping the park nice and running, so I’ve conceded to the monetary loss.
    The woods were amazing, with multitudes of 100+ foot trees rising as tall as some of the buildings in the city we had just escaped. The majestic giants grow from vast expanses of root systems grown over centuries. The tallest of trees stand over 200 feet tall and are over 1100 years old! These monsters can only grow this high from a combination of time and diminished competition that arises from forest fires that clear the low-lying trees and shrubs to both clear space and enrich the soil.

A two-hour hike up around a 300 ft. change in elevation led us through groves of massive Douglas firs, redwoods, and sequoias, all providing enough awe to make you contemplate your significance on this planet. A tromp down a paved valley along a creek led us back to the entrance, where our beautiful behemoth of a blue beast stood waiting our next move. We were hungry. Off to Sausalito to get some grub.
   

As soon as we drove down the coast, saw the sea-plane sitting in a patch of mud at low tide and the sails off in the distance, we were hooked. We all agree that if another trip to San Francisco ever occurred, we would immediately book a room on the Sausalito coast, rather than fight the inner city maze of San Fran. On a coastal road overlooking the bay we found a quaint little Italian bistro and plopped down on a bench overlooking a harbor teeming with white fabric triangles. A round of Anchor Steam Boats and a thick IPA for dad helped us munch our one cheese pizza with three leaves and a tomato as we gazed out over the water. The bay bridge was in the distance along with Alcatraz, and a friendly bunch of seagulls loomed in the foreground, begging for scraps. The highlight of the meal was an unexpected visit from a seal, as it poked its head out for a brief moment, then resumed doing seal things under the surface.

    Constantly on the prowl for sweets, we headed to a saltwater taffy store and filled our baskets with an assortment of the candies. Cinnamon Swirl, Caramel Cheesecake, and Chocolate Chip were just a few of the delicious morsels that ended up in our harvest, along with some Reese’s and chocolate covered peanuts. With eleven minutes to spare, we once again boarded our four-wheeled vessel and took towards the coast.
    A quick jaunt to Stinson beach provided a reprieve from the claustrophobic car. The shore was covered with worn down rocks, smoothed from years of battering waves along with large, bulbous seaweed stalks. I couldn’t resist the urge to run shoeless down the shoreline, so I happily chased the waves in and out of the sandy coastline. Dogs ran amok with Jai Alai ball launchers providing endless entertainment with little effort as I made my untraceable path of footprints in the sand. The waves washed away my existence mere minutes after my impressions, and the salty air rejuvenated my lungs. There’s nothing like the feel of running barefoot on the beach, as your entire existence immerses into the moment. The sun, sky, surf, and sand are alive with sounds, sights, feelings, and tastes that cannot be reproduced. If I had my choice, I would wake up every day and run ten miles of down the beach until I traversed every inch of coastline that California could provide. Yet, with fears of Achilles problems on uneven sand, a mile today would have to suffice, as we turned around and headed back to the car to head north.
    North of Sausalito is a vast expanse of protected coast known as Point Reyes, the Nation’s only National Seashore. Actually, vast was an understatement. Sir Francis Drake Highway led us north through towns similar to the North Shore of Hawaii that quickly morphed into hilly farmland that resembled Calhoun County! Dairy cows, horses, and large wheat fields lined the rolling hills, as both the Pacific Ocean and Tomales Bay were sometimes simultaneously visible. After much screaming occurred, a random spark of inspiration generated an idea that simply could not be ignored: We simply had to flip off a cow. The poor sap never saw it coming as we randomly chose the first unlucky bystander chewing cud and staring mindlessly back at us. I have to admit, it was one of the most satisfying moments of my life, and although before the idea came to be I had never dreamed of doing something so mindless and immature, the allure and prospect of the act was simply overwhelming. I wonder if the cow is wondering what the hell he did to deserve such treatment…

    Post-bovine demoralization, we motored to the very end of the road to a parking lot void of all human life. The only way to the coast was a half-mile hike down a gravelly trail between two hills. Wildflowers lined the edge, as the one-man trail wound down towards the craggy coast. Finally, the ocean appeared between the two peaks, along with fields of sand on a pristine beach.
    The ocean was formidable, as it unleashed its fury upon the weathered and beaten rocks one swell at a time, slowly chomping away at California’s western seaboard. Great plumes of water jetted skyward with each crashing wave, showing the unfathomable force of the mighty Pacific at just one infinitesimal speck of coastline. The beach was picturesque, empty and surrounded by the high reaching sheer cliffs of the mainland. The scene was one that was impossible to absorb in less than an entire week of observation. Paradise is an understatement to nature enthusiasts, as the uninhabited shore trumped the unmistakable beauty of the towering sequoias. If I had my way, and I’m sure my dad would say the same, the entire vacation would be scrapped for a week’s worth of ocean gazing atop this perfectly placed perch.
    The unforgiving ocean was more amazing to hear than to see. Whitecaps surging and collapsing back to the surface created a cacophony that echoed off the cliffs in a roar that both inspired awe and instilled fear. A swim in these waters could easily prove to be your last. Exploring the beach towards the largest of seawater explosions led me to a valley carved between the rocks toward yet another coastal gem. The entire coast of California was a landmine for photographers and scene seekers alike, and an entire lifetime spent blazing trails and seeing sights would not do justice to the magnificence that is the west coast.

    An hour ride back to Sausalito landed us at my favorite kind of restaurant. Fish., a restaurant located in the bustling harbor brimming to the breakers with sailboats, was a catch-of-the-day eatery. Fresh fish caught that afternoon were served on pasta or salad on picnic benches overlooking the millionaire’s harbor. My halibut was amazing, as well as the tilapia and sturgeon ordered by my family members. Fresh fish is simply unbeatable. But with full stomachs, sun-bleached faces and a days worth of hiking under our engorged belts, we were in need of some downtime. A hotel shower and rejuvenation was the ticket to our second life out on the town.
    The spot to hit was Johnny Foley’s Irish Pub, where dueling pianos play only requests, but we arrived about 8 months too early. The 21 and up bar kicked us to the curb, and we began stumbling through lost circles in the city at night, staring at our phones and drawing unsolicited attention. After a fist-fight almost ensued over the refusal to hand over some cash to a “Caribbean” fellow, we decided to try upstairs at Foley’s. Shoved in a back bar facing a wall was not exactly what we had in mind, so we called it a day and darted across O’Farrell Street to get horizontal. Sleep came easy as our bones ached from the bustle of activity and our minds comprehended the next week of excursions the lay ahead of us. I was just glad to be staying in downtown San Fran for the last night.