Nevada Desert

Despite the fall of darkness, and with fear of further vehicle failure coursing through our veins, we escaped from Reno. Our first aim was to return to California and to head towards Tahoe's southern shore via the postcard towns of Auburn and Grass Valley. These manicured and pretty detours each offered character and history, but each also failed to offer an incentive to remain longer then a couple of hours. Therefore, after one final night in California we stocked up with water and fuel and headed back towards the vast nothingness that dominates so much of the state of Nevada.

Following a short ride on Highway 50, the transition to desert was rapid and severe. Within an hour we were within the rural flatlands of Douglas County. An hour further as we headed southeast on Highway 95, the only vegetation that could be seen was a sparse covering of dry coarse shrubs over an endless layer of light brown dust. As we continued the air became drier and drier and the need for regular hydration quickly intensified. We were in a vast bowl of emptiness that stretched all around us. Only the occasional derelict structure and forgotten town blemished this intimidating lunar landscape. Each of these stood, slowly decaying like failed acts of defiance that forgot just how inhospitable so much of this state is.

Walker Lake

Ghost Town

After we had crossed 3 almost infinite straight roads into the horizon, Nevada's more sinister side was exposed. Hawthorn Ammunition Depot, a huge facility that is used to stockpile weaponry emphasised the shear scale of American military strength. Further still, isolated brothels (it's legal in this state) also stood, remote and hidden like the dirty desperate secrets that they facilitate.

"Playmate Ranch" A Legal Nevada Brothel

That night we rolled into a small mining town established, and seemingly forgotten by the tough Wild West pioneers who have been so heavily and justifiably romanticised in American history. Tonopah, which sits in the middle of Highway 95 is best known for its association with the perhaps the most famous American peace officer who ever lived; its former sheriff Wyatt Earp. This is a place where people come to be forgotten, and the towns’ bar is where those forgotten people congregate to ply travelers like us with warmth, friendliness and round after round of free drink. Honestly, I don’t think that I have ever experienced such immediate friendliness anywhere else in the world.

Tonopah

Tonopah Founders Graveyard

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Reno

Following a late evening check-in at Reno's Peppermill Resort and Casino I was overwhelmed and disorientated by a neon blur and the ringing of slot machines. Seemingly endless strips of bright lighting clung to every wall and made finding our room intensely difficult. However, a 70's styled black and mirrored room which included a personal bar and jacuzzi, justified the search and set up a perfectly relaxing evening and a good nights sleep.

Inside The Peppermill Resort and Casino

The next day started well enough. We had agreed to do the photography for a wedding up in the beautiful hills that shroud this sprawling and tired older cousin of Las Vegas, and so set off to start work with the wedding location programmed into our Garmin (Sat Nav). This is when things started to go wrong. The maps loaded into this device were obviously out of date and so sent us up a dirt track dotted with potholes and trenches that each took their toll on the Beast. After arrival, the extent of this toll was realised as it slowly sunk before our eyes. Our rear left wheel had dislocate itself from the body of the vehicle. Bugger.

After a call to AAA, a tow courtesy of an entertaining fantasist with no teeth, and much chin scratching by a local mechanic, it soon became clear that we were trapped and would have to wait a further 2 days to make the Beast roadworthy. We were not going to be leaving Reno anytime soon.

Old Town Reno

My first thought after a quick tour of old Reno was that this prospect did not seem unpleasant. However, after 2 days trapped inside the Peppermill, my perception certainly changed. The disorientation felt upon arrival was quickly replaced my nausea. Upon closer inspection, the staples and gaffer tape that hold the rickety and ostentatious aesthetic of this place soon became very clear. In addition, the wall-to-wall mindless gambling opportunities and the people spending so much of their hard earned money made me sad and resentful of such flagrant wastefulness.

After 2 days trapped in a city that you can not navigate as a pedestrian, the eventual resurrection of the Beast was greatly appreciated. It was certainly time to get out of here.

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Lake Tahoe

This was our first real opportunity to head inland and away from the long Pacific coastline. So with the Beast temporarily converted back to its primary function of vehicle rather then mobile home, we headed east along Highway 80 towards the alpine beauty of Lake Tahoe. Located in the Sierra Nevada mountains, Tahoe is undeniably picturesque. I had visited this area once before within the dead of winter, when the mountain sides shone a brilliant white under many feet of snow (picture from previoius trip). However this time, under a strong Indian summer, a rich pallet of colours had emerged to greet us. As I looked out over the mirror like lake I couldn't help but think that my eyes were deceiving me as the rich green of a thick woodland was sandwiched between the deep blues of the sky and water. The view looked like a doctored photograph; a complete contrast to the muted tones and diffused light of home, which over many years have dulled my expectation of nature.

Lake Tahoe

That evening we headed over the peaks that dominate the circumference of Lake Tahoe on the way to Reno and the Nevada state border. This involved pushing the Beast to its limits with rises and dips that dwarfed anything I had driven on previously. We had been advised to follow the small mountain pass that is Route 28, and as soon as we crossed the final peak of that mountain range I realised why. There are few words in my limited vocabulary that are capable of describing the view down into Nevada with any justice. All I can say is this is by far the longest and most impressive uninterrupted vista I have ever seen.

Following that treacherous road east and down towards Reno immediately sobered any emotional reaction I was having towards the local environment. This road was going to take its toll unless I dedicated every ounce of concentration in my small brain. However concentrate I did and eventually, under a rapidly descending blanket of darkness, we entered Reno.

The Sky Over The Nevada Border

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Oregon Countryside & Back To California

With only 3 days remaining before a prior engagement back in Marin we needed to make the most of our time left in Oregon. So with fond memories of the Rogue River in our minds we returned to the coast and headed north toward Battle Rock and Bandon.

At first glance, the modest Battle Rock stands as one of many small rocky islands that pepper the Oregon coastline. However, there is a historical significance to this place that provides insight into the recent history of the (US) pacific coastline.

Story Time...

In 1850, US Congress passed the Oregon Donations Land Act, which basically allowed white settlers to claim lands already populated by the Dene Tsut Dah (Native Americans), without any formal negotiation or treaty. Understandably, this Act constructed a recipe for conflict, and in 1851 that conflict arrived when nine men under the command of Captain William Tichenor landed at what is now Battle Rock. For 2 weeks the bravery and gun powder possessed by these nine white settlers repelled an understably irate collection of poorly armed Indian warriors. Eventually, after escaping under the cover of night, Captain William Tichenor and his men returned to this site with a fully equipped army to sweep away any resistance, establish a permanent white settlement and change the course of local history for ever.

Battle Rock

Oregon Coastline

After Battle Rock our journey then took us back towards Highway 5, inland through the open green fields that dominate this beautifully under developed state. We then continued south, eager to put some miles on the clock and reduce the distance between us and Novato. Just shy of the border we rested up in a bland cheap motel in Medford, a sprawl of a former railroad town where we could find little to do other then eat a very large pizza in one of the string of out of town restaurants that appear to define the gastronomic possibilities on offer in this part of the world. The next day we continuing south past the immense Mount Shasta on the way to a comfortable campsite on the banks of Lake Solano. Here, in beautiful and natural surroundings we endeavoured to cook and eat, despite the persistent efforts of a half dozen crazed peacocks who were eager to steal our food.

Mount Shasta

Lake Solano

Crazed Peacock

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Oregon Border and The Rogue River

With the state border now firmly in our sights we continued north towards Oregon. I had heard a lot about this state from some adventurous friends of ours who had explored most of America as a part of their own mammoth tour about 12 months ago (Hi Sam & Fi). With their endorsement ringing in my ears, I was looking forward to what lay ahead past the two deeply forgettable towns of Crescent City and Eureka.

As we progressed, we were regularly side-tracked by an increasing number of road side tourist attractions each aimed at distracting the steady stream of road trippers who appear to descend upon the Pacific Coast. Each of these boasted the worlds longest, highest and heaviest something or other, and most immediately faded from memory. Two did stand out however; the first being a moderately historic school called 'Stone Lagoon' which was surrounded by an impressive herd of Elks and the second being a massive moving and talking statue of the mythological lumberjack Paul Bunyan.

Stone Lagoon School House (& Elk)

Paul Bunyan Statue

Eventually, the sun light descended into a lush golden glow as we crossed the Oregon border and continued north up to the Rogue River and promises of a camp site nestled along one of its' many meanders. Finally, after what seemed like an age we reached 'Kimbal Bend' where our wait for a decent place to camp was immediately justified. As we looked out, the banks of the river eased into a gently flowing current. Otters could be seen swimming within the cold open waters, by which we sat and enjoyed giant gin-and-tonics as the day faded into night. We then headed back to our camp where we cooked and ate under the dim glow of candle light and our small propane burner.

Rebecca with Gin & Tonic

Banks of the Rogue River at Sun Set

The following morning, after a long and relaxing night within the bowel of the beast we headed to the Rogue and swam in the calm and very fresh waters of the river. We then returned to our vehicle, which was almost entirely enclosed in a large horseshoe of monster RV's each casting a shadow on our modest chariot. It was time to hit the road once more.

The Rogue River prior to an early morning swim.

© All Images By Paul

Ferndale and Trinidad

After leaving Mendocino we followed Highway 1 north. This took us along a thinly carved road that ran around and over every contour of a mountainous forest. With my teeth gritted and the whites of my knuckles exposed, I followed that path of tarmac as quickly as I could. Eventually, after the constant dipping and swerving had taken its toll on Rebecca, we emerged at Leggett and the first traditional motorists tourist trap of our trip.

Standing at 315 feet, The Chandelier Tree has been attracting faint and weary tourists since the 1930's due to the 6 by 6 foot hole that has been cut through its base to needlessly facilitate the passage of motor vehicles. Whilst I am not a fan of the vandalism that this attraction represents, I was attracted by its historic appeal; so we paid our $8 and drove through this magnificent redwood en route to the pleasant park that lay beyond it.

The Chandelier Tree

Our next stop was Ferndale, a recommended detour off Highway 101 north of the impressive 'Valley of Giants' stretch of that long and impressive road. Like a scene from an eerie 1950's television show, this place was both pretty and breathtakingly odd. Empty streets dominated and personal possessions were left out in the evening sunshine in anticipation of the towns annual yard sale that was due to take place the following day.

Ferndale

The next morning we tried to pay for our camping but failed as the only attendant assigned to the campsite was nowhere to be seen, and had been nowhere to be seen since we arrived the night before. Therefore with an extra $10 in our pocket we headed north toward Trinidad, a small town hugging the ocean, which appears to have been neglected by many of the guide books that we have read to date. We both immediately liked this place and its small community vibe. This isn't a town trying to be anything other then is, which is a friendly community overlooking the most beautiful beach either of us had seen so far.

Trinidad Beach

A Dead Shark

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Nudity Under A Naked Sky

So with excitement coursing through my veins, we finally left camp Novato and Rebecca's Mothers' immensely appreciated hospitality (thank you Kristin).

Our first stop after a short trip up Highway 101, was deep in Hendy Woods State Park, or more specifically at a small and remote resort called Orr Hot Springs. This visit was the result of Miss Rebecca's enthusiastic endorsement of the affect that the minerals contained within the local spring water could and would have on our bodies. I was skeptical about this, but eager as I was to spend our first night in the beast 'car camping' (official term... apparently), I gladly agreed to give the mystical local water and the above mentioned resort a go.

The resort comprised of an intimate collection of wooden huts each equipped to provide its inhabitants with varying levels of comfort (depending upon how much they pay). As we were sleeping in our car we immediately headed past these and went straight to Orr's moderately sized bath house. Once inside, the 'clothing optional' resort policy was immediately translated for us by the presence of a healthy number of middle aged woman, each blissfully in the nude. It was soon very obvious that there was no choice but to do this as god intended, so with a deep breath we both disrobed. Miss Rebecca, like the brave Californian that she is, headed straight to the public baths. I, being the predictable English prude that I am, did not.

Eventually, after a short and very relaxing soak in a private bath, I decided to take one for queen and country. So with my towel thrown boldly over my shoulder, I marched into the public bathing area to join Rebecca.

That night, after an awful meal of tinned soup and soggy pre-packaged bagel, we returned to the bath house to relax under a sky that contained more stars then I have ever seen. I'm not sure about the minerals; but laying in a warm pool in the middle of a forest staring up at the majesty of the nights sky certainly does something positive for your soul.

Our Orr Springs 'Car Camping' Spot

The next morning, after a disorientating but ultimately successful first night sleeping in the beast we drove west to Highway 1 and Mendocino. This undoubtedly pretty (self described) artist colony and museum town was the perfect place to eat breakfast and watch the morning mist evaporate into the sky.

Mendocino

© All Images By Paul

Point Reyes National Seashore

With the top down, we headed west in the back of a silver sports car. The wind whistled as it whipped through our hair and through the intense afternoon sun. Soon the temperature dropped from hot to pleasant as we approached Inverness and the Point Reyes National Seashore. With little around us other then small scale cattle farms and exposed moorland we continued towards the imposing and endless cliff tops that stretched deep into the horizon.

Eventually, we arrived at The Point Reyes Lighthouse (built 1870) which sits, battered and exposed overlooking the Gulf of the Farallones. Unfortunately, it was 'Labor Day' so the crowds had also descended. However, even they could not dampen our enthusiasm for the view, which stretched out in every direction. To sea, Grey Whales could be seen spouting seawater into the sky. Inland, and after very many steps down to the shore-line, the large sharp coastal rocks could be seen standing solidly against the ocean.





© All Images By Paul
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The Beast

It appears that the Debster has played a blinder. Courtesy of an immensely kind friend she has managed to find us a vehicle that has exceeded our expectations and more then satisfied our needs. We will now be touring the US with a degree of previously unexpected luxury in a particularly comfortable piece of South Korean engineering. We are hugely grateful to all who helped to make this purchase happen and we are now even more excited about the long and winding roads that lay before us.
With a vehicle purchased and delivered, our next priority was to construct a bed. With a design firmly in mind, this was something that proved even more simple to construct then we had envisaged. With the kind and able help of Miss Rebecca's dad Bill, and the enthusiastic and entertaining support of his welcome Vietnamese neighbour, we managed to construct our sleeping platform and storage space in a single sun scorched and sweaty afternoon.

Next step after this 'labor day' bank holiday, is to purchase a foam mattress from the local foam shop (who would have thought that existed). We will then be ready to roll; DMV and and insurance permitting.

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Bolinas & Bass Lake

The good news is that we have found a vehicle. The bad news is that it is taking longer then anticipated to fix it up ready for our trip. Still, we have been lucky enough to find a deal that is too good to miss, so we will wait another week before leaving California. In the mean time we have had an opportunity to explore some more of the scenic gems which are available around the bay area.

With this in mind, we headed to probably my favourite spot on the Marin County coastline with Michael and Tom.

Bolinas is a remote coastal community that is known for its peaceful, artistic and reclusive inhabitants. Historically, it has only been accessible via unmarked roads; as any sign erected along the nearby Highway One has been torn down by local residents eager not to dilute the character of their community with bland and unwanted tourism. Despite this, once you are there, the locals are friendly and welcoming in each of the small number of local businesses. There is a perfect little bar, two grocery shops, a couple of Hotels and possibly the cleanest beach in Northern California. It's most famous current inhabitant is a personal hero of mine, Joel Coen. I can see why he has settled here. Peaceful picturesque streets hug a beautiful coastline frequented by surfers and seals. What is not to like about this little pocket of paradise?

View From Bolinas

After picking up a few supplies from Bolinas and taking a few photographs of the immediate coast line, we drove a couple of miles north to some of the high cliffs that stand firm against the vast Pacific Ocean. Then, with rucksacks packed we hiked through the morning mist along the coast and into a dense forest that was dotted with pristine fresh water lakes. Eventually, we emerged at an isolated little cove, where a stream appeared and fell onto an exposed sandy beach. After a spot of lunch, the sun burnt through the thick low-lying mist and we headed back into the forest in search of the clean but opaque waters of Bass Lake. What a perfect place. Tall and lush green trees hugged this wide lake, and inviting rope-swings encouraged us to strip down to our bathing suits and dive in.

Marin Coast & Mist

Hiking To Alamere Falls

Lunch On The Beach

Bass Lake

Rope Swing

© All Images By Paul
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