...As we left Frisco, we had one thing on our mind: finding somewhere to sleep where we could finally stretch our legs. After a week in the car, in the middle of the big city, the term "roughing it," was laughable. Camping seemed as good as the ritz to us at this point, and absolutely nothing sounded better then living off of hot dogs and beans, so long as they were hot off our own fire. I was ready to wrestle grizzly bears if thats what it would take to earn us a patch on the earth, for us to set up our tent.
So we traveled onward up the coast, taking HW 101 to get a little distance North under our belt, and then onwards through San Rafael, where we decided it was time to cut Westward, and make our way up the coast taking the famed HW 1 the rest of the way.
I began to recall hitchhiking through the swampy depths of Florida with B.O., in what was nearly only one year ago, and yet in many ways, felt like a lifetime ago; I recall us looking at our brand new atlas- that was now tattered and worn with sweat that had drenched through our backpacks- and I remembered dreaming of taking HW 1 all the way up the coast, just hitching right alone with relative ease and carelessness. Although we weren't hitching, I felt like we were still living our dreams, hell, I felt like we were even living americas dreams. It never felt like america had time to do it, america was far too busy with this or that- so here we were.
I sat there with the laptop as we drove, uploading pictures, writing bits and pieces, and otherwise behaving like a complete square; until finally, with a sweet rush of fleeting childish glee, we barreled down one of the curvy hillsides and on our way back up, the road suddenly became a playful wavering road that opened us up to the infinite ocean view, and we were all struck with such sudden awe that we immediately pulled over to confirm that we were seeing what we thought we were.
The warm ocean breeze, and the saline tainted air, blew through our hair and up our nostrils, and we all staggered with enamor, toward the infinite ocean view before us...
...We eventually drove onward through the playful twists and turns of HW 1, enjoying it as a child does a roller coaster- mildly aware of potential danger, but overwhelmingly satisfied by the ride. We did something that night out of pure exhaustion, and an intense desire to sleep fully, and without disturbance from bears, cops, or rangers- we paid 15 bucks to get a camp site on the bluff overlooking the ocean.
It was entirely worth it, and we used the night to cozy our souls in reflective solitude. We drank wine merrily, and excessively, and then like great greek philosophers under the gleaming moonlit discus of zeus, we consumed new perceptions for the night, and sat at the edge of the bluff and watched the waves from miles around, come crashing in at what seemed like the base of our bare feet that, tickled by the grass, wiggled with delight. For hours upon hours, we sat with our feet aligned with the edge of the earth, and we watched with great delight, as the tide rose and fell to its own accord. The foolhardy notion of us being in control of such a mass, was laughable amidst the smallness we had felt, but comparably to the greatness we had summoned between us- there was yet a harmonious union between the never ending tide, and the motions of our lives. I shed slow tears of joy, and while exposing my humaneness among the uncaring mass of water, I began to laugh simultaneously. We all laughed, and the taste of my leaking tears made me wonder if the ocean itself wasn't running through me at that very moment...
Although it appears dark, we could actually see everything brilliantly lit by the deep purple reflection of the moon off of the water. This is The Great B.O., as he sits along the great cliff that we perched upon most of the night. My little Cannon "Rebel" was entirely unable to capture any of the beauty that we were seeing that night, as the view was far too vast for the sensors to pick anything up.
Chassy giggles uncontrollably after struggling to roll a cigarette. Normally, she just curses uncontrollably, so giggling is definitely the preferred alternative...
Brian looks so completely ridiculous, that I couldn't help myself from putting this awful picture onto the world wide web... Take that B.O.!
The next day, amazingly, we suffered nothing more of a hangover than a craving for hotdogs, and the desire to get back on the road! Not bad!
Chef B.O. at work!
The "Hobo Hot Dog," as we have created, consists of hotdog, bun, beans, a line of catchup, and of course, a line of hot sauce. If your feeling really suburban, you can even heat the hot dog.
When nobody's lookin', B.O. drinks beans. Needless to say, he is a blast to travel with...
Look how small B.O. is down there!
If I was rich, I'd live in a camper on the edge of a cliff- these cats know whats up! I'd also wear brand new socks every day...
...So we got back on the road, and traveled up HW 1 until we made it to Mendocino county, where we found a super secret free camping spot. This place was hardcore, and you had to go from the top of the hills, and drive a very slender pathway on a dirt road, for about 4 miles to get to this hidden gem. Since we made this our new home under the redwoods, we blew the tire several times on our way up and down the paths during our daily trips to and from town...
A "how-to" on patching tires is in the works, among other things of course...
After a great deal of research, and a whole day of driving up and down dangerous and hidden mountain paths, we found our new home, a free camping site next to a stream in the valley of the mountains, under the red wood forrest! It was well worth the work, and we spent the next week here. 
One of the main daily activities we kept busy with under the red-woods, was following our small patch of sun across the gravel throughout the day. It is almost all shade where we were staying obviously, so we would read, and tan, and write in the sun whenever we could.
NEXT: A WEEK IN MYSTERIOUS MENDOCINO COUNTY! AND, a CURRENT UPDATE, about life in Portland right now! Stay Tuned, I've got a job, so I'm trying really hard to budget my time between 40 hours a week, and writing.
until we meet again…
Regards,
Joseph R. Reves
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