To-Morro, To-Morro, I love going To-Morro
You're only a bay away . . .
9/3/07
Morro Strand State Beach
It was a circuitous route to the beach, but here I sit, 3 days and 500 miles from my starting point, waiting for the sunset and savoring a bite of pear flavored salt water taffy.
This latest journey began at 4:50 a.m. on Saturday, the first day of September. Kick-off for the UCLA-Stanford game was at 12:30 p.m., so there was no time to waste. Dawn’s first light on Olmstead Point in Yosemite was a special treat. The soft gray glow on towering granite peaks whispered of good things ahead.
The drive through Groveland and Oakdale went smoothly, with only one missed turn. It was four hours from waking to my first cup of coffee, which was painful yet rewarding.
I pulled into the Stanford Stadium parking lot right at 10:30 a.m. and soon was sipping Mimosas and enjoying salads and croissants with Vivian and Marcia at Jackie’s tailgate “ladies luncheon.”
Soon, it was time to enter the new stadium (one which Stanford has never won in, after a full season). Frankly, I think there were more UCLA supporters there than folks donned in cardinal. Despite the heat, it was wonderful to spend the afternoon witnessing the Bruins triumph. This event helped ease my transition into fall, as I looked ahead to golden aspens, quiet hiking trails and football Saturdays.
I arrived at cousin Cris’s home in Burlingame at precisely 6:00 p.m. with Rosemont Shiraz and a six-pack of Stella Artois in hand. The vino was already flowing freely, and the Carra women proceeded to unravel the mysteries of the clan. It was an emotional evening as I became privy to the fears and intricacies of my cousins’ lives. As the eldest, I tried to dispense snippets of sage wisdom in between bites of gourmet veggie pizza. It was a long and full day.
I slept well in Julia’s planet-filled bedroom and woke up at 8:00 to Tully’s coffee and cartoons. Deanna returned and we breakfasted on scrambled eggs and bacon. I was on the road near my hoped for 11:00 a.m. departure time.
After traveling about 45 minutes south on Highway 101, traffic slowed to a crawl. There was no obvious reason for the jam which lasted for miles. In frustration, I exited at the Watsonville cutoff and headed for the coast. All was well for about ten miles, but the situation deteriorated as I approached town and worsened once on Highway 1. I was stuck in traffic for three hours, the only upside being that I got to listen to all of Car Talk and The Splendid Table on NPR.
It made sense to nix the planned Carmel/Monterey stop, and finally past that tourist mecca, the traffic eased. I embarked on the beautiful drive down the central California coast. Of course, a stop was made at Nepenthe in Big Sur for an Ambrosia Burger and a Corona with the late summer sun beating on my back and the endless Pacific stretched out before me. Finally, I began to switch back into vacation mode.
At this point, I was so far behind schedule that I simply drove without stopping until arriving at Morro Bay State Park. This proved to be an abrupt reminder of how inaccurate our memories can be. My fond recollections of the wacky inaugural camping trip with Jim, Rocky and Bill K. in the late 70’s were filled with visions of the beautiful campground flanked by a golf course on one side and the bay beyond.
This time, my assigned space (#68) felt like the center of a WalMart parking lot. The campsites were tiny and deciding where to set my tent on the postage stamp sized plot was a challenge. Surrounded by huge RV’s and massive tents, there was a group of ten in the spot adjacent gathered perhaps 20 feet from my picnic table. No way was I going to hang out there.
As soon as the tent was up and the air mattress inflated, I was back in the car headed for downtown Morro Bay. After an “It’s It,” a short stroll and a local update courtesy of New Times, I was off to downtown San Luis Obispo to catch a flick. Choosing the late showing of “Becoming Jane” meant I would be occupied until midnight!
There was time to kill, so I explored downtown SLO and had a catch-up chat with Michelle via cellphone. The movie was perfect period escapism, much improved by James McElroy’s commanding screen presence. I drove back to the campground, returned to the tent and drifted off to sleep surrounded by swirling visions of empire waistlines and ascots.
Tent City began bustling early, so I grabbed my fanny pack, binocs and bird book and walked toward the bay. There was a short trail skirting the marina and I soon joined hundreds of pelicans, egrets, herons and sandpipers on the mudflats. The expansive estuary was quiet, yet very alive in the early morning sunshine, and my feathered companions seemed not in the least disturbed by my intrusion. Now, I remembered why I liked Morro Bay State Park so much.
Informational signs directed me toward a trail to the summit of Black Hill, so up I went, huffing and puffing amongst the eucalyptus and poison oak. This was well worth the effort as 360° views of the bay and the chain of extinct volcanoes leading to it unfolded with each ascending step. Fog creeped into the bay, coating Morro Rock like meringue.
As I returned to the campground, all was now gray, moist and blessedly quiet. The holiday throngs were departing and the only traffic jam was at the dump station. A bracing cool shower (you need quarters for warm water!) rinsed off the hiking dust and with a fresh, rejuvenated attitude, I hopped into the car bound for downtown and coffee.
Now, nearly one o’clock, I realized I was famished and wandered into the Flying Dutchman on a whim. Seated at a window table right on the water, I feasted on clam chowder, Baja fish tacos and a MGD (an excellent caffeine substitute.) The meal was better than expected and surprisingly reasonable ($12.75). Satisfied, I returned to the main drag, grabbed some salt water taffy for dessert and strolled the length of the Embarcadero toward the Rock noting all the fish and chips joints I’d hit next time. Surprisingly sleepy (java withdrawal?), I returned to my tent and indulged in a nice long foggy nap.
I awoke abruptly to the sound of Japanese as three vans full of Asian vacationers unloaded in the campsite adjacent to mine. Although the park was nearly empty, apparently there was something particularly magnetic about my little chartreuse and purple tent, and these folks felt the picnic table right next to it was where they needed to be.
I fled once more, this time to explore the neighborhoods of nearby Baywood Park and then to Morro Strand State Beach a few miles up the coast toward Cambria. I settled on to the sand in my beach chair and wrote, communed with more birds and savored a breathtaking sunset.
At dusk, I headed to SLO intent on catching another movie, but instead peeked into the Madonna Inn, had a patty melt at Carl’s Jr., drove around a few darkened neighborhoods and finally decided to return to the tent to listen to “Rumpole of the Bailey” on my Walkman. Nodding off quickly, I enjoyed a sounds night’s rest until the Kyoto contingent arose at seven.
Again leaping out of the tent, I made a beeline to 2 Dogs Coffee for my first wicked brew in 48 hours. The cappuccino was luscious, enhanced by a fresh oatmeal cookie. I read the highly entertaining “Rogue Voice” (a free local weekly) and eavesdropped on the neighborhood chit chat. Obviously, this was Morro Bay Central. After a stroll up and down the sleepy main drag (it was now Tuesday after the holiday weekend), I returned to the marina for a final estuary stroll. It was time to return to spot #68 and roll up the tent. There wasn’t much to pack up, as not much else made it out of the car!
In order to savor a few more moments of salty ocean air and reflect, I moved my beach chair to a lovely spot on the golf course, beneath fragrant eucalyptus. The wisdom gleaned from this trip was: it’s not what life hands you, but what you do with it that counts. Although I was embroiled in family issues, stuck in traffic and saddled with a nightmare of a campsite, I had an incredible central coast getaway, filled with wonderful vistas, great moments and lovely weather. I spent very little money, which eased the guilt, and I look forward to returning to my mountain paradise.
But first, there’s a final day of adventure on the road, a stop to stroll downtown Paso Robles (which has become a mini-Napa) a tour and wine tasting at Eberle Vineyards, and a long brown ride home on a stretch of highway (46) that I’ve never traveled. And then there’s tomorrow.
Morro Strand State Beach
It was a circuitous route to the beach, but here I sit, 3 days and 500 miles from my starting point, waiting for the sunset and savoring a bite of pear flavored salt water taffy.
This latest journey began at 4:50 a.m. on Saturday, the first day of September. Kick-off for the UCLA-Stanford game was at 12:30 p.m., so there was no time to waste. Dawn’s first light on Olmstead Point in Yosemite was a special treat. The soft gray glow on towering granite peaks whispered of good things ahead.
The drive through Groveland and Oakdale went smoothly, with only one missed turn. It was four hours from waking to my first cup of coffee, which was painful yet rewarding.
I pulled into the Stanford Stadium parking lot right at 10:30 a.m. and soon was sipping Mimosas and enjoying salads and croissants with Vivian and Marcia at Jackie’s tailgate “ladies luncheon.”
Soon, it was time to enter the new stadium (one which Stanford has never won in, after a full season). Frankly, I think there were more UCLA supporters there than folks donned in cardinal. Despite the heat, it was wonderful to spend the afternoon witnessing the Bruins triumph. This event helped ease my transition into fall, as I looked ahead to golden aspens, quiet hiking trails and football Saturdays.
I arrived at cousin Cris’s home in Burlingame at precisely 6:00 p.m. with Rosemont Shiraz and a six-pack of Stella Artois in hand. The vino was already flowing freely, and the Carra women proceeded to unravel the mysteries of the clan. It was an emotional evening as I became privy to the fears and intricacies of my cousins’ lives. As the eldest, I tried to dispense snippets of sage wisdom in between bites of gourmet veggie pizza. It was a long and full day.
I slept well in Julia’s planet-filled bedroom and woke up at 8:00 to Tully’s coffee and cartoons. Deanna returned and we breakfasted on scrambled eggs and bacon. I was on the road near my hoped for 11:00 a.m. departure time.
After traveling about 45 minutes south on Highway 101, traffic slowed to a crawl. There was no obvious reason for the jam which lasted for miles. In frustration, I exited at the Watsonville cutoff and headed for the coast. All was well for about ten miles, but the situation deteriorated as I approached town and worsened once on Highway 1. I was stuck in traffic for three hours, the only upside being that I got to listen to all of Car Talk and The Splendid Table on NPR.
It made sense to nix the planned Carmel/Monterey stop, and finally past that tourist mecca, the traffic eased. I embarked on the beautiful drive down the central California coast. Of course, a stop was made at Nepenthe in Big Sur for an Ambrosia Burger and a Corona with the late summer sun beating on my back and the endless Pacific stretched out before me. Finally, I began to switch back into vacation mode.
At this point, I was so far behind schedule that I simply drove without stopping until arriving at Morro Bay State Park. This proved to be an abrupt reminder of how inaccurate our memories can be. My fond recollections of the wacky inaugural camping trip with Jim, Rocky and Bill K. in the late 70’s were filled with visions of the beautiful campground flanked by a golf course on one side and the bay beyond.
This time, my assigned space (#68) felt like the center of a WalMart parking lot. The campsites were tiny and deciding where to set my tent on the postage stamp sized plot was a challenge. Surrounded by huge RV’s and massive tents, there was a group of ten in the spot adjacent gathered perhaps 20 feet from my picnic table. No way was I going to hang out there.
As soon as the tent was up and the air mattress inflated, I was back in the car headed for downtown Morro Bay. After an “It’s It,” a short stroll and a local update courtesy of New Times, I was off to downtown San Luis Obispo to catch a flick. Choosing the late showing of “Becoming Jane” meant I would be occupied until midnight!
There was time to kill, so I explored downtown SLO and had a catch-up chat with Michelle via cellphone. The movie was perfect period escapism, much improved by James McElroy’s commanding screen presence. I drove back to the campground, returned to the tent and drifted off to sleep surrounded by swirling visions of empire waistlines and ascots.
Tent City began bustling early, so I grabbed my fanny pack, binocs and bird book and walked toward the bay. There was a short trail skirting the marina and I soon joined hundreds of pelicans, egrets, herons and sandpipers on the mudflats. The expansive estuary was quiet, yet very alive in the early morning sunshine, and my feathered companions seemed not in the least disturbed by my intrusion. Now, I remembered why I liked Morro Bay State Park so much.
Informational signs directed me toward a trail to the summit of Black Hill, so up I went, huffing and puffing amongst the eucalyptus and poison oak. This was well worth the effort as 360° views of the bay and the chain of extinct volcanoes leading to it unfolded with each ascending step. Fog creeped into the bay, coating Morro Rock like meringue.
As I returned to the campground, all was now gray, moist and blessedly quiet. The holiday throngs were departing and the only traffic jam was at the dump station. A bracing cool shower (you need quarters for warm water!) rinsed off the hiking dust and with a fresh, rejuvenated attitude, I hopped into the car bound for downtown and coffee.
Now, nearly one o’clock, I realized I was famished and wandered into the Flying Dutchman on a whim. Seated at a window table right on the water, I feasted on clam chowder, Baja fish tacos and a MGD (an excellent caffeine substitute.) The meal was better than expected and surprisingly reasonable ($12.75). Satisfied, I returned to the main drag, grabbed some salt water taffy for dessert and strolled the length of the Embarcadero toward the Rock noting all the fish and chips joints I’d hit next time. Surprisingly sleepy (java withdrawal?), I returned to my tent and indulged in a nice long foggy nap.
I awoke abruptly to the sound of Japanese as three vans full of Asian vacationers unloaded in the campsite adjacent to mine. Although the park was nearly empty, apparently there was something particularly magnetic about my little chartreuse and purple tent, and these folks felt the picnic table right next to it was where they needed to be.
I fled once more, this time to explore the neighborhoods of nearby Baywood Park and then to Morro Strand State Beach a few miles up the coast toward Cambria. I settled on to the sand in my beach chair and wrote, communed with more birds and savored a breathtaking sunset.
At dusk, I headed to SLO intent on catching another movie, but instead peeked into the Madonna Inn, had a patty melt at Carl’s Jr., drove around a few darkened neighborhoods and finally decided to return to the tent to listen to “Rumpole of the Bailey” on my Walkman. Nodding off quickly, I enjoyed a sounds night’s rest until the Kyoto contingent arose at seven.
Again leaping out of the tent, I made a beeline to 2 Dogs Coffee for my first wicked brew in 48 hours. The cappuccino was luscious, enhanced by a fresh oatmeal cookie. I read the highly entertaining “Rogue Voice” (a free local weekly) and eavesdropped on the neighborhood chit chat. Obviously, this was Morro Bay Central. After a stroll up and down the sleepy main drag (it was now Tuesday after the holiday weekend), I returned to the marina for a final estuary stroll. It was time to return to spot #68 and roll up the tent. There wasn’t much to pack up, as not much else made it out of the car!
In order to savor a few more moments of salty ocean air and reflect, I moved my beach chair to a lovely spot on the golf course, beneath fragrant eucalyptus. The wisdom gleaned from this trip was: it’s not what life hands you, but what you do with it that counts. Although I was embroiled in family issues, stuck in traffic and saddled with a nightmare of a campsite, I had an incredible central coast getaway, filled with wonderful vistas, great moments and lovely weather. I spent very little money, which eased the guilt, and I look forward to returning to my mountain paradise.
But first, there’s a final day of adventure on the road, a stop to stroll downtown Paso Robles (which has become a mini-Napa) a tour and wine tasting at Eberle Vineyards, and a long brown ride home on a stretch of highway (46) that I’ve never traveled. And then there’s tomorrow.
(photo courtesy of Marc Kurtz)
posted by Lesley at
10:35 AM
|
0 comments
