Hitting the top of the fun meter

OWAC* always puts on a great conference - one day of meetings, seminars, workshops; a mini-trade show; and lots of networking with peers from all walks of life and media. From agri-tourism in the Central Valley, to a Jeep tour of the Kalahari, we have an amazing breadth of talent and subject matter ... but before long it always reverts to the old guys weaving their fish tales ...

On the second day we are hosted (generously, and very genuinely too - in Lake County) with 'activities' and later I'll get into the absolute thrill of soaring over Mount St. Helena, bouncing through the vineyards, and sailing across Clear Lake (I think I whacked the top of the 'Fun Meter' Monday). But Tuesday morning found us (the sky clear but I, a bit foggy) gathered for breakfast at the Lakeport Yacht Club, saying our farewells and passing out business cards. This has been a successful and exciting event for me (a little fattening too!): Lake County is gorgeous and I have tons of fodder for new stories (including one I already pitched and got okayed on the drive back!).

Soon I was on the road again; weaving along the lakefront, past orchards and vineyards, and the bucolic scene of a mare resting contently with her foal, beneath a tree. Melissa had suggested a more scenic route south (raising the 'scenic' bar from about an eight or nine, to a ten) and I turned off on the appropriate road, leaving the valleys and hills behind. Climbing through the pines on sun-dappled roads that were so winding, I'd describe them more as 'interminable switchbacks sewn end-to-end' - I spent the rest of the morning enjoying the sunshine and crisp air.

Eventually the route dropped into Napa Valley. The land lost its untamed beauty and became more manicured - even contrived - but this too was easy on the eyes. Mother Nature can dish out some hellacious weather, but by contrast I also find nature to be the most comforting of sights too.

I followed my directions to Napa and my dear friend Molly's house. Greeted by Molly - looking like a beautiful, luscious peach, in her sixth month of pregnancy; and Franklin - a most handsome, young but tall boxer, who doesn't so much wag his tale as gyrate his whole rear end; we spent some delightful (and well overdue) time catching up.

And then (who is surprised here?) I worked on the book until the wee hours HOWEVER
it
is
done!!!

TADA! (More on "David Gallup: California's Channel Islands" another time.)

Heading back to Seal Beach now by way of the Golden Gate Bridge and further south Rte 101, through Paso Robles and my old stomping grounds. Weather clear and gorgeous; anticipating another glorious ride home.

* Outdoor Writers Association of California

Clearlake. Clearly.

What a gorgeous place!

After the bland expanse of Highway 5, I delightedly took the turn to Route 20. I am definitely a road-less-traveled/scenic-route kind of girl, and eased onto the country road; a winding lane skirting Cortina Ridge and cutting through Grizzly Canyon - where bright yellow signs warned of elk crossings. Off the beaten path indeed.

The smooth green hills fell steeply to the roadway and the uneven lakeshore, which was spotted with small towns reminiscent of another time: where gaggles of little girls clutched flowers - or in one case a puppy, while young boys furiously peddled bicycles while gripping fishing poles ... past blooming lupine, poppies, buckwheat, and massive bushes dripping with dollops of candy-sweet lilacs; or emerald valleys where livestock (sheep, horses, cattle) grazed in the perfect 70-degree afternoon.

For now however, I'm locked inside the conference hall (encouraged though to write & shoot & post, as we are in fact Outdoor Writers Assoc. of California) adjacent a calliopean smoke-filled casino. What a contrast to the beatific, bucolic atmosphere outside.

Road Trips

California was an expanse of limey green swathed with mustard, ‘til I got over the Grapevine. Then it was ... not hideous, not pleasant; just ... benign. It wasn’t my eyes, but my nose that sensed the divergence in the atmosphere: from truck fumes, to earth whipped up by dust devils; from pungent manure, to the glorious honeyed perfume of blossoming orange groves.

I kicked on the cruise control and blew up the freeway; cruising along the "5" under cornflower skies. The Central Valley was the color of toasted whole wheat bread - and about as flat. It was warm, and so dry, my hair stood on end, glued, by the static electricity, to the ceiling of the car.

Around mile 300 I started to see signs of life: at least more life than just the sticky orange bug splats plastered to my windshield. Soon I was in Stockton, my stop for the night on my way to the conference in Clearlake.

Just two weeks ago I was on another such expedition. “Road Trip!” The simple phrase conjures up a wild patchwork of images and thoughts: travel, adventure, new sights – sounds – flavors - experiences. We had our share of these ... plus tedious passages through monotonous stretches of road striped with lanky pines and swamps, entertaining only because of the moronic billboards defiling the way; of spats over speed limits and tunes (when it comes down to rap vs. elevator music – country becomes the common denominator, although it was a treat hearing Dad ‘croon’ to the oldies). We were charmed by southern cities like Charleston and St. Augustine, and dined in pubs, fast-food huts and seafood havens; we sniffed (and snapped off samplings of) the blooms of spring, craned our necks at lighthouses and steeples, shopped for treasures (‘small’ being the optimal feature, in the cramped car) ... hunted for alligators and cheap accommodations; and watched gas prices climb while the trees grew bare -- as we crept steadily north.

Mom and I chatted up vendors at the markets. Coco and I broke into hysterics fashioning fart-y noises, under the high-pressure hand dryers in the rest stops. Dad sang (I will mention that I got inherited my Dad's voice, which is not saying much. At one point Coco asked, 'Who sings that song Opa?' to which he replied, 'Peggy Lee.' 'Let's keep it that way,' she retorted.) At night we pulled into tidy hotels and unloaded everything from the car: luggage, suit bags, coolers, electronics ... One night Mom, tired of carting around a jug with the last two inches of vodka from the Florida house, transferred it into a small bottle of OJ for easier transport. Unknowingly (so he says) Dad drank it for breakfast. “The orange juice was a little zippy,” he remarked. We didn’t let him drive that day ...

Each night we played cards or watched TV until everyone collapsed (except for me – who insisted on wifi and worked well into the early morning on the book). Then we started all over again each after breakfast: rotating through the positions in the car – from front to back, straddling coolers and gear – taking the driver’s seat, or the prime napping location: shotgun. By the time we got to Donna’s (after crossing the expansive Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel) we were eager to stretch our legs, and enjoyed a long weekend of Little League games and Ballet lessons, dog walks, restaurants and pubs, before the final stretch home.

All in all it was a miraculous experience; three generations laughing and loving and exploring the Eastern Seaboard.

On the bright side ...

We are just over 100 miles from our destination -- Cabo. Not quite the intended plan ... but we are making the best of things.
Tops on the list of reasons to head back south:
4) the fishing will only improve
3) our clothes no longer have that 'fresh Mexican laundry smell' (definitely not :-P) so we can take them back to the lavenderia
2) I might actually get to intercept my sister Vicki on her way to La Paz!
and (drumroll please)
1) I sound like a jetsetter, saying 'This is my third visit to Cabo in two weeks;

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Halfway to Halfway

April 2 - The seas have laid down considerably, enabling us to bump up the rpms a bit and make better spead. We passed the halfway point to our halfway point (Turtle Bay) which is promising (yes, I can do the math & know it's 1/4 of the way, but this sounds so much better ... ) The skies remain gray however -- if it's sunny where you are: we don't want to know!
Our daily excitement continues to be chores, refueling, and fun-with-freeze-dried food & provisions. Scott doctored up his cup-a-noodles with some Spam Lite, which was allegedly very tasty; Angela carved up a perfectly ripe cantelope; I served up some celery sticks schmeared with garlic & chive cream cheese. Yes, this is a gourmet cruise! We are 'fishing' (although the fish seem unaware) and veer towards kelp patties to tempt lurking dorado with our cedar plug. No luck yet.
If someone can tell us whether the tracker is working, that would be great. Also we got wind of (pardon the pun) a weather system north of Turtle Bay in a few days (we expect to arrive Sunday around midnight). Other news from home appreciated.
All well except for me: I have a @#($& cold :-P Greetings from all on YIPPEE - BC

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Approaching Mag Bay

The wonderful things that make YIPPEE so ZIPPEE also make her a slap-happy girl going to weather, so we're making just 5-6k SOG up the coast. The scenery is mostly monochromatic: grey water, grey sky, with promising pocks of blue sky here & there. Last night was extremely foggy and damp; no moon or stars (that we could tell) but some spectacular bursts of bioluminescence in the water, which is always a cheery sight. Hoping we may see some whales* now that we're approaching Mag Bay (*but at a favorable distance!) Boat & crew all doing well. Keel well-greased hahaha.

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Let the layers begin!

March 31 6:30PM
Burning embers edge the cloud bank to port; the rugged peaks of Baja to starboard are draped in rosey gauze. We are traveling north, at last, aboard YIPPEE KAI YAY on our delivery home from the Cabo Race.
As promised we had a good 20k on the nose right out the gate. Sue cheerfully saw us off, but turned back at the frothy arches. Once past Cabo Falso it started to wane and currently we have about 9-10k alas still on the nose. The sea state is lumpy (which has not deterred our sleepers below, however) and we're getting ready for our first night back at sea. Cold, damp, chllly - but all feeling well: including YIPPEE. ~ BC

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