Day four was a write-off. No reason other than the fact that I needed a day to be sour. Car and internet troubles. Perhaps it's age that allows me to (eventually) realize that being sour does me no real good & that I have the ability to add sugar to life's lemonade & make it alright. Hence the photos for day four's entry.
Colonel John was vehement about me eating breakfast at the Samoa Cookhouse. Bryan, my host for my stay in Arcata, seemed slightly dubious (saying there were better places to eat in town) but with some gentle coaxing we went on my way out of town. The Samoan Cookhouse is the cookhouse from the logging company that pretty much founded the area. It is done up (or perhaps was never undone to begin with) to be what it was 150 years ago: a place to grab some grub. You get what they give you. It's one choice for breakfast, one for lunch and one for dinner. You get to decide if you'll have cream and sugar in your coffee, but the rest is set. The breakfast was great. Scrambled eggs, pancakes and sausages. Yum yum.
The decisive moment when the last sausage is up for grabs. '...he better get his eye off that sausage...'
Bryan and I had some interesting conversations regarding the politics & history of the area. And too many like it. It was a great conversation, but, as these things do, it led breakfast toward a mildly bitter-sweet direction. All the spoonfulls of sugar in the world can't wash down clear cutting and genocide. We can't dwell there, but we must acknowledge these things if we're ever to evolve away from them. Don't dwell. Nuff said.
The drive to my next refuge was a long one with just a couple of stops. I stopped for ice cream n a town called Gaberville and was terrified to find a Burgertime game in the shop. NEXT TO a pinball machine. There are a few moments of strength in my life that I'm very proud of. I have some will power that surprises me sometimes. This was one of those times. The temptation to drop a few coins and a lot of precious time was so overwhelming. But I resisted. The pinball nearly won me over... but, like seeing Hulk Hogan's shaking hand rise out of a pummeling, my will power pulled me back into the street to take a few photographs and get back on the road. It hurt like hell though.
I then arrived in the San Fransisco suburb of Mill Valley (which seemed to be on a hill... weird) and was very honored to meet the Ruskys who were putting me up for the night. Colonel John's friend Ed, his wife Eileen and their son Devin made for a wonderful evening. As is part of my deal, in exchange for accommodations in some places I whip up a 'gourmet' meal from le Menu chez Trout. The Ruskys ordered the Seafood Pasta (Eileen the Veggie Pasta) and gave compliments to the 'chef'. I give compliments right back to them as they were wonderful, gracious hosts. I am a very lucky person to have met as many wonderful people as I have thus far on the trip. Really. The derby girls aside, everyone has been great and the only thing I wish is that I had more time to spend with folks. Not enough to wear out my welcome, but just a little bit more time to enjoy good company. In the whirlwind I am sad to have realized that I didn't take a photo of them for this blog-thing. I have no idea where my head was. Oh yes... on a comfortable pillow.