Day 10: Home

We left Novato, or rather the Days Inn located on a deserted stretch of highway outside of Novato, around 10 and headed toward Oakland for our return flight.  With just a bit of time to spare, we stopped off at Oakland's surprisingly cool Jack London Square and strolled a farmer's market that wasn't selling a single organic thing.  JUST KIDDING.

Jack London Square is the home of Heinold's First and Last Chance, a tiny shack of a bar so named because, for sailors, it was the first chance to get liquored up when coming ashore and the last chance to do so before setting sail.  Jack London himself drank there, often before heading out on one of his adventures to the great white north.  Since it wasn't yet 11:30am, it was closed.

The plane ride home was not quite as smooth as the ride out, but it certainly could have been worse.  All in all, Erica and I are agreed that James performed spectacularly on this trip, and that he has promise as a world traveler, whenever such an opportunity may arise.

Actually, it semi will this December, when we jet with my folks and the Carlsons to sunny Puerto Rico!  So, this blog will return then, but perhaps even a bit sooner with little snippets of things here and there.


--Grant

Day 9: PCH

Erica and I drove the PCH from San Diego to Sonoma County on our honeymoon.  This trip, we went the other way--from way up in the north down to the Bay.  We didn't manage to get in the little blip of about 5 miles north of Crescent City into Oregon, nor the little blip from Bolinas, where we ended the day, to Muir Beach, just north of Frisco (the locals love it when you call it that).  But we've now covered 99% of that magnificent stretch of tarmac, so that's gotta be worth something.

We were worried that today was going to be a bad day for James because it involved so much driving time.  We needn't have.  He was a grand champion sleeper in the car today, possibly because of his amazing genes, possibly because the road was as serpentine as they come, and driving on it felt like rocking to him. (I wanted to write "the road was windy", as in, it winded a lot.  Like a clock that one winds.  Not "windy."  Like a lot of wind blowing around.  Roads don't blow wind, of course, but it's hard to dislodge the homograph "windy" from one's mind when writing "windy" because "windy" is a much more commonly encountered word. You follow me?)

We made it almost two hours before he stirred, all the way from Ft. Bragg to the tiny art colony of Jenner.  We stopped, stretched, and had the best clam chowder I've ever tasted at a little roadside stand run by extremely crunchy hippies.  James loved the view from the back porch of the Russian River meeting the Pacific Ocean:

Cool handmade hat courtesy of Mary Ernesti

The drive south of Jenner was beautiful.  We woke a sleepy James to take a series of pictures, the best one of which is this:

At Sonoma State Beach

But I'm also kind of partial to this one, too:

We cruised into Point Reyes Station around 2:30 and met up with John and Kaity Hunt for some cheese tasting at an artisanal/organic/local/etc. creamery. Incidentally, the town of Pt. Reyes Station sits at the foot of Tamales Bay, a long finger of water that separates the Pt. Reyes Peninsula from Marin County. The Bay itself sits atop a submerged portion of the San Andreas Fault, meaning that the land on the other side of the Bay is one of the very few pieces of our continent that are not part of the North American Techtonic Plate. Is it xenophobic to find that weird?

The mountain in the background is not one of us.

After Pt. Reyes, we headed to the small surfing hamlet of Bolinas, which is famous for not wanting visitors. So much so, in fact, that the New York Times has done no less than two separate travel features on its notorious misanthropy in the last decade, and every guide book mentions how the locals tear down road signs pointing to their town. Bolinas itself was quite packed today with tourists. We walked along its dark sand beach for awhile watching surfers in the frigid waves, and then headed into town for a beer and some fresh calamari.

With the Hunts at cold and windy Bolinas Beach

Kudos to baby James, who has now visited both American oceans before turning five months!

We left John and Kaity in Bolinas and headed to our hotel in pleasant Novato for our trip's last evening. James, who had refused to sleep the whole afternoon, dropped off to dreamland almost immediately after we took off.  Tomorrow it's back home and back to the grind.  But it's not tomorrow yet, so we'll hang on to vacation as long as we can.

Thorn: Nearing the end of vacation.

Rose: The Hunts, PCH views

Bud: The Golden Gate bridge tomorrow--I'm always a sucker.

Car Miles: 190.5

Total Miles: 3141

Day 8: Forest to Coast

James slept until 7:45 this morning, which means that upon awaking ourselves we felt pretty damn good.  Lest you think the California coast is one long stretch of sun-kissed bikini bimbos frolicking playfully in the warm surf, I'm here to tell you that north of, say, Los Angeles, its mostly fog and chill.  It was about 55 and cloudy when we left Eureka's sublime Rodeway Inn and we didn't find warmer weather until we got to Humboldt Redwoods State Park further inland.

Humboldt Redwoods proudly serves up the largest contiguous swath of old growth Coastal Redwoods in the world.  And because it boasts both a protective mountain range to the west that blocks the coastal marine layer and massive alluvial plains along the Eel River and its tributary Bull Creek--perfect conditions for redwoods--it grows 'em big. 100 of the tallest 134 trees in the world are in this park, including 7 of the top 10.  How about that, huh?  This is a blog where you learn stuff.

We started out in the Founders Grove, a grove of huge trees named after the founders of the Save-the-Redwood League.  The StRL were a group of bourgeois alarmists who had had enough of the lumber baronage chopping down every tall tree in the state.  Founded in 1918, the League spent its time and money (it raised over $300,000,000 in today's dollars!) convincing other landed elite not connected to Big Timber to buy up redwood land. They were wildly successful for an environmental charity in early-20th century terms, and most of the old growth areas today owe their continued existence to their efforts.  Anyway, back to the Grove.

It was boss.  The centerpiece of the grove is the Founders Tree, named for the founders of the League. At 364 feet, it's is 59 feet taller than the Statue of Liberty + pedestal, and quite girthy.  Here's a snapper of the giant:

Another curio of the Grove is the so-called Dyerville Giant, a 2,000 year old titan which stood 370 feet when it toppled in 1991 (here's a dated but interesting story about its fall).  I had been wondering about the rate that these bad boys decay, given that a.) many of the fallen trees seem to have been there rotting away for quite a long while, and b.) the forest floor isn't particularly littered with them.  The only answer could be that they fall over very rarely, which makes one appreciate that time in these forests moves much, much slower than it does for us (and MUCH slower than it does for the poor mayfly, whose lifespan lasts all of one day).  In places like the Founders Grove, an entire decade might pass with nothing happening of significance, save for the trees silently growing about 6 feet.  When one does go over, it's big news, like Brigadoon appearing.  The unlucky tree will then rot there for 50 years until it turns into loam, and, in time, other redwoods.

The Dyerville Giant helped put all of this in perspective. It has been 23 years now since it fell, and yet it still very much looked like a tree lying on its side.  Here are some pictures to give you some idea of what I'm talking about:

Erica at the base

James, holding things down in the foreground, and Erica way, way, down the at the midpoint of the trunk, basically invisible to all except those who can somehow zoom in on their computer screens

Erica took this picture from the midpoint of the trunk, at the same spot at which she is standing in the above picture.  That's me way down there at the top of the tree.  See, it's BIG!

After gaping at these trees for awhile, we drove to the inventively-named "Big Trees" section of the park.  Erica strapped James into our (borrowed) Ergo side-carry style and we had a very nice 2.4 mile walk in the woods.  James love it.  Erica got peed on, but enjoyed it nevertheless in a matronly sort of way.  

Happy Hikers

With James' nap time growing near, we packed things up and hit the road.  We had big plans to go see Mendocino tonight, but it was slow-going on Highway 1, with its twists and turns, so we landed in Ft. Bragg, checked in to our hotel, and headed out for dinner.  James made it most of the way through our meal at the absolutelyamazingandtotallyawesome North Coast Brewing taproom, where I partook of the beer sampler and calamari steak (this is the second time we've encountered "calamari steak" on this trip.  I've never seen it before in my life.  It's a thing?).  Then the boy kind of lost it, so we took him back to the hotel and put him down for the night.

Tomorrow is a long day in the car, and it will be interesting to see how James handles it.  He has been very, very good so far, easily exceeding his parents expectations, but we've got over 4 hours of car seat time planned, and it's going to be an adventure.  We're hopeful to meet up with John and Katie Hunt in Pt. Reyes Station for some cheese tasting tomorrow afternoon.  Let's hope we make it there without incident/meltdown.

Thorn: hmmm...long car rides?  They are beautiful, though...
Roses: Dyreville Giant and the Bull Creek Flats hike
Bud: the secretive town of Bolinas

Car miles: 135
Total miles: 2950.5

Day 7: Behind the Redwood Curtain

We left dreary Crescent City and the even drearier Curly Redwood Lodge around 9am and hopped on Highway 101 South to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.  The schedule today was light, and we took a few short treks though the flat alluvial plains of the park where the behemoths grow.  The pace was slack, but the scenery was alllll right. James mostly slept during our first set of walks, which were level enough to take the stroller.  Erica was on her photographical game today.

I'm calling this the Handstand Tree

Here's another shot of the ol' Handstander from farther back.  I'm the tiny human one at the bottom.

And I snapped this one of Erica shortly thereafter:

We had been told that the gem of Prairie Creek was Fern Canyon, with its 50-foot fern covered vertical stone walls.  We took a seemingly endless dirt road to Gold Bluffs Beach, where we espied some rare Roosevelt Elk, and then drove another 4 miles along the beach to the base of Fern Canyon.  Sadly, it turned out to be more or less a Turkey Run-type affair, albeit a bit greener.  I love Turkey Run, but as far as natural wonderment on this trip goes: thorn.

Leaving Prairie Creek, we headed to the be-bike laned, bicycle recycling program-initiating, uber-crunchy, Arcata, billed as the most progressive city in America. In 2003, it outlawed voluntary compliance with the Patriot Act and its city council several times voted to impeach George W. Bush.  Indeed, their city council has outlawed many wasteful, harmful, and illiberal things.  The town is so liberal that it seems you're not allowed to do anything.  

Our plan was a loose one, and it consisted of just strolling around town checking out just how many head shops one small seaside village can cram into its downtown.  The main square was very pretty, and so we threw a towel down and let James roll around in the shade for awhile.  A kindly, bearded young man in a tie dye t-shirt sat nearby and played Grateful Dead songs on his acoustic guitar (not kidding).  After while I began to notice more hippie-type guys and gals, though not necessarily of the friendly bearded variety.  More of the it-was-cool-when-I-was-20-and-unwashed-and-reading-Jack-Kerouac-novels-to-move-to-California-with-no-job-plans-other-than-to-kindly-panhandle-but-now-I'm-35-and-still-unwashed-and-still-in-California-and-just-as-poor-and-I've-got-a-drug-habit-to-feed-and-my-panhandling-has-gotten-rather-more-aggressive variety.  So we split, and headed to Eureka's fabulous Rodeway Inn, where I now sit typing this.  

We had a lovely dinner of indifferent pub grub and pretty good, but hardly world-beating, craft brews at Lost Cost Brewery.  James slept through the whole thing like a good boy.  Tomorrow, it's off to Humboldt Redwoods State Park, our last redwoods park.

Thorn: Fern Canyon, slow drivers on one lane roads

Rose: Great morning redwood hikes

Bud: Humboldt Redwoods, the largest tract of old growth redwoods in existence.

--Grant

Day 6: Into Endor

After leaving Medford this morning, we had to make a stop for supplies in Grants Pass and the only thing available was Walmart.  I won't normally shop there, but we were in a pinch (no diaper wipes).  It was gray and depressing and it was my thorn.  Moving on...

James napped well in the car, so we made it all the way to the splendiferous Jedidiah Smith Redwood State Park, aka Endor.  Words fail.  Pictures don't really give the sense of the hugeness of the trees, either, but they're better.  Lot of vertical, "hotdog" style photos today, as opposed to the normal "hamburger" ones, owning the need to capture tree height.  Our first stop was the legendary Stout Grove, where the following was seen:

Man (center)

Posing with roots, taken from atop a fallen tree

The eponymous Stout Tree, but with us by it

Having completed the relatively flat and stroller friendly Stout Grove loop, we headed in the car up Howland Hill Drive--the "world's best redwood drive"--and unpaved gravel track that darts between massive trees.  I have for some time been sort of obsessed with record trees.  In preparation for this trip, I sussed out the approximate location, using various clues interspersed throughout the internet, of the so-called "Grove of the Titans", and secret, unmarked redwood grove home to three of the world's five largest Coastal Redwoods.  The Grove's exact location is kept secret by the government to minimize foot traffic (a decision that is controversial; in the age of the internet, the location is an open secret, and the Grove now gets plenty of visitors daily.  Sensible folks are calling for the state to mark it and provide appropriate infrastructure to ensure its well-being).  I wasn't sure if we were going to be able to find it, what with a sketchy map and a 4.5 month old in a carrier in tow.  But we had plenty of time and enough will, so we gave it a shot.

We parked out car at a roadside turnoff and took the stunning Mill Creek trail south from where it intersected the road.  The first section of the trail was mostly uphill and, like all of our hikes today, stunning.

After half a mile, the trail began to descend toward the stream. At the bottom of the valley, we found ourselves amid some fallen giants.

Once we cleared the tunnel, I knew we had to be close. I was looking for a spot where the trail switchbacked just before the stream.  And, sure, enough, right where I thought it would be, it was there.  I went in part way, but refrained from going up to the trees themselves.  James was in the carrier, and the small footpath, such as it was, led through a bog and was not a great place to risk taking an infant.  As such, Erica and I (and James, who had just woken up), enjoyed the majesty of the Grove from about 50 feet away.  James was, frankly, nonplussed, and dared to crab about some inconsequence in front of leviathans who stood here a thousand years before Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo.  From across the small glade, I snapped this picture of the Lost Monarch, the world's largest Coastal Redwood tree:

The Lost Monarch

After staring our eyes out for awhile at the bohemoths of the Grove, we headed back to the car.  James was more or less done with the carrier, so I carried him in my arms all the way back, which he LOVED.  We managed to snap this picture just before the end of the hike.

We squeezed in one more easy hike, the Simspon-Reed loop, where I got to stand in between two trees and put my arms out.

Like this.

With eyeballs full of tree, we made our way into Crescent City, a fishing community on the California/Oregon border where it's foggy and cold 90% of the year (including today).  Tonight we're bedded down in the Curly Redwood Lodge, a late 50's-style kitsch motel that's unfortunately more 50's than kitsch.  Fun fact: then entire motel is made from the wood of a single redwood tree!  Neato! (note: sheets may be made of same).

Thorn: Walmart :(

Rose: Grove of the Titans

Bud: More trees, please.

Car Miles: 116

Total Miles: 2598.5

--Grant

Day 5: Lakin'

The Fearsome Threesome were up at half-past five this morning.  Mt. Shasta was still slumbering in the clouds when the pitter-patter of little grunts and squeals could be heard coming from the pack-n-play.  We decided to take advantage of the unexpectedly early wake-up call and hit the road.  Our plans to take Highway 97 to Klamath Falls, OR were scrapped when we got news that a big section of it had been closed off by fire crews.  So we took Interstate 5 to Medford, and drove to Crater Lake from there, instead (interesting details!) Although the visibility was basically beef stroganoff, there were still some mighty good mountain scenery to be had.  Crossing into Oregon in what looked more like the dry Colorado plateau than the Pacific Northwest was a particular highlight.  Erica was asleep.

James conceded us almost two hours of driving time this morning, so we made it all the way to the Union Creek historic settlement about 20 miles from Crater Lake until he woke up displeased to be in the car seat again.  We fed him under a canopy of 200 ft. Douglas firs and afterwards stumbled upon this photo op:

The Edith Ann of his generation

Construction during the busiest month in the park is always a great idea, and it's the one the fine folks at Crater Lake had this week.  It took us nearly an hour to get to the caldera rim (~7100 ft.) from Union Creek because the one road kept going down to one lane.  I was to the point of regretting having come all the way up here.  Crater Lake is in the middle of absolutely nowhere, which, since we were going to be in the very general vicinity of it, made me want to go there, because when are you ever going to find yourself in this remote part of Oregon again?  Sure, you might go to Portland, but that's 250 miles from here. Anyway, Crater Lake used to be a mountain--Mt. Mazama--to be exact, which blew its stack roughly 7,700 years ago, collapsed in on itself, and filled with rain and snow.  It's just the deepest lake in the US, no biggie, with water so clear you can see down over 120 feet.  Another interesting fact, which I find literally unbelievable: the native people, the Klamath tribe, tell a story about two warring gods, one represented by Crater Lake and the other Mt. Shasta, hurling fire and boulders at one another, which anthropologists have identified as having derived from this cataclysm.  Could this event, which occurred over 5,000 years before the Great Pyramid of Giza was built, have lingered in a pre-literate peoples' memory for so long?  YOU BE THE JUDGE!

Anyway, I was still fuming at the traffic when we hit the rim.  And then I changed my mind:

Fwuh-POW! Crater Lake

Moreover

Ba-Zing! That's Wizard Island in the background.

Furthermore

Gaack!

And

Glug!

Finally

Zounds!

James celebrated this feeding in the most beautiful of places with a fantastic blowout that forced Erica and I to throw out a large picnic blanket that she had received free from work.  We didn't get to tackle a whole lot of the park unfortunately.  If we never come back, we'll be able to say we were here; if we do make it back, there's still plenty to do.  The ride home was a quiet one. We arrived in Medford, checked in to our hotel, the enjoyed the tasty offerings of BricktownE Brewing.  Tomorrow: the redwoods!

Thorns: Traffic in the middle of the woods

Roses: Didn't break any glass!  Also, the lake, duh.

Buds: Jed Smith State Park and a potential detour to Oregon Caves? Stay tuned, dear readers.

Car Miles: 246

Total Miles: 2482.5

--Grant

Day 4: Not the Way We Drew It Up

Today started off with saying goodbye to our gracious hosts, the Watsons, and heading north.  Our first stop was Chico, CA because it fell roughly a nap-length amount of time from Roseville, where we'd been.  The drive up through the Central Valley was peaceful.  The valley is the source of much, if not most, of our nation's fruits, and has hence come to be called the "fruitbasket of the nation" (nb: previous to today, I associated the word "fruitbasket" exclusively with the expression "getting kicked in the fruitbasket").  Erica, who harbors strong locavore tendencies, was drooling over the endless series of fresh produce stands lining the highway.

Our first stop in Chico was a grocery store for road trippin' supplies, and then we headed to In-n-Out Burger and got everything Animal Style.

Healthy

James--who was a champ today, again, by the way--was getting a bit restless in his seat, so we found a local greenspace and let him sprawl out on a large beach towel, where he spent the better part of a half an hour rolling back and forth.  Quite an accomplishment for the little fella!

The drive to Lassen Volcanic National Park was beautiful.  It's 85 miles from the city up a twisty road to the park's interior, and in that stretch you rise 8,496 vertical feet.  We stopped off at the park's impressive new visitor's center, where James got a National Park passport book and his first stamp.

VERY excited about Dad affixing the stamp

Overwhelmed, even

Our next stop in the park was the so-called "Sulfur Works", a wet fart of a hole in the ground that belches noxious fumes with every toot and splatter.  Geologically cool, because it marks the site of the central vent of the once immense Mt. Tehama that collapsed eons ago and formed the Lassen area,  it's a must for lovers of the sight of boiling grey mud-water and/or the aroma of latrines.

Insert your own fart joke

Heading north through the park, we snapped this beauty at about 8,000 ft.

Our last stop in Lassen was supposed to be for a short hike around an alpine lake, but James was falling asleep.  So we decided to capitalize on his napping, skip the hike, and proceed to our next stop, McArthur-Burney Falls State Park (which features a 129-foot water fall that Teddy Roosevelt once outrageously called "the 8th wonder of the world" despite it not being one of the ten highest waterfalls in the state) where we'd take a short hike instead.  Mistake.  As we drove out of Lassen, a park ranger at the station gravely informed us that the road to Burney had been cut off by fire, and all traffic was being routed to Redding.  James was asleep, so all was good with him, but Redding was not on the way and, given that James was due to wake up about the time we were due to arrive there, we had to find something for us to do.  

There is nothing to do in Redding.  Downtown Redding, at least.  I took no pictures because it merited none, and we couldn't even find a patch of grass on which to pitch a blanket for James.  It was at this point that, Erica's patience for the detour running low, I let one of James' glass milk bottles slide off the hood of the car where I'd set it, and it smashed to pieces in the street.  So that makes three broken glass containers in three days.  Consistency!

The last leg of today's drive was completed in a dark mood.  James woke up a bit earlier than anticipated and was none too pleased to find himself still in the carrier.  We made it into Mt. Shasta to find the top of the actual Mt. Shasta itself shrouded in clouds.  But once out of the car, the boy did great, and was smiling when we put him down for bed.  Afterwards, Erica and I enjoyed take-out Italian while watching the sun go down behind the mountains. 

Thorns: Fire re-route and more broken glass

Roses: Romantic, plastic cutlery dinner; In-n-Out; summit views

Buds: Crater Lake!

Today's Car Miles: 297

Total Trip Miles: 2236.5

Day 3. Vacationland

Today was spent lounging by the pool, strolling quiet neighborhoods, napping, and drinking qual-it-tye wine. Although there's not a lot of exciting doings to report, today was just what we needed.

In picture form, today's highlights include:

Coffee and Crosswords

Doing Rodney Dangerfield impressions for second cousins

Swimming with the tyke

Grilled shrimp dinner with Amador wine and perfect weather

Thorn: Breaking ANOTHER glass of the Watsons', this time a cool, 70s decorative tumbler glass.
Rose: Enjoying a wonderful meal poolside with great people
Bud: Taking James to his first National Park tomorrow.

No miles today.  Why leave this place?


--Grant

Big Pig Day 2 - The Watsons!

James slept until 7am Central Time this morning, but in Oakland, CA, so we were up and at them so early that we had the Bay Area roads to ourselves.  We got into sunny Roseville--a Naperville twin of a suburb 20 minutes northeast of Sacramento, around 9am, and met up with Erica's cousin George and his wife Amy, and their 3 kids.

I love driving east out of the Bay Area.  In the summer, all the grass dies on the mountains, turning them gold.  Once you begin your descent out of the coastal range and into the Central Valley, you leave the cold and drear of the Bay behind.  Whereas in Oakland it was 68 and dumpy, in Roseville it was 100+ and sunny as a lark.  Better yet, within a few minutes of reaching the valley floor from the west, we could already make out the silhouette of the Sierra Nevada rising over the eastern horizon, meaning that we were seeing all the way across the state.

After catching up with the wonderful Watson clan in their cool-ass house with a pool, we left for the lovely Amador wine country (free tastings!), one of several nice wine countries in the state which are proud not to be, but are also sort of jealous of, Napa and Sonoma.  Amador's thing is growing big, bold Zins and Cabs, varietals that thrive at elevation.  Cousin George is a regular at the humble Amador Cellars, where James pulled a BYOM in the tasting room.

The '14 milk drinks particularly thick when temps pass 102 degrees

After the tasting, we enjoyed a delicious picnic lunch (what Americans believe is) the Continental Way: with wine and cheese and bread and fresh fruit and capricola, etc.  After that, we visited the Cooper and the Runquist vineyards, before calling it a day.

Barrels, barrels everywhere at Cooper Vineyards

James was his usual cheery self again, keeping it real by sleeping at all the right times and not really fussing much.  Erica kept it very real, too, by sleeping through most of the day's drives along with her son.

Thorn: Breaking one of the Watson's neato colored wine glasses.
Rose: The Petit Verdot at Runquist.  Hot cha!
Bud: Pool time with the kiddos tomorrow and a local microbrewery I've been hearing so much about.

Car Miles: 90
Total Trip Miles: 1939.5

--Grant

Oakland

I'm sitting at a very brightly lit sports bar called Diamonds.  It's right off the lobby of the second Holiday Inn we tried to check into tonight (we went to the wrong one of the two the first time.  They're more or less right next to each other). These Holiday Inns are by the baseball stadium, cleverly lying in wait to ensnare sleepy A's fans.  Despite Diamonds objective crappiness, former Athletics great and 1989 World Series champion Dave Henderson just walked by me!  Good enough for Dave, good enough for me.

Erica is up in the room pumping and elected not to test the signal strength of the baby monitor and join me in the bar.  James is out.  James was a giant peach today on the plane.  He cooed peacefully for the first forty-five minutes or so before drifting off to sleep on Erica's lap for the next 3 1/2 hours.  Much better behaved than a certain 12-week old in the row next to us (didn't catch her name.)  He woke up about 5 minutes before landing, smiled some, and then more-or-less happily endured the walk to the baggage claim, the wait for the rental car shuttle bus, the long rental car shuttle bus ride, the upselling attempts of the rental car company minion, the drive to the first Holiday Inn, the unloading of the stuff, the finding out that we didn't belong there, the repacking of the car, the getting to the Holiday Inn, the checking in to the right Holiday Inn (whose computer system was on the fritz), the unpacking in the room, and the eating of the bottle of milk.  When I left for Diamonds, he was cheerily yelping in his pack-n-play, but, per Erica's recent text, he's asleep.

Here's the only picture we snapped today:

All hail the Baby Merlin's Magic Sleep Suit!

Air Miles: 1848
Car Miles: 1.5
Total Miles: 1849.5

--Grant

The Big Pig 3: West Coast Boog-A-Loo 2

Well, the day has arrived.  Erica awoke me with a sleepy rendition of the Go-Go's "Vacation".  The official itinerary:

Day 1 (Friday, Aug. 1): Chicago → Oakland 

Day 2 (Saturday, Aug. 2): Oakland → Roseville, CA (to see Erica's cousin George and his family)

Day 3 (Sunday, Aug. 3) Roseville (Amador County for wine tasting)

Day 4 (Monday, Aug. 4): Roseville→  Lassen Volcanic National Park →McArthur-Burney Falls Memorial SP → Mt. Shasta, CA 

Day 5 (Tuesday, Aug. 5): Mt. Shasta, CA → Crater Lake National Park → Medford, OR 

Day 6 (Wednesday, Aug. 6): Medford, OR →Rough and Ready Creek State Park → Jedidiah Smith Redwoods State Park → Crescent City, CA

Day 7 (Thursday, Aug. 7): Crescent City → Del Norte Redwoods State Park/Redwood National Park → Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park → Arcata  →Eureka

Day 8 (Friday, Aug. 8): Eureka → Humboldt Redwoods State Park → Drive-Thru Tree Park → Ft. Bragg 

Day 9 (Saturday, Aug. 10): Ft. Bragg → Mendocino/Mendocino Headlands State Park → Salt Point State Park → Bolinas →Muir Beach → Novato 

Day 10 (Sunday, Aug. 9): Novato →Battery Spencer/Golden Gate Bridge → Oakland → Chicago

Days 2 and 3 will be a relaxing segue into vacation.  4 and 9 look ambitious, with long driving times and multiple stops.  Au revoir.

--Grant