The Sunday Scramble

In this modern life, it is inevitable that schedules must sometimes collide. Michael and I had grown spoiled and accustomed to his having weekends off over that past several months, so much so that I took it for granted that our weekend plans were set - until last Tuesday night, when it suddenly dawned on us that he was scheduled to work twelve hour shifts on both the following Saturday and Sunday.

"You can't!" I cried. "The Pink Martini concert is Saturday, and we've had those tickets for months!"

A last minute decision to work a twelve, rather than eight, hour shift on Wednesday gave Michael the freedom to leave work in time for Saturday's concert (although this turned out to be unnecessary since he stayed home sick on Saturday - yes, sick again - still sick, in fact, although he made it to the concert and to work for the past couple of days). Sunday was another story. Just because Michael was at the VA for the day didn't mean my plans were in any way altered. Well, except for the fact that I needed the car. For the first time, I rose at 6:30 on a Sunday morning so I could drive Michael in to work and keep the car to myself for the day. For a Sunday, that's early. Very early.

Somehow Sunday had morphed into a day crowded with church-related events. I'd planned a hike for the "young adults" in the afternoon, it was the first day of Sunday School for the year, someone else had planned a walk at Volunteer Park, there was a meeting for Elizabeth Gregory home, a fundraising dinner for Elizabeth Gregory home, and I was counting the offering money with Erv. Not that all of these events affected me, mind you, but it seemed everyone in the congregation was busy in some way or another. Hey, at least the church felt alive, right?

Well, I'd planned the hike, so I was going hiking, no matter what. Four others crowded into my Pontiac Vibe, with Lucy huddled in the very back, and we headed out of town for Little Si. Not nearly as famous (or infamous) as Mount Si itself, Little Si offers a more gentle hiking option within 45 minutes of the city. Sure, there are some switchbacks and rugged, rocky steps and serpentine roots to navigate, but there is also a long, lovely level stretch through the woods, surrounded by alders and firs, ferns and snowberry bushes. After a final climb, we were rewarded with views across the valley, including a less-than-awe-inspiring peek at Issaquah's suburban sprawl, and a shady place on the rocks to relax over lunch. Out of all of us, Lucy seemed the least relaxed, having wedged herself into a fissure in the rock that was perhaps a little too tight for comfort.

Back at the trailhead we were happy and a little weary, and more than a little dirty. Two of us were attending the Elizabeth Gregory benefit dinner that evening at Portage Bay Cafe in South Lake Union, and time was running short. I pulled into the ULC parking lot around ten after five, sped home, fed the dog, took a shower, got dressed, and made it to the cafe promptly at six. Truly, that was miraculous timing. I also discovered the benefits of rolling down the windows to dry one's hair while cruising down Lake City Way. God bless multi-tasking!

Dinner seating was family style, with a wonderful buffet of salad, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and stuffed chicken breasts. My friend Stephanie joined me as my guest to take Michael's place, although I'm afraid I lost her for a while when another friend, David, and I started up a conversation about rowing, inspired by the racing shell hanging from the Cafe's ceiling.

The best thing about the dinner, however, aside from great food and company, was the fact that every single cent from the very reasonable ticket price of $30 per person is going to Elizabeth Gregory Home. This is the women's transitional housing shelter instigated and brought to fruition through our church, a shelter that has now been helping women in need for three years. The fact that the owners of Portage Bay Cafe were willing to donate this entire meal to the cause, and provide us with a wonderful community night out while doing it was inspiring.

After dinner, I headed back to the VA to pick up Michael after his shift. Tired and coughing, he was eager to be home, sipping a tall mug of tea before bed. I felt a twinge of guilt at having been the one to get the long end of the stick, so to speak. Even if I had to rise at 6:30, going hiking on a sunny day and feasting with friends can hardly be considered hardships, while working at the VA... well, that's another story entirely. The man deserved a back scratch, and after he'd had his tea, I was happy to oblige.

Road Trip Day 3, October 4: I Remember Redwood Trees

Our day got off to a good start with breakfast in Bandon at the Minute Cafe. I got the giant cinnamon roll I'd been craving and proceeded to slather it with butter (hey, I was on vacation - time to go all out, right?), while Michael enjoyed a plate of corned beef hash, hashbrowns, and a buttermilk biscuit. I took the fall and ate the eggs that came with his meal - incomprehensibly, that boy just doesn't like eggs.

Our ultimate goal for the day was to reach Redwood city, about 30 miles south of San Francisco, where we would spend the next two nights with Michael's godparents. In the meantime, we had a lot of driving to do and some real redwoods to explore. The coast was still shrouded in fog, but I was thrilled to see my first glimpses of the southern Oregon shore and northern California. Having grown up firmly ensconced in the northwest corner of our state, I'd actually never made it to this part of the country before. The 101 offered sweeping views of rugged sea stacks fighting a slowly losing battle with the elements around Cape Sebastian and the gorge-like drive around thickly forested Humbug Mountain offered just a glimpse of this incredible region.

Before long we were at the state border.

"Crap!" I exclaimed. "We have Oregon fruit in car, and I hear they ask if you have fruit when coming into California."

Sure enough, they really do ask if you have fruit. We lied. Actually, what Michael said, upon being asked, "Do you have any fruit?" by the border guard was, "Uh, not really, no." The guard looked momentarily confused but let us pass.

So there we were in California, winding through forests of massive redwoods, snacking on peanut butter pretzels and illegal Oregonian plums. We made a detour in Crescent City to pick up some hickory smoked dry jack cheese at the Rumiano Cheese Company store. We then stopped to say hello to my old childhood hero, Paul Bunyan. As a four-year-old, I was enamored of Paul and his blue ox, Babe. I was also under the mistaken impression that the logger's name was really Tall Bunyan, and when I discovered it was Paul my heart broke a little. Tall was the perfect name for this giant! What kind of a wimpy name was Paul, anyway?

I'm not sure what my four-year-old self would have thought of the enormous talking Paul Bunyan that guards the entrance to the Trees of Mystery. Thrilled, probably. I think this Paul was a bit disappointed that we didn't actually stay and pay the $14 per person entry fee to visit these mysterious trees. Maybe another time, Paul.

Determined to squeeze a short hike in, I scoured the little Best Short Hikes in Redwood National and State Parks book I had borrowed from the library. We chose to visit Fern Canyon in the Prairie Creek region of Redwoods State Park.

Perhaps the small lake that covered the road after we turned off the 101 should have been a warning. Turn back, before it's too late! But, inspired by the SUVs and pick-ups ahead of our little Pontiac Vibe, we took the plunge - quite literally - and waded through this small pond of a mud puddle. Oh, what the heck, we're in the land of tall tales, after all! This was a body of water so wide, we had to roll down the windows, grab hold of a passing branch and row ourselves across. And would you believe it, a fish jumped right into Michael's lap! But since he's only a fan of the kind that come battered and fried with tartar sauce on the side, he threw it right back.

After a few miles of winding through pristine redwoods, we reached a pay station for the Fern Canyon area. And although my little guidebook had been published in 2005 and claimed that the day use fee was a measly $2, it had evidently increased to a whopping six bucks! Whopping to us, that is, because we only had $3 in our posession. A thorough search of all pockets, wallets, backpacks, and car crevasses turned up an additional $2.91 in change, as well as a Canadian penny and 4 Croatian kunas. I thought about throwing these last two coins in to make up for our missing nine cents, but thought better of it when I saw that the little envelope stated "no foreign currency". Having already broken California law once that day we were trying to stay on the straight and narrow. "Sorry! This is all we had," I wrote in tiny letters at the bottom of the tiny envelope.

Our trials had only just begun, however. It was at this time that the grey skies decided to let loose and rain. We attempted to drive to the trailhead, but were blocked by another enormous puddle. This time we took the hint from other cars parked on our side of the pond, parked our car, and swam across on our own. After what felt like miles, we made it to the actual trailhead. The rain was pounding down like bowling balls, and this is the reason I took no photos on this hike. By the time we got back we were soaked to the bone through three layers of clothing and mushrooms were already sprouting from our shoulders.

Fern Canyon is gorgeous, though. If you can go on a day when the rain isn't strong enough to send knock over a herd of elk and if you can scrounge up six bucks ahead of time (although by the time you go it may well cost ten), I highly recommend it. The site of a former mining operation, the steep walls that were once scars of the mining industry are now covered with a thick, emerald green carpet of maiden hair ferns. Nearby is a windswept beach and meadows where you can frequently spot elk (we saw a couple of impressive bucks and a doe with her calf).

The rain stopped about the time we got back to the car and forded the lake in our path once more. Soon we were on the road again, winding our way back to 101 and crossing the majestic mud puddle to reach the highway. And although I can't be sure, I think I caught a glimpse of Babe the Blue Ox peering over the tops of the redwoods to see if the rain had really stopped.

If You Go:
For a hearty breakfast in Bandon with great service, go to the Minute Cafe:
145 2nd St.
Bandon, OR 97411

When in Crescent City and in need of some tasty cheese, try the Rumiano Cheese Comapny (unfortunately they don't sell their own cheese pre-sliced for picnicking, and the only bread they had were frozen loaves of La Brea to be baked at home): www.rumiano-cheese.com
511 9th Street
Crescent City, CA 95531

You, too, can visit Paul Bunyan (and even have a conversstion with the big guy) and other sights both tacky and awe-inspiring at the Trees of Mystery: www.treesofmystery.net

Find more information about Prairie Creek Redwood State Park online at: www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=415