Two

Back in the 19th century, most of the peninsula was owned by two brothers by the name of Shafter. They divided their land into ranches which they then rented out. While one of the brothers, James, managed to come up with rather poetic names for his ranches, Oscar, the other brother, couldn’t be bothered with such and simply used letters. He started with the A Ranch near the lighthouse, continued with B Ranch and so on.

While driving through the alphabet back to the highway I get a glimpse of the famous wildlife. For the most part it consists of swallows and is highly suicidal. In flocks they sit on the road to leave only in the last possible moment and then in the wrong direction forcing me to do the odd emergency braking. I also see a stork in flight near D ranch but don’t stop for congratulations. Further down the road, a fox sits on the shoulder looking rather indifferent.

My headache, meanwhile, turns out to be one of the worse migraine attacks. I continue north more or less on autopilot, stopping here and there to admire the landscape but more so to rest my poor head. The road winds on between the fog of the coast and the sunshine of the hinterland. After Bodega the coastal mountains are replaced by coastal hills which puts an end to the fog. The road now sticks to the coast and leads from one beautiful beach to another. A bit further north highway 116 starts eastwards. I decide to take it the twenty-odd miles to Santa Rosa and find a motel there to end the day early. About half-way, I give in and stop at the next best ‘vacancy’ sign. I check into a lovely lodge at the edge of the woods in the small town of Guerneville. The lady asks me whether I want to parttake in all sorts of activities, but frankly, all I want is a bed to rest my head on and get to tomorrow.

Somehow, the day passes and a good night’s sleep later, I am ready for the world again. The lodge prides itself in its home-made scones, which still counts as continental breakfast, I think. A short stop at the local supermarket to stock up on water later, I am back on the road. First, along the Russian River backtracking to the seashore and its highway. There, surprise, surprise, fog again. Through it the highway winds north. It can’t quite decide whether it should stay close to the shore or go a bit inland, whether to follow the mountain tops or stay put. So, it serpentines up and inland, through forests only to swing around, come back to the shore and hug the cliffs. This goes on for a bit, before the landscape calms down and the road decides on a new approach and keeps to the forests. There is an occasional sign announcing coast access. I stop at one such occassion only to find out that the access shall cost my five bucks. I pass.

According to the map, the next larger settlement is Point Arena. I expect it eagerly, since I have some shopping to do. I need a cable to plug my MP3 player into the car stereo. I had bought one of these new devices that are little FM transmitters and send your music as your very own radio station. That, of course, doesn’t work. The signal they create is so weak that the stereo does not pick it up without a lot of noise. Maybe you have to tape it to the antenna to work properly, but that is a bit impractical, as you would have to stop every time you want to skip a song. Real radio isn’t an option either. Traditionally, American radio has both kinds of music: Country and Western. Lately, they seem to have gone all open-minded and admitted to the existence of a third kind: Christian Rock. While the music is more bearable, the announcements in between are not. Which leaves me with the Dire Straits CD I have bought somewhere along the way. But after running through it six times, the risk of growing weary of it is rather high (plus, ‘On Every Street’ isn’t really the best album they ever did).

Point Arena turns out to be not exactly big, a mere 500 people. Apparently, the size of the town’s name in the map bears no direct relationship to its actual size. But, they do have a hardware store. Unfortunately, it seems to cater for a clientele that is happy with Christian Rock. A bit further up the road, a sign points to the Point Arena Lighthouse and museum. Two miles down a narrow road and there it is again: five dollars just for parking. Well, no, but thanks for asking.