More Catching Up

Here's one I wrote up a few days ago in a Starbucks, where they don't understand that the internet should be free. More to come soon.

She Blinded Me With Science (Journal Entry, 6/14/08).

I’m in Mountain View this morning, having a cup of coffee at Starbucks while I wait for the Computer History Museum next door to open up. Starbucks has wifi. Why am I not on the internet?

Because T-Mobile are a bunch of jerks, that’s why. The mere privilege of getting online would run me $6, and I don’t feel like supporting that sort of thing. I’d much rather spend my money on more important things, like booze. I had run into this setup a couple years ago, the last time I was on a road trip, and I remember taking the same stand then that I am now. There’s too many unsecured wireless networks floating out there to justify T-Mobile’s unmitigated greed.

Ok, pseudo-rant over. Let’s get down to the more important things. Today is the real start of the road trip – the day that I actually pass north of my starting point. My Yosemite-Sequoia adventure is past, and I can now drive up the California Coast to Oregon and points north. I’ll be dropping by the Cliff House for one final farewell to San Francisco, and then it’s north across the Golden Gate to redwood forests, rocky beaches, and some proper wilderness for once. I had tasted a bit of wilderness hiking in Sequoia NP, but besides that brief respite it has been traffic, crowds, and the banshee wail of children in campgrounds. It’s also been more expensive than I like my camping to be – California State parks in the Monterey area were charging $25 a night for the use of their campgrounds, which struck me as a bit steep for the use of twelve square feet of dirt to pitch my tent. Crowds and costs helped drive me out of California, and I won’t miss them at all when I leave.

Yesterday was a business day – I dropped by my company’s Monterey office to fill out my COBRA health insurance forms, and I’m feeling a little better now knowing that I still have coverage “in case shit happen” (with apologies to Chris Rock). I pulled up to Moss Landing, a perfect little fishing village on Monterey Bay, and had some excellent fresh halibut at Phil’s Fish Market. Cutting east, I rolled into the promised land: Gilroy, California, Garlic Capital of the World.

Gilroy was less than impressive. At a winery off the side of Route 101, I met a man who had to be the most disinterested server in the entire world of wine tasting rooms. His body language gave every indication that my presence was an unbearable burden, and his knowledge of his wines, or even wine in general, was nonexistent. The wine was pretty bad, too. Although in its defense, the garlic wine never made any claims to being great. I did have the pleasure of meeting a man traveling through with his wife, however; he remarked that he was a scotch drinker and we had a short, friendly chat about Scotch single malts. It turned out that he worked for the state Attorney General, and was in the process of transporting subpoenaed documents form Salinas up to the courtroom in Oakland. Even while on the clock (and working for the government, no less), driving north to deliver time-sensitive materials, he made time to stop by a winery for a tasting. I like that man’s priorities.

I dropped by a few other wineries that afternoon, none of which was particularly impressive. No – I take that back. Clos LaChance, situated in a magnificient mock-chateau in the hills above Gilroy, was particularly impressive. Just before I pulled into the drive, a brilliant orange Lamborghini (it said something like “SuperLeggario” on the side, though the body was the same as a Murcielago – I suspect that it was the lower-cost version. It still looked impressive enough, though) going the other way pulled in before me. Which brings me to a section that I would like to call:

“I Love Stereotypes”

The bright orange Lamborghini pulled into the parking lot. Eschewing all “normal” parking spots, the driver drove directly up to the front door and parked directly in front of the walkway – where any person who walked in or out of the building could not possibly notice his magnificent quarter-million-dollar orange hunk of Italian supercar. The driver of the car stepped out – a slightly balding, slightly gray-haired man in his fifties, wearing sunglasses. His passenger then stepped out – a tall, statuesque woman, easily half the driver’s age, with tanning-salon-perfect skin and wearing a brilliant red dress, holding what was very likely an extremely expensive designer purse. They both dallied by the car for a minute – the man checking the car to make sure that it’s appearance was just right, the woman checking her dress for the same purpose – and then walked into the building. It was the most perfect specimen of the Lamborghini owner that I have ever seen.

I’ve done enough wine tasting to get a sense for what to expect by looking at the outside of the winery, and Clos LaChance did not disappoint. Despite the massive size of the building, the winery had only five wines to offer – all of which were overpriced. To be fair, the wine was surprisingly high-quality; the vintner clearly knew his stuff. Their reserve Bordeaux-style meritage was excellent, and I would have bought a bottle in an instant – if they weren’t charging $50 for it. So it goes.

I finished off the day in a tiny little county park in the hills, Unas Canyon. Although I was a solid thirty miles away (“as the crow flies,” according to the park ranger) from the ongoing Santa Cruz forest fire, the sky was still an ominous charcoal gray – and looking up to the sky at night, I could see the moon glowing orange through the trees. Unas Canyon is home to some of the most adorable little waterfalls I have seen – and having seen Yosemite Falls (over 2,000’ tall, the highest in North America) just a few days before only served to make them seem smaller. The “falls” themselves ranged from three feet high to a staggering EIGHT FEET for the giant known as “Black Rock Falls.” I don’t mean to badmouth Unas Canyon – it was a beautiful little canyon, and the stream cascading down over the rocks was supremely peaceful. However, the trail map noted the points of almost a half-dozen of these “waterfalls,” and each one had a wooden trail sign proclaiming its name. As I first started up the trail, seeing the sign for “Basin Falls,” I looked up and saw a tiny stream dropping over a Lilliputian waterfall into a “basin” the size of a bathtub. The entire park was in miniature.

Waking up this morning, I saw a light dusting of snow on my tent and my car – which on closer inspection revealed itself to be ash from the Santa Cruz fire. A good reason to leave, in my opinion. It’s time to head north to places where forest fires are slightly less likely.

-deuce-