Raven's Roads
Living an interesting life: the travels and musings
of motorcycling author Linda R. Moore

Jul 30, 2004

Part 8: Santa Cruz and Monterey

28-30 July 2004

Wednesday 28 July 2004

My biggest landmark-hunt to date started with an email. Jan, in Australia emailed my friend Kate and me: “I’m coming to California! Want to meet?” Of course we did! Jan was coming up from Atascadero, Kate down from Washington state, and I was in Silicon Valley. We settled on Monterey, the place where Kate and I had first met, as a good in-between point. The fact that this was rich landmark territory might have had something to do with it, too.

I arranged to ride to Santa Cruz with Barb. With a box of books and some walking boots strapped to the rear seat, not to mention seriously stuffed saddlebags, we cut across country to highway 17. After a brief zoom up the steep freeway, we took a heart-stoppingly tight u-turn exit and then turned onto Old Santa Cruz Highway. At Barb’s request I took the lead there, thoroughly enjoying zipping along the pretty, twisty little road. It was bright, but not really bright enough for sunglasses, especially once we really got in amongst the redwoods and eucalyptus trees. One of the eucalypts shed leaves all over me, as if it were lying in wait for me. The smells were rich and luscious and I rode with a grin on my face. My recent trip to San Francisco had done my confidence a world of good, and I enjoyed the challenge of this curvacious, pretty, three-dimensional road.

After a break at the Summit Store, we headed down some more pretty twisties to Soquel. We rose up over the mist, then back down into it. We got separated on Highway 1, and more by luck than skill we ended up at the correct exit, a.k.a. the fishhook, which is like riding down an “@” sign. They really mean it when they post the decreasing speed limits, and now I understand what “decreasing radius turn” means. We arrived, Barb had a snack and left, and I settled in and prepared for some exploration.

I took a steep walkway down from the cliff, and headed into downtown, walking right the way up Pacific Avenue until it bumped into Mission. Downtown Santa Cruz was a different experience on a weekday; I had only ever been here at the weekend, and there was more evidence of this area’s regular residents: that is to say, there were more homeless people and outright stoners than there were tourists. It was more colorful, but I felt much more like a stranger: not unwelcome, but not particularly welcome, either.

Figuring that the mission was probably on Mission, I headed up its steep hill. The embankment was full of intriguing-looking little sets of stairs, all gated off so I couldn’t explore. Humph!

By the time I reached the top of the hill my breath had been left far behind, so I sat in the little park up there until my it caught up with the rest of me. I slipped a book onto the bench, then fulfilled my duty to the marker. Mission Santa Cruz is the twelfth California mission, and it fell down in an earthquake about 150 years ago.

Santa Cruz Mission Original Building One original building was left, a lovely old adobe, but it was open “Thursday through Sunday.” Uh-huh: my museum karma was in full working order. Today was Wednesday, and my next few days were full. So I didn’t get to explore it, but I did stand and look down on the city and listened as ghostly music floated up from somewhere below. It seemed somehow perfect for my mood–a little wistful, a little lonely.

I sat in the park again and enjoyed the trees, and a nice break, and then checked out some old-looking houses which, lo and behold, had City of Santa Cruz historical plaques on them. The plaques were hard to read and many of them were on private residences, so I didn’t poke my nose in too far. Across the street was a wildcard marker showing the original site of a church, and then suddenly I realized that I’d had enough and headed on down the hill. My breath kept up with me this time.

I walked through the town until I found the library, where a nice lady sold me an internet pass and I used it up in one swell foop. She also gave me a stack of local history books, where I read about Mountain Charlie and the founding of Santa Cruz.

Thursday July 29

I set out at about ten before nine. It was foggy and I wondered if I would have to deal with that the entire way. I was allowing two hours to get down to Monterey; it was only about forty miles, but my fun and games back in March haunted me, and I knew to take extra time. I picked up the third and final Santa Cruz state landmark along the way–the heart of the Branciforte estate, first settlement in the area, now stands in the grounds of a monolithic-looking school.

The ride down seemed very long, both because it was my first time and because I was cold and it was windy. That stretch of Highway One was mostly a freeway, though I did have entirely too much fun with the straight plunges down steep hills and up even steeper ones. They look as daunting as a rollercoaster, and are every bit as exhilarating.

After Salinas the road becomes two-lane and slower for a while as it passed through farmlands. I saw people bent double working in the fields I passed, and thought about “The Grapes Of Wrath,” even though I’ve never read it. My inner guilt gremlin tells me that I should, but…”so many books, so little time.”

Then I passed the wetlands of Alcorn Slough, and Moss Landing where I was reminded of my first visit to California: on the way to meet one of my penfriends in Carmel, Don and I stopped here to have lunch. I had mahi-mahi and chips because I’d never heard of mahi-mahi and I was enjoying eating lots of food I’d never heard of before. It sounded exotic, but tasted not unlike cod.

It was a cold windy ride down there, and I thought it would never end, but when I arrived in Monterey the sun came out! I parked up at Fisherman’s Wharf and waited for my friends to show up. About 11:15 we had our reunion. I hadn’t seen Kate and Steve for years, and it was very comfortable–a renewing of old friendships. Then I got to meet Jan from Australia, and her friend Mark whom she was visiting, and that was comfortable, too.

We took a stroll down the wharf; Kate and I tried to explain landmark-hunting to Jan and Mark since they were a little bemused by our frequent cries of “Wildcard!” (an unexpected historical plaque, such as the one dedicated to squid fishing just above). We had lunch on the wharf: clam chowder and good conversation. By now the fog had burned off and it was pleasant–too pleasant, as Steve and I both ended up lobster-colored while shopping in and out of the little boutiques for souvenirs and postcards.

All shopped out, we headed up the coast to the pretty town of Pacific Grove. We looked for sea otters in various “known spots,” along with a great many other people all doing the same. On our second attempt we found one or two, distinguishable from clumps of kale only when they turned upside down and started clomping their shellfish catch on the rock they carry with them. They are tool-using otters.

They were quite far away and we only had a glimpse, but see them we did, my first ever otters. Sea lions basked on the rocks; trying to get comfortable, one huge beast was flopping around on his personal small rock. He looked like a see-saw.

We had come here for sea creatures, but Jan was fascinated by the squirrels that were playing on the beach; there are no squirrels in Australia. They had no fear, coming right up to us to look at us. “Do not feed the squirrels” signs dotted the area.

We headed back to Monterey the long way round, detouring so that Steve and Kate could show off some of the best of their former stomping grounds. They showed me a couple of landmarks, and a cemetery full of deer, and then we returned to play in the Dennis the Menace playground and make train noises through the giant pipes.

State Landmarks in Monterey

Not shown: Vasquez House, House of the Four Winds

Friday July 30

When I set out at nine, it was even foggier than yesterday–not so much that I couldn’t see, but enough that I was damp and had to keep wiping the drops from my visor. Now a veteran of the commute, I was much warmer and happier on this journey.

I met up with my friends. Steve would drop us at the official “start” of the walking tour, saving us a long drag up a steep hill. As we attended the first of a great many landmarks, a charming little library painted bright red, a cat came up and fluffed at us until we petted it.

Monterey’s history walk is very lengthy, marked by little blobs that you follow on the sidewalk, and crammed with historic sites, museums and markers. There is way too much to do in one day and I already knew, setting out, that I would need to return to explore some of the sites in more depth. My pack full of books lightened, one volume at a time, whenever we came across a state landmark. There were fourteen in Monterey and we arranged things so we’d hit lots early on before we ran out of steam. In the end, though, it was I who ran out of steam.

I fell in love with the numerous little walled gardens, often with mature trees and bright flowers. The old theatre was very interesting, smelling of wood and age, and truly evoked a simpler time. Kate had been involved in theatre down here, and this had been an occasional venue. The Whaling House had a quite unique feature: a sidewalk made out of whale bone, perhaps the only one in the USA.

The tour was both charming and overwhelming. We headed down Alvarado and round a bit before spotting the Mucky Duck pub. There could be no other possible venue for lunch. I had a ploughman’s lunch, very tasty, with odd green cheese and pickled onions that were just a bit too pickly, but they did fairly well at emulating a “real” ploughman’s.

Afterwards, Steve dropped us in a veritable thicket of historic sites, allowing us to skip some walking. I ran completely out of steam in the Friendly Plaza and was thus outdone. We called for rescue: Steve picked us up and he drove us past the three remaining California landmarks. So I did see all fourteen, even though my pictures left something to be desired, and released books at, or in honour of them all save the one that I forgot. I did the deed later. We exchanged congratulatory hugs, but then had to part company.

When I got home, happy but aching, I went through my 130-plus photos and did a preliminary count. I had found around 45 landmarks, including fourteen state ones, and it doesn’t really get better than that.

Miles for the trip: about 265, give or take, including getting there and returning.