More than a City
Know the best way to fall in love again with your locale? Host a visitor, preferably someone close to you, like a brother, and see California through his eyes.
Sean and I conspired this trip rather late, about a month before his arrival. Our dad had died in early March and we simultaneously felt the need for some bonding time. His first inquiry about San Francisco was: Should I dress up? - at which point I nearly spit out my organic granola. Formal culture is for the East Coast, I admonished him, while the West Coast rules all that is casual. Still I can't envision my bro going sloppy, even with the decision to dress down. "Just come as you are," I said, knowing his inherent preppy and dapper style would be a refreshing additive to the street-mix and likely attract some looky-loos.
Sean's First Morning at Alamo Square
One of my dear friends and dog-walking clients allowed us to stay at her SOMA pad while she herself was away on vacation. SOMA or South of Market is the grid-like, post-industrial neighborhood of San Francisco where large fabric stores and nightclubs rub elbows with new tech start-ups and coffee houses. We were to have a strict gastronomical tour of the various world regions found within our little nugget of a city. Within seven square miles, you can find any dish at middle-class prices, be it German, Thai, Burmese or Mayan.
The best laid plans, however, often go awry and I ditched the culinary itinerary so that Sean could catch the sites. ("Dude, when can we see the bridge?" was his constant refrain.) We did enjoy a hearty soul-food breakfast at Brenda's Meat and Three which sits at Divisadero and McAllister. Mauricio joined us as it was his birthday brunch. Brenda's has great dinner comfort food like mac 'n' cheese and meatloaf and their breakfast foods are also off-the-hook.
For calorie-burning, we took our bikes on a foray into Golden Gate Park from Hayes Valley. Sean had rented his from CityWide Bike Rentals, a place with impeccable customer service, handy maps and cheap prices. With my local's discount, we only paid $12 for two hours.
The only prisoners left are folks who frown.
Getting to Alcatraz was another failure of short-sighted planning. Evidently you needed to book a ferry to "The Rock" six weeks in advance and I doubted that Sean was going to be around again on the first available date of August 11th. In a whim of spontaneity, we took a ferry from Pier 41 to Sausalito. On board we could see the Golden Gate Bridge in all its majesty as well as "The Rock" in all its storied doom. Sausalito, the little seaside village in Marin County, looked straight out of a postcard from the Italian Riviera. Once we landed, we strolled to The Trident where we enjoyed a beer at waterfront seating.
View from Campground at Albee Creek
in Redwoods State Park
Roadside Dining
But the real impetus for our trip together was to escape the city entirely and to go camping, for California is more than a city. In college, I had come to know the California wilderness through two consecutive spring breaks of camping up-and-down the Golden State. Even in the month of March, California was still noticeably warmer than drizzly, clammy Washington State where I had attended school. My friends and I hit parts of the Redwood Empire, the Eastern Sierras, all the way down to Death Valley. Our crew in '98 and '99 was young, poor, hedonistic and dirty. My brother and I? Older, financially-okay, still hedonistic and about-to-get-dirty.
"Dude, hook up the grub."
For gear, I collected items from Costco, Amazon and a small, local chain store called Sports Basement. For tents and sleeping bags, I stuck with the industry-standard-bearer of Coleman and I couldn't be happier with their products; with two people, the easy-peasy tents took minutes to set up. I even purchased a Coleman gas tank after a dear friend lent me his stove.
For destinations, I took a chance and made a reservation at Abalone Campground at Patrick's Point State Park in the town of Trinidad about 25 miles north of Arcata. Sitting right on the coast, we risked zero visibility as coastal Californian summers are known to be exceedingly foggy (the best time to camp along the coast would be the spring and fall). For the other two nights, I booked a spot at Albee Creek Campground at Humboldt Redwoods State Park about 50 miles south of Arcata. Both spots were stunning in their beauty but with different terrain.
At Patrick's Point, you hike through a mostly spruce forest to coastal, rocky, cliffside trails where you can spot and hear sea lions and harbor seals making a splash a hundred feet below you. At a nearby park, we spied Roosevelt Elk trying to camouflage their summer antlers in the tall, parched grass. Humboldt Redwoods State Park is where we witnessed deer and wild turkey up close but it was the quiet majesty of the Redwoods themselves that left a lingering impression. Camping their mid-week in the summer, you were unlikely to see other people on the park's trails for 30 minutes at a time (although the camp itself was quite full and boisterous with families). The arrangement of camp sites at the Redwoods' Albee Creek felt squishy; Abalone Campground at Patrick's Point did offer a bit more privacy.
"You're coming with me, kid!"
In this historic drought lasting four years, Murphy rained down his law upon us at both camps. One night it got so wet that I kidnapped Sean and took him to the Avenue Cafe in Miranda, California where we met a baby-boomer couple from Massachusetts visiting California for a meditation retreat. The moisture didn't leave us bitter in any way but it's certainly okay to cheat when you are car camping, heading to the nearest diner for milkshakes and club sandwiches at the first hint of darkened skies.
Chef Sean delivers again.
Gourmet On-Demand
"Sean, did you invite a friend
I'm not going to lie; for the 90% of bonding there was a solid 10% of fighting (and memory has a way of being generous). I had to accede to masculine quiet time in the car where I would've preferred a little bit more conversation. In exchange Sean had to listen to my Spotify mixes that I had so meticulously designed for the road trip. As my Honda Element lolloped north up the 101, we took advantage of the various breweries and tap houses like the Hopland Tap House and the Redwood Curtain Brewery Company, the latter a hyper-local brewhouse that only serves to nearby restaurants and to folks who make the pilgrimage to their backroads Eureka plant. I had the Dry Irish Stout and Sean the Belgian Porter. Is there any wonder he was so smiley during his trip?
Darker brews befit cooler weather.
Hanging out in his natural habitat...
Camping gives you a chance to access a different time-and-space and you get to bear witness to your own (and others') peccadilloes up close. For instance, why did I insist on bringing 2 full jars of honey? And was I really going to make gourmet pasta in those tiny pots? Sean-O, in his suburban lethargy, forgot that there might be some hiking involved in the great outdoors and had trouble catching his breath.
When the six days had come to close, we could not have been happier with our successful mission. Dad, to the best of my memory, never took us camping but did allow me and my middle-school friends to tent out in my backyard. I remember one time to used our flood light to cast a shadow of him holding a steak knife right smack in the middle of telling ghost stories. It scared the bejesus out of us but nothing satisfied Dennis like the well-designed prank. On this trip, Sean and I had to forge ahead with our own memories and utilize our own capabilities and yet somehow the tents still got set up, the fire built and ignited and the food cooked and consumed. What went missing was my dad's banter from one of the lawn chairs, where he would have sat with his mug in hand, just close enough to the fire's edge to stay warm.
Sean and I conspired this trip rather late, about a month before his arrival. Our dad had died in early March and we simultaneously felt the need for some bonding time. His first inquiry about San Francisco was: Should I dress up? - at which point I nearly spit out my organic granola. Formal culture is for the East Coast, I admonished him, while the West Coast rules all that is casual. Still I can't envision my bro going sloppy, even with the decision to dress down. "Just come as you are," I said, knowing his inherent preppy and dapper style would be a refreshing additive to the street-mix and likely attract some looky-loos.
Sean's First Morning at Alamo SquareOne of my dear friends and dog-walking clients allowed us to stay at her SOMA pad while she herself was away on vacation. SOMA or South of Market is the grid-like, post-industrial neighborhood of San Francisco where large fabric stores and nightclubs rub elbows with new tech start-ups and coffee houses. We were to have a strict gastronomical tour of the various world regions found within our little nugget of a city. Within seven square miles, you can find any dish at middle-class prices, be it German, Thai, Burmese or Mayan.
The best laid plans, however, often go awry and I ditched the culinary itinerary so that Sean could catch the sites. ("Dude, when can we see the bridge?" was his constant refrain.) We did enjoy a hearty soul-food breakfast at Brenda's Meat and Three which sits at Divisadero and McAllister. Mauricio joined us as it was his birthday brunch. Brenda's has great dinner comfort food like mac 'n' cheese and meatloaf and their breakfast foods are also off-the-hook.
For calorie-burning, we took our bikes on a foray into Golden Gate Park from Hayes Valley. Sean had rented his from CityWide Bike Rentals, a place with impeccable customer service, handy maps and cheap prices. With my local's discount, we only paid $12 for two hours.
The only prisoners left are folks who frown.Getting to Alcatraz was another failure of short-sighted planning. Evidently you needed to book a ferry to "The Rock" six weeks in advance and I doubted that Sean was going to be around again on the first available date of August 11th. In a whim of spontaneity, we took a ferry from Pier 41 to Sausalito. On board we could see the Golden Gate Bridge in all its majesty as well as "The Rock" in all its storied doom. Sausalito, the little seaside village in Marin County, looked straight out of a postcard from the Italian Riviera. Once we landed, we strolled to The Trident where we enjoyed a beer at waterfront seating.
View from Campground at Albee Creekin Redwoods State Park
Roadside DiningBut the real impetus for our trip together was to escape the city entirely and to go camping, for California is more than a city. In college, I had come to know the California wilderness through two consecutive spring breaks of camping up-and-down the Golden State. Even in the month of March, California was still noticeably warmer than drizzly, clammy Washington State where I had attended school. My friends and I hit parts of the Redwood Empire, the Eastern Sierras, all the way down to Death Valley. Our crew in '98 and '99 was young, poor, hedonistic and dirty. My brother and I? Older, financially-okay, still hedonistic and about-to-get-dirty.
"Dude, hook up the grub."
For gear, I collected items from Costco, Amazon and a small, local chain store called Sports Basement. For tents and sleeping bags, I stuck with the industry-standard-bearer of Coleman and I couldn't be happier with their products; with two people, the easy-peasy tents took minutes to set up. I even purchased a Coleman gas tank after a dear friend lent me his stove.
For destinations, I took a chance and made a reservation at Abalone Campground at Patrick's Point State Park in the town of Trinidad about 25 miles north of Arcata. Sitting right on the coast, we risked zero visibility as coastal Californian summers are known to be exceedingly foggy (the best time to camp along the coast would be the spring and fall). For the other two nights, I booked a spot at Albee Creek Campground at Humboldt Redwoods State Park about 50 miles south of Arcata. Both spots were stunning in their beauty but with different terrain.
At Patrick's Point, you hike through a mostly spruce forest to coastal, rocky, cliffside trails where you can spot and hear sea lions and harbor seals making a splash a hundred feet below you. At a nearby park, we spied Roosevelt Elk trying to camouflage their summer antlers in the tall, parched grass. Humboldt Redwoods State Park is where we witnessed deer and wild turkey up close but it was the quiet majesty of the Redwoods themselves that left a lingering impression. Camping their mid-week in the summer, you were unlikely to see other people on the park's trails for 30 minutes at a time (although the camp itself was quite full and boisterous with families). The arrangement of camp sites at the Redwoods' Albee Creek felt squishy; Abalone Campground at Patrick's Point did offer a bit more privacy.
"You're coming with me, kid!"In this historic drought lasting four years, Murphy rained down his law upon us at both camps. One night it got so wet that I kidnapped Sean and took him to the Avenue Cafe in Miranda, California where we met a baby-boomer couple from Massachusetts visiting California for a meditation retreat. The moisture didn't leave us bitter in any way but it's certainly okay to cheat when you are car camping, heading to the nearest diner for milkshakes and club sandwiches at the first hint of darkened skies.
Chef Sean delivers again.
Gourmet On-Demand
"Sean, did you invite a friend
for lunch?"
I'm not going to lie; for the 90% of bonding there was a solid 10% of fighting (and memory has a way of being generous). I had to accede to masculine quiet time in the car where I would've preferred a little bit more conversation. In exchange Sean had to listen to my Spotify mixes that I had so meticulously designed for the road trip. As my Honda Element lolloped north up the 101, we took advantage of the various breweries and tap houses like the Hopland Tap House and the Redwood Curtain Brewery Company, the latter a hyper-local brewhouse that only serves to nearby restaurants and to folks who make the pilgrimage to their backroads Eureka plant. I had the Dry Irish Stout and Sean the Belgian Porter. Is there any wonder he was so smiley during his trip?
Darker brews befit cooler weather.
Hanging out in his natural habitat...Camping gives you a chance to access a different time-and-space and you get to bear witness to your own (and others') peccadilloes up close. For instance, why did I insist on bringing 2 full jars of honey? And was I really going to make gourmet pasta in those tiny pots? Sean-O, in his suburban lethargy, forgot that there might be some hiking involved in the great outdoors and had trouble catching his breath.
When the six days had come to close, we could not have been happier with our successful mission. Dad, to the best of my memory, never took us camping but did allow me and my middle-school friends to tent out in my backyard. I remember one time to used our flood light to cast a shadow of him holding a steak knife right smack in the middle of telling ghost stories. It scared the bejesus out of us but nothing satisfied Dennis like the well-designed prank. On this trip, Sean and I had to forge ahead with our own memories and utilize our own capabilities and yet somehow the tents still got set up, the fire built and ignited and the food cooked and consumed. What went missing was my dad's banter from one of the lawn chairs, where he would have sat with his mug in hand, just close enough to the fire's edge to stay warm.
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