Really, I’m nuts. What I thought was a four hour trip to
Santa Cruz has morphed into 6 1/2. But it’s 2 pm on a
most gorgeous day, and I’m perched atop the Davenport
cliffs where good friends and I greeted the first morning of the
new millenium only months ago. I’m beginning to see just
how wonderful that trip was.

If I hadn’t come here then, I wouldn’t have found my way
back now. I am grateful to know such beauty.

None of the weather we had in January comes close to this
day, I have decided to remain in the north until dark. Leaving
from San Francisco means only five hours on the road, cutting
nearly two hours off the trip.

Of course, the first stop was Mountain Roasting, in Felton, for
Rocket Fuel. My six pound order raises a few eyebrows. I sip
my coffee and get miserably lost in the Santa Cruz Mountains,
going full circle back to Felton before getting into Davenport.

The Whaler is crowded, but the cliffs are silent, save strong
winds and crashing waves. All 350 miles worth it.

--

It is very possible that as of right now, everything else will seem
of little importance – for where in this beautiful country can be
found such an ideal spot as this? I sit atop Hawk Hill, highest in
the Marin Headlands. It is two hours before dusk, and the sun
sweeps across the bay, one can see all the way past San Jose
and back into the Santa Cruz Mountains, from which I’ve just
emerged.

Pacific Avenue in Santa Cruz was in full swing, a beautiful day
for walking downtown. It’s a slow ride over the summit, and into
that valley made of Silicon. Little interests me driving through,
although I make a mental note of downtown Palo Alto, University
Avenue, which seems to have enough going on to merit a return
visit at some point. Above all, there is Torrefazione, their extra
strong blend fuels a tedious ride up the 101 and back into the city
by the bay, which in my opinion, does not necessarily also entail
it being the city that rocks.

I now resolve to return to California at least once a year, until I
can buy property and can live here. It’s just as beautiful here as
in Santa Cruz, even a little cooler, in the 50’s high up here
in the hills. San Francisco is as picturesque as always, just as
I left it, but less than exciting.

If you want to live in a picture postcard, you wouldn’t be living in
Brooklyn then, would you, I think to myself. San Franciscans
are an odd sort, I always have wonder what it is they do to keep
themselves entertained, besides copious amounts of animal sex,
if we're to believe the myths. Does the average resident wake
up, marvel, "My, isn’t our weather beautiful, and our architecture
stunning?", and then continue on through their day? To me,
having covered every square inch north of the airport for the most
part, I still for the life of me cannot find what it is that brings this
city to life. Truly to life.

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