Day 3 - Willow Creek to Willits

Our preparations for rain turned out to be in vain, we only got wet while riding around on our scenic route the previous evening.  Jostled awake the next morning with a spiteful gurgle from Gonzalez, I was thankful that we were camped close to the pit toilets.

We had our coffee and broke camp at a leisurely pace.  It wasn't until we got back on the road that I grasped just how badly we'd messed up.  Not only had we been spit out back on 299, we were farther in the wrong direction on 299.  We had Arcata slotted as our next waypoint, and that meant we had to go back through Willow Creek.  We did not stop at Gonzalez.

Someone on the forums had stated that 299 wasn't a great motorcycle road.  I suppose that's because it had relatively steady traffic, a lot of it being logging trucks, but by and large it wasn't a bad ride.  There were enough turns to keep it interesting and some nice Northern California scenery along the way.  Much better than being on the interstate.

We made it into Arcata in about an hour and took the exit to the city center.  It was Saturday, and happened to be the day of a farmer's market.  Aracata's town center is set up kind of like a college quad, with a big square of grass in the middle of the downtown businesses.  We parked our bikes and ambled about, looking for something to eat.  The farmer's market was hopping, with all sorts of people milling about.  Most of them were pretty hippiefied, and a lot of them were quite attractive ladies.  That is, if you like hippie chicks (which I do).  We felt a bit greasy and scuzzy, but didn't feel like we were terribly out of place.  A good portion of the folks there looked like they spent a good amount of time living outdoors.  Off the grid.  Under the radar...if you know what I mean. Ahem.

We found a place that looked like it was halfway decent and wasn't overwhelmingly crowded, Luke's Joint.  It was a small cafe and we figured we'd just get some sort of breakfast grub.  The girl who was running the counter was friendly and brought us some menus and coffee.  As I looked over the menu, I couldn't help but notice that they had pulled pork barbecue as one of their specialties.  Not only did they have barbecue, but they also offered it in Carolina style.  Not the mustard based South Carolina style, or the tomato based Western North Carolina, but the vinegar based Eastern North Carolina style.  Now I grew up in North Carolina, and the vinegar style, in my opinion, is the best way to enjoy pulled pork.  Seattle, by and large has really good food, but one area where it's lacking is barbecue, and what there is, is not the style I crave.  So seeing that it was an option here, I really had no choice but to order it.  When I told Chuck that I had to order the barbecue, he confessed that he was thinking the same thing.

Mine was called "The Spicy Redneck"

I think this was the "Average Joe," Memphis style

We ended up being served half a pig each, on top of a piece of toast.  It was pretty damn grubbin'.  If I'm honest, it was no competitor to the real deal, but it was still delicious and it definitely hit the spot.

We left Arcata headed for Ferndale.  We got on Hwy 101 which took us through the middle of Eureka.  Eureka always sounds like a cool and exotic frontier town, but the part we saw didn't live up to it's implication.  It was dirty and industrial, and not altogether pleasant.  It didn't help that the sunshine we'd had in Arcata had disappeared and it got gray and downright chilly.  I actually turned my grip heaters on, and enjoyed it.

We made it into Ferndale in not much time and had been planning to get gas, but we didn't see any gas stations on our cruise through town.  What little we saw of Ferndale looked pretty cool though, lots of old Victorian architecture.  I'd been through the town once before many years ago and thought that it looked like a perfect postcard town, and still think that's an accurate assessment.  We were only passing through though, to connect to Mattole Rd., which would take us out to the coast.

We found the road easily enough, and it was immediately twisty and narrow.  Normally that would be enticing, but the condition of the road was deplorable.  Riding over it was like a Whitman's Sampler of asphalt, most of it past it's expiration date.  The scenery was great, from what we could glimpse, but it was only glimpses, as we had to keep our eyes focused on the road.

Taking a quick break on the ascent up Mattole Rd. 

A glimpse of Ferndale, or at least the valley it's nestled in

The ocean in the distance

Out of the hills and down to the coast

The road spit us out at what is the westernmost point in the contiguous US.  We passed by a few ranches along the way and pondered what it would be like to live on one of them.  Everything is so isolated out in this area, and moves at a slower pace.  Not necessarily a bad way to be.

That big rock outcropping designates the westernmost point

The road would lead us up into the hills again, into through the town of Petrolia.  Petrolia gets its name from having the first oil well in California, though today it's name is more applicable to the fact that it's the only place around for miles that has gas for sale.  There was a general store and a post office in Petrolia, and not much else.  We stopped briefly, wondering if we should get gas, but there was just one pump and people already lined up at it, so we decided to press on.  We had another 50-60 miles in our tanks, surely that would be enough, right?

The road continued to be twisty and in less than ideal condition.  Eventually though, the road flattened out and before we knew it, we were in the redwoods.

A cool bridge along the way

It would have been nice to get off and spend some more time in the grove, but we'd been riding for a while and gas was starting to become a concern.  In fact, it wasn't long in the shade of the redwoods that our gas lights came on.  Still, one of the things I wanted to make a point to see in California was redwoods, and these did not disappoint.  We have some beautiful forests in the Pacific Northwest, but the redwoods are a unique and incomparable beauty.   We at least made sure to ride slow through them.

We made it to the junction for Hwy 101, if we went straight we would have hit the Avenue of Giants.  We were getting concerned about the amount of gas we had though, so made the tough decision to get on the highway and stop at first gas station we could find.  We stopped at the first town along the way, Weott, and they had exactly nothin'.  With no other choice, we got back on the highway and tried to cruise in the most efficient manner possible.  Chuck's bike must be geared higher than mine, because 57 mph seemed to be the sweet spot in terms of efficiency for me.  Before long, Chuck was gone in the distance.  I stopped at the next town along the way, which was another bust for gas, and there was no sign of Chuck.  I figured he would be at the next gas station, wherever that may be, and if not, we'd reconnect somehow.

As luck would have it, the next town advertised gas as one of its services, and I took the exit.  I was glad to see a blue Yamaha parked by the side of the road and Chuck ambling out from underneath a tree.  I kept riding onward, chasing the scent of fumes.  We reached the town of Miranda, which had one gas station with two pumps.  Perfect.  We gassed up and took a break, trying to figure out where to go for the night.

I knew that Willits wasn't too far away, an hour or two, and there was a KOA.  Normally, neither of us would have anything to do with a KOA unless it was a last resort.  This one, however, had a disc golf course, so we figured it was at least worth taking a look at.

We made it into Willits with a short break in Laytonville.  We went to the Safeway and got some supplies for the evening and found out we were only a few miles away from the KOA.  We made our way out there, but started doubting our option as soon as we pulled into the parking lot.  The place was bustling.  Not only did they offer disc golf, but also a swimming pool, hot tub/sauna, mini golf, a waterpark, fishing pond, even a petting zoo.  It was probably a great destination for someone with kids an an RV, but it was not what we were after.  When we saw that they wanted $42 for a tent site, that was the nail in the coffin and we got the hell out of there.

We struck out on Hwy 20, not sure of what we might find, but kept our fingers crossed hoping that something would present itself.  Hwy 20 turned out to be one of the best stretches of road we'd ridden yet.  It was plenty curvy, with minimal traffic and nice smooth asphalt.  Chuck was taking it faster than I was, we were headed westward so the sun was getting into my eyes, and it was also the time when deer would start to come out.

About halfway to the coast, we abruptly saw a sign for a campground and we slammed on the brakes.  It was a small state park campground, only 6 or 7 sites, one of which was occupied.  Each site was huge, and it was in the redwoods next to a stream.  And it was only $15 per night.  Perfect.  We picked a site and set up camp.  Foraging for firewood was allowed here, and after a hunting trek across the road, we came back with a few stout dead redwood branches.

They might block out the stars, but I love being under the redwood canopy

There's a stream back there somewhere

We had hobo burritos for dinner, tri tip and salsa cooked in foil on the coals, mesquite baked beans and roasted peppers wrapped up in tortillas.  It was a little overcooked but grubbin' nonetheless.  We had a 6 pack of some strong Lagunitas ale and eventually went to bed around 11:30 or midnight.