From San Francisco to Humboldt Redwoods State Park (part 1)

San Francisco is a fine city, with lots of surprises, if you don't do any research before you arrive. It's still a city, like most other American cities. It has poor people, perhaps more than one might expect, especially if you're from a city that experiences the hibernation of winter. It has culture. It has way too much junk to buy. It has lots of cute little restaurants and cafes. It has a good deal of free wifi spots. It even has bars with good local beers and reasonable prices... But it's a city.

Prior to my arrival I was looking for ride shares on craigslist (cl), hoping to find an easy way to get to Eureka or Arcata (hippy towns north of SF). I managed to call one person, they were leaving well before I was... But they told me that if I got myself to Santa Rosa, about an hour north of SF, I could hitchhike up the 101 with relative ease. I had never hitchhiked before and I can't say that it even crossed my mind as a mode of transportation. I hardly see hitchhikers and I figured most drivers would scoff at this outmoded option. Up to that point in my life, I probably saw a handful of them and I only picked up two... Both left me a bit leery of the whole process (the last one was telling me about his rich brother, who did lighting for the WWF and how he was going to get hooked up with a job there, since he just finished a tweek bender and visiting his kids). On the other hand, it's a lovely way to meet people, provided they're not cracked, and it's also a fine way to minimize your footprint while getting to and fro. A dream was born.

My last night in SF found me out and about with M&Y, hanging out at an 80s themed house party. Tina was there, in drag, with a grotesquely spiked wig. The punch was spiked... The night was long. The hang over was miserable. I had intended to wake up bright and early the following morning, around 7am, and catch a bus to Santa Rosa. If you've never done something before and you refuse to learn from other people (aka doing research) you need to leave lots of time for error. Plus this whole hitchhiking thing seemed like it rose and set around the sun... The more daylight the better.

For the second time in a week I managed to get entirely too wasted on the eve of travel. For the second time in a week I awoke to find that I just missed my intended departing vehicle. For the second time in a week I was staring down the barrel of my fears and finding hesitation. Fortunately buses are much easier to negotiate with than planes.

Rookie mistake #1: No heavy drinking before you travel

I tried to convince myself to rush rush rush. Once the warmth of the shower met the clouds in my head I tuned out and enjoyed what I assumed would be the last shower I'd have for a while. Then to the business of repacking. I managed to leave about 20 pounds of extraneous crap with M&Y, but I had to find room for my dried fruit, nuts, brown rice, mung beans, ginger and other assorted goodies. I would guess that my pack weighs about 50 or 60 pounds, finding a sound balance of weight distribution is imperative... Assuming you'll be walking about with it.

Fantastical visions flitted about: Slogging along the freeway in my boots, pack strapped to my back. Walk walk walking along, listening for cars. As they advanced, turn 180 degrees, walking backwards, thumb out... So they could get a good look at me and perhaps pick up a harmless goof wandering the road.

Why would I walk and try to hitchhike? That's like asking why I hate waiting for connecting trains on the subway... Because I hate to feel like I'm wasting time or energy. Standing around or sitting around, waiting for something to come once is acceptable. But again and again? Why remain sedentary when I can continue getting closer to my destination. All that dawdling leaves me feeling as if my self-determination has been stripped from me... Senseless I know. Nonetheless, that feeling is amplified now that I'm tramping around trying to find my interests and self-determination. I'm certain it's under one of those rocks on the side of the road... I just have to kick the right one.

The problem with this vision is that it's illegal for anything not street legal to be on the freeway, which includes feet.

Off I went, in search of a bus to take me from here to there. In California (or maybe it's on SF?) you can call or lookup 511 and they'll help you plan your trip. The directions I copied down from the interwebs said go to 5th and "M"... Market was the street I spent the most time that began with an "M", consequently it was the first street that popped into my head. I walked to the south west corner... How is some fly by night Fung-Wah style bus line going to pick me up here? Will I simply pay the bus driver? Assumptions. But I've managed to lug my pack this far, I might as well wander around and see if any indicators stoke my dull aching head.

Three guys are joshing one another about women, "You can't even get it up for your old lady, what's it matter if you're hitched?" I wait for a lull in the conversation, staring at the one ribbing... He apologizes for their ribald conversation and tells me that the bus I seek can be found on Mission and 5th or at the bus terminal on 1st. Stupid memory jumping to conclusions. I walk over to Mission, there's still nothing that strikes me as a place where one can catch a bus out of the city. I hike up to the central terminal and find Grey Hound. It'll be $20 and I'll have to wait for four hours. Thankfully someone told me I could catch a Golden Gate Transit bus across the street, which should arrive in about 10 minutes. When I found the bus stop I also discovered a public transportation novelty, a county bus line... It wasn't state run, it wasn't a group unique to the municipality and it wasn't some fly by night line that was cheap, unsafe and largely unaccountable. That's why I couldn't find the right stop on the south west corner of Mission and 5th... C'est la vie.

The first leg of the trip is largely uneventful. We pull into a central station and drivers change, our new driver is Joe Friday with giant wheel. He gets on, exchanges pleasantries with the old driver and then asks some under 60 passenger to vacate the seat reserved for older folks. Two stops later someone trying to board, using only their transfer. He gets up, walks over to her seat and advises her that she owes fare still.

"Oh? How much is the fare?" 2 bucks.
"Since when? It wasn't two dollars the last time I was on the bus."
"Ma'am, it's been two dollars for many years."

At yet another stop, some loud mouth's been carrying on, apparently he thought he was still in his living room. The driver again walked over to the man and insisted that he keep it down... By the book this guy is. I don't think I've ever seen a bus driver so well spoken, direct and concerned with the general state of his charge.

Eventually the bus filled up and I had an interesting conversation with a guy who is on call 24-7, caring for a ninety-someodd year old man, $100 a day. He works constantly. He sends money back to Mexico. He and his wife have it tough, but he's happy, he's smiling. So not American.

Finally in Santa Rosa, I have a vague idea of where the 101 is. Totally wet behind the ears, I have no other vision of hitchhiking but walking the freeway and thumbing. I walk up the on ramp of this proper freeway, three lanes on each side with a ditch median in the middle. The 101, at this point, isn't the Old Redwood Highway, cars zip by at around 70... I walk the shoulder, hugging the rail guard, which happens to run into the off ramp about a half mile up the road. I am faced with decision, do I cross the road and continue this insanity or do I follow the off ramp and devise a new plan? These people are traveling entirely too fast to notice or care about someone looking for a ride on the side of the road, so I get off.

I managed to find a bus going to the Old Redwood Highway. The driver says I can get off at this stop and be right next to the on ramp for Old Redwood, but I'd be better off with a sign. For that I could go a few more stops, to the Safeway, and make myself a sign. I opt for the opportunity to get a marker, then I pilfer some cardboard from their recycling bin out back. Back at the on ramp, I've been sitting with my sign for 5 minutes when a bus going 30 miles north, to Cloverdale arrives. Two more dollars and I can get 30 miles up, seems like a bargain, right?

Rookie mistake #2: Know your destination

One hour later and I'm in Cloverdale, it's 4pm and I still haven't really done any hitching. I pick up some food at Pick's, they've apparently been voted as having the best Bacon Cheeseburger in the county! But this is a podunk town without much traffic running through it, except for gasser uppers and locals. My walk down Main St to an on ramp didn't turn up and rides but I did manage to have my first run in with the cops. She was a peach, advising me that I wouldn't have much luck where I was. She asked me why I was trying to hide my intentions from her (hitching) and whether or not I had anything illegal on me? Not a thing. Promise? Chuckling yes. I really didn't, unless a flask of whiskey is considered an open container... I suppose it would be, but it's negligible, she was asking about the really illegal stuff.

Two exits south, she dropped me off where others had better luck getting rides. There was a gas station for folks to refuel at. I stood for two hours some people smiled, others shrugged and still others pointed in the opposite direction. It was about 8:30pm now and I missed my first day of reserved camping. I decided to try my luck, walking down the freeway again. Not more than thirty feet off the on ramp California Highway Patrol (CHP, don't you remember CHiPs?) rolled up. He told me to return to my perch. I asked for a ride to the next exit, since this one was a stinker. He said he couldn't, he had another call and had to remove a bale of hay from the freeway... One horse podunk BFE. So much for self-determination.