It’s day 2 of the solo part of the trip. I wanted, and tried, to write something yesterday but the simple truth is that by the time I’d set up the campercar and made a fajita, I just couldn’t be arsed, so today I’ll try to muster up a recap of Day 1 that isn’t tediously dull, and doesn’t read as a list of ‘this is what I did yesterday’ which is boring for me and of absolutely no interest to you.
DAY 1 – Saturday 20th October
Frame of mind.
So, the reason I’m actually here is because of work. I can’t remember whether I noted that in the first post and – being new to this platform – I’m not sure how to go back and look at the post without losing what I’ve just written. In any case, I’ve been in San Jose with some stonkingly great people and laughing so hard since I arrived, and up until yesterday, it still didn’t feel like at any point I was going to be on my own. I mean, I of course knew that the key part of a solo trip is BEING BY ONESELF, but in spite of that, I definitely hadn’t really thought about being totally friendless.
Yesterday was kind of OK because I was with Sue and Rob (legend colleagues) until 2.30pm, then had to shake off a hangover from the abyss, get to the rental place to pick up the passion wagon and negotiate my way out of San Francisco in it, preferably alive. Kind of like a compulsory distraction. I think this is partly the reason I got so pissed on Friday night. Not the wisest thing I’ve ever done, and the consequence of which had me thinking I’d defer the pick up of the passion wagon until Monday. Grade A start to a road trip, yeah?
The passion wagon: first impressions.
Dodge. One noun: two equally valid descriptors.
Have just tried to insert a photo here but aforementioned challenge of not knowing how to use this thing are denying you the visual treat you deserve. I shall seek to rectify this at my earliest convenience.
It’s a decent enough size which will hold its own against its brothers and sisters of the road, but it’s a bit crime scene inside with sellotape affixed to areas of the ceiling that I suspect should have an official fixture or fitting, and it’s sadly lacking in the following:
– decent sound system
– a handbrake
– a key fob that actually works
The lady who checked me in was really nice though and the bed is super cosy and comfortable. I also like that the have given my trusty stead a name: Oliver. Not my choice for name, but Oliver it is, so we’re just going to have to roll with it.
Anyway, after a couple of twizzes around the ghetto car park, it was time to bounce and get the hell out of San Francisco up to Wine Country.
Escape from (the bit of land next to) Alcatraz.
First off the bat, all feeling pretty good! Cruising along like a Knight of the Road, Palmero’s Love Songs Spotify playlist on. Feeling pretty smug that I seemed to be doing JUST FINE in spite of not having driven for a few years and am a nervous driver anyway.
Then the bubble burst. Excuse the expletive, but I have never been so fucking terrified as when the GPS sent me up at 50° incline street behind a tram which then stopped at traffic lights for what felt like ten minutes. It’s safe to say that hill starts are not my forte at the best of times, but couple this with the gradient at which I was paused and the realisation that Oliver did not appear to have a handbrake (we’ll overlook the fact that I’d been driving for 45mins before noticing this), I can confirm that I was absolutely shitting myself. My foot was pushing down the brake so hard, it was either going to snap off or my foot was going to become numb and not be able to press down any longer. Either way, certain death from rolling backwards seemed imminent.
Luckily, the ordeal did not result in the death of me or anyone else, but the next task was getting across the bridge and onto Route 101. Again, not a pleasant experience. Undertaking, overtaking, lane merges coming from all angles. Definitely blind luck that nothing happened.
In sum, I have absolutely no interest in driving anywhere in, near or around San Francisco ever again after I return Oliver in three weeks’ time.
Fun fact: ‘Bargain’ actually means MASSIVE RIP OFF in The America.
My destination was Thousand Trails RV Park up in Cloverdale, just past Healdsburg. At about 25miles away from the end point, dusk was fast approaching, as was my appetite. I hadn’t really wanted to drive in the dark, but the prospect of getting to the campsite with nothing to eat was so utterly miserable, I made a stop and hit up ‘Joe’s Bargains’.
I got some key provisions including bacon, a black pepper grinder, tuna, chocolate milk etc… no more than twenty individual items which would have – at a stretch – come to about £25 in Aldi.
$101. Terrifying.
I’m going to Costco tomorrow and genuinely hope it offers the same excellent value we admire and respect back at home, otherwise I’m going to be even more financially ruined than this trip has thus far made me.
A campercar is not an RV!
Who knew!
Arriving at the lodge at Thousand Trails, the park ranger asked me where my RV was. I was confused and pointed at Oliver. The park ranger then said, “you know that’s not an RV, right? We don’t let people sleep in their cars here.”
I must have looked really upset and worried because she just let me through and told me to pick a spot, any spot.
As soon as I started driving around the campsite, I understood what an actual RV is. It was like I was some cocky toddler rolling up to fight night realising I had absolutely no chance of throwing a punch. Totally embarrassing. This site is exclusively occupied by what can only be described as Professional Tourers. Some of the monsters here have a larger square meterage than most three bed semi-detached houses.
I eventually found a spot and set about making Oliver feel like the home he’s going to be for the next few weeks.
Purchase of the trip so far.
Fairy lights. £4 from Amazon, take 3 x AA batteries and glow like a charm. They have EIGHT settings, although as my primary source of light after 6.30pm, I’m currently keeping them on steady (option 7 of 8).
They are making Oliver look and feel both practical and attractive, and this whole experience would be less good without them.
When nature calls.
After a swift supper of a cold turkey fajita and a tin mug of Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc, it was time to get under the duvet and start to write about the day, but as aforementioned, I really, really couldn’t be arsed so I watched two episodes of Californication which I’d pre-downloaded on Netflix and just as I was about to fall asleep, I needed a wee.
It was at this point that I remembered my least favourite thing about camping. Having to get up, put your shoes and a coat on and going to the loo in the cold and darkness is the absolute pits. Worse than a cold shower, or a drive out of San Francisco even. To my chagrin, the toilet block I’d used earlier that evening was now locked and I had one of one option to choose from – a sneaky squat and go. Not the end of the world, but I really had hoped and still hope to retain a certain level of decorum during the trip so a night one al fresco wee wasn’t dreamy.
Sweet dreams.
Back into bed, and fully awake again so I dissed myself up another episode of Californication. I’ve NO IDEA how this diamond of a show has passed me by but I can confirm three things: 1) Hank Moody is well sexy, 2) I love Hank Moody and 3) I want to be with Hank Moody.
As I drift off to sleep, I reflect on a successful day 1 in that it did not result in death or tears, but as all becomes still and the distractions drift away, there’s a definite tinge of loneliness beginning to creep in.
Today’s highlights
- 2pm late check-out
- Uber driver asking me what language they speak in England.
- Gary Palmer’s “Palmero’s Love Songs” Spotify playlist
- Hank Moody
- First glimpse of Sonoma wine country from Route 101
Kershy Ten Bags 