I love driving in California…most of it anyway. If you don’t like the terrain, drive a half hour and it will change. We started out driving the freeway through the rice fields, some still green, some brown with piles of brush burning in the distance, some full of water waiting for the green to pop up. For almost an hour is was almond trees. Some young ones being held up with posts while the owners no doubt prayed that they took hold. Then mature trees that are most likely producing a crop. Scattered throughout were very old, pruned mature trees. I remember my grandfather’s almond orchard had a few very old trees left to provide shade for the workers. Another hour and we were driving past neat rows of fruit trees covered with blossoms. When we reached the mountains and wound down to the lake, the grassy area was dotted with buffalo.

By the time we reached Hwy 101 anticipation of a smooth highway and the end of narrow roads brightened my thoughts. Then I realized that this was the exact same highway that Liz and I took to my fathers about six years ago and I remembered an insanely narrow and twisty road through huge Redwoods and then winding around vertical ocean cliffs. Steep grades up and down, narrow areas that warned “ 20 mile an hour curves” and “road narrows” followed by a big sign that read “share the road” and a picture of a bicycle. Huh? Who are they kidding? Six years ago I was uncomfortable driving a full sized car through this area and now I’m maneuvering 65 feet through the same road? Pit in my stomach, white knuckles, stiff neck but not wanting to stop and prolong the agony, I drove from 11:00 am to 6:00 pm, one stop, while John snapped pictures and ooed and awed over the scenery.

When I finally pulled into our RV Park and we set up for the next two nights, John toasted the trip with a bottle of Zinfandel from our Harvest Host visit, claiming it was a relaxing drive with a spectacular view. Thoughts of bopping him over the head with the bottle were hard to suppress.