Nacimiento Reservoir is about half way between Petaluma and Pt. Reyes. Summer heat has lowered the water level. The reservoir is quiet excepting a lone Canadian Goose calling sadly from the opposite shore. The sun beats down, and the surface of the water is covered by a rich green algae bloom, happily photosynthesizing and doing its part to fight global warming.
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I went out to Treasure Island on Monday after work. I went to meet my friend Sidney, who was photographing the installation of a Burning Man sculpture on the Island. Entitled Bliss Dancing, she is a beautiful example of Black Rock art. Humanist, gargantuan, and incredibly beautiful, Bliss danced on the playa, and now dances on the edge of Treasure Island.
While there I also shot the construction of the new eastern span of the Bay Bridge, featuring the world’s largest self-anchored suspension tower. It’s 525 feet high (160m), roughly the same height as the west span towers. When the cables are hung and lit, I expect it will be gorgeous.
(remember that you can click on an image to see it larger)
A young man’s journey from upstanding tourist to scurvy pirate (and back again.)
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The fog hasn’t come in the way it often does on nights in July. It’s a warm summer night, which in Sausalito is fairly rare. The boats have gathered in Richardson Bay to watch the fireworks. Life is good.
I got home three days after leaving Saskatchewan. The ‘noise’ I’d mentionedback in Michigan had been a carbon exhaust gasket disintegrating. As Iarrived in California, *another one* disintegrated, and I pulled noisilyinto European Motorsport for an end-of-trip repair session. In addition tothe gasket, I’d developed an oil leak from the oil pressure sensor, which isapparently a very expensive operation to fix. (Owww…. the price forowning an older car.)
I’ve been reintegrating into modern society fairly well, though the loss ofmy independence and freedom was a little irritating. The comfort and loveof a relationship makes it worthwhile, but the transition is a littledifficult. Luckily, Dan’s a (non-secular) saint.
I’ll probably take a month-long hiatus from my journal, continuing this fallwhen Dan and I go to France for a month with our friends Sorin and Heather,as well as their two wonderful kids. That will be a journal of a differentnature… more ‘A Year in Provence’ than ‘On the Road’. Stay tuned ifyou’re interested.
Coyote
I’m waiting here at the base of Mt. Shasta for the sun to light the mountain before it sets. Waiting is hard for someone from the Silicon Valley. In the computer industry, waiting usually means that someone else will beat you to market. Folks here don’t take vacations. Sometimes they don’t sleep.
Yet here I am taking a month off, heading north to someplace near the arctic ocean. When folks ask me why I’m doing it, I usually stare at them without a good answer. Maybe by the time this trip is over, I’ll know.
Shasta is in the shade of clouds now, fluffy cumulonimbi hovering lower than the summit. As the sun sets, I can watch the light slowly climb the slopes of Shasta. It reddens as it approaches the top of this old volcano, and I wait for ‘the perfect moment.’
Earlier, near Arbuckle, I got off of the freeway to photograph. What I originally thought was an access road turned out to be the old route north, Highway 99. I stopped and spoke with the owners of an old filling station. The weathered guy who owned the place told me his folks opened it up in 1920. He closed down the place in the 60′s, within a few years of the opening of the freeway. Not enough business anymore on highway 99. I headed north on the old road for a while, through Artois (named Germantown until world war II…) I passed many closed old filling stations, motels, and restaurants. They looked more interesting than Denny’s, and I wished that they were still open.
Leaving the central valley was the first step in shedding the stress of my day-to-day life. I climbed up into the mountains and forests. For a few wonderful seconds, it rained.
The sun is ready for me now. I’ll write more later…
So now I’m going to catch some sleep and hope I don’t get woken at 3am by Oregon’s finest. I think it’s a good sign that I’m in a line of campers, all obviously spending the night. (It’s a bad sign that a train seems to pass by every half-hour, horn wailing.)
Peace,
Ron