The morning started with a doorbell, rousing me from a deep, sleeping-pill-inspired rest. So excited about starting my trip, I had to calm my mind with a couple tiny blue pills last night. But the doorbell woke me, or maybe it was the dog barking.
At the door was my cousin, Jeremy, and his wife. In town for the funeral, they stopped by to say hello on their way out of town. He told me he was surprised to see me still home. It was 8:30, and I guess I was a little surprised to still be home. "Overslept, I guess."
The few minutes I spent visiting with them were peaceful. But since then, things have blurred by.
I packed the last of my things into Pam this morning — some food, my electric razor and some nicer clothes, just in case. Then, it was a tearful goodbye from my parents. Sometimes I forget I won’t be coming home from this trip, at least, not anytime soon. Saying goodbye was hard, harder for my mom. I’ll miss them.
At 10:30, I set out south on I-5, which took me to Grant’s Pass where I switched over to 199, not sad to see the freeway slip away in my rearview mirror. Highway driving is what Pam was made for… she’s not a fan of the interstate system, its fast speeds and tractor trailers.
The trip down through southwest Oregon was uneventful and blustery. I crossed into California, sad to leave Oregon behind, but excited for the adventure ahead.
When 199 met 101, the clouds melted away, and the sun stayed with me the rest of the day, even showing itself in slivers through the Redwood canopy. The coastal air kept things chilly, but the sun was warming even so.
In Crescent City, the Californian equivalent to a Pacific Northwest costal town, I stretched my legs at the Battery Point lighthouse, which was built on land set aside in 1854 by everyone’s favorite US president, Franklin Pierce. Yep, Pierce. He actually did something.
In 1857, the lighthouse was under the firm hand of one Theophilis Magruder, who earned $1,000 a year to turn the lights on and off. As you can imagine, this was a pretty boring job for Mr. Magruder, so like any good lighthouse manager, he filled his time by making lists of his supply stock. One such list follows:
- 1 clock
- 2 lantern curtains
- 12 curtain rings
- 1 pair straight scissors
- 4 3/4 lbs. whiting
- 2 paper tripoli
- 2 buff skins
- 1 Wolfs Head brush
- 1 rouge brush
- 1 dusting brush
- 10 emery papers
- 1 soldering iron
- 1 3/4 lbs. tin solder
- 1 bottle ink
- 6 lead pencils
- 1 hand lantern
- 3 lbs. rouge
- 1 gallon turpentine
- 4 cun brooms
- 10 sheets sandpaper
Now, I don’t know much about being a lighthouse keeper in 1857, but it seems to me that old Theophilis had an excess of rouge, leading me to wonder if:
a) Theo was a bit of a tart and enjoyed rosy cheeks far too much.
b) He was, in fact, not a fan of rouge, and had used all the other makeup, leaving the rouge behind.
or c) Rouge is not makeup at all, but rather some sort of lighthouse specific substance a simpleton like myself would know nothing about.
Perhaps I’ll never know. So, I’m just going to picture Theo sitting alone, lighthouse flashing above, applying copious amounts of rouge to his face late into the night. He was bored after all.
Legs stretched and with a new historical figure to mock — in addition to the wonderful President Pierce — I moved on south, entering the great Redwood National Forest. And more importantly, my first official tourist trap — THE TREES OF MYSTERY!
I didn’t pay to see the trees, seeing that they are the same trees you can see anywhere in the forest, but I did stop to grab some post cards and a snapshot of Paul and his big blue ox.
Shortly after seeing Paul’s big, hairy chest, I paid $4.00 for gas for the first time in my life. Holy crap, $33 and I got eight gallons of gas. For shame.
The sting of the pump was forgotten quickly, though. Just down the road, I came across a herd of Roosevelt Elk, eating and sunning themselves in a ecotone, what wildlife types call the area where the forest meets the grassland. (I read informational signs… can you tell?)
They let me get pretty close, and I have to say, the experience was a treat. They are very majestic animals, cautious, but trusting.
I’m pretty sure she’s pregnant. Actually, seeing that there was only one male, who payed no attention to me, I assume most of them are preggers. In Texas, the state steps in when something like that happens. Not with Elk though.
By the time I was done bothering the wildlife, the sun was getting low in the sky, so I decided to pull off the road and camp at Patrick’s Point State Park. The sunset was something to see.
And that, my friends, was day one. Sorry I rambled on and on… everything is still pretty exciting.
hahaha!! Yes I have seen that hairy chest! we took a trip down when I was at Canyonville Christian Academy (boarding school). I will never forget that hairy chest…yucky!!
thanks for bringing up memories…hahah.