March 21, 2016
Leaving town, we stopped for an hour to hit the internet at the library. I posted quick updates on GNN and MySpace. Saw a copy of Steven Levy’s Hackers in the used book bin. Had an email from Bryan and saw that Ed had posted out postcard online. We then stopped on city green, and books on the green, discovering the town was founded in 1992. So much for old town. Bought postcards anyways.
Leaving town, we encountered a span bridge over a fairly busy road, with a plague indicating it had been built in 1905. We stopped for a brief rest and snack, enjoying the first truly gorgeous day of the trip. While leaning against the truss, a hispanic man in knee high rainboots stumbled towards us. Holding a three gallon water jug at chest height, he offered congenially, “Aqua?” as the effort of the task caused him to drunkenly stumble off the side of the tracks as he past us. Feeling introspective, I leaned over the edge of the bridge. Every third or fourth car honked and waved.
Welcome to wine country.
Leaving the bridge and heading north, we soon came to AquaMan’s presumed camp or hangout, a well placed tarp amid a mountain of half crushed beer cans.
We paused again at a picnic table on the outskirts of Healdburg to heat up some of our homemade dehydrated Chili. Breaking off to grab a couple of cold beverages, I returned to Ryan sitting next to our camp stove, the dehydrated chili resting/burning dry in the pot at high heat. We all get tired sometimes.
Entering Healdsburg we came across another amazing yet decaying truss bridge across the Russian River. In the sandbank below, two boys and a girl sat smoking cigarettes. We shouted briefly back and forth about the trip. Looking back, Ryan was stagger stepping across the bridge curing how she hated it, fearful of it’s immeninet collapse.
We stopped for coffee at a newsstand coffee shop in downtown, getting the familiar mixture of curious and disainful stares as we changed our socks and read the newspaper. Leaving, a near toothless woman asked us about our packs and upon hearing our route implored us to stay off the tracks as she still heard trains every night.
As we hit the tracks, we began seeing quite a bit of tagging from “Sur 13 El Vatos Locos” which encouraged us to get a bit more distance north before stopping for camp. We made camp about 100 yards south of the Simi winery, able to hide our tent between two small trees with the help of our camouflage ponchos. Knowing it was saturday night, we wanted to avoid attention from any drunk teens who might be out wandering the tracks.
March 20, 2016
The city line of Santa Rosa was palpable; The police line where a shooting had taken place cordoned off an entire corner near a union building. We treked west to the tracks through Coffey Park, a subdivision with creative street names like Espresso, Perk, Arabica and Mocha. Once we got to the tracks and began heading north, the character of our trek changed drastically. Read More
March 16, 2016
Yesterday, we woke up under our little tree and walked about a mile towards Petaluma before encountering the worst bridge crossing yet, an impassable two rails over a flooded basin of agricultural run off. Turned around and started across a muddy dairy pasture. As our boots became mud laden, we were approached by the owner in his truck.
“Sorry for being on your land, the bridge about a mile north is out, and we’re walking to Petaluma.”
“I saw you two last night, and wondered what you’d do when you got to that bridge.” Read More
March 16, 2016
First day on the rails. It was great. It’s finally a bit more like wilderness, getting to see jack rabbits, geese, ducks, swans and fellow hobos. I’m rockin’ it. I was worried before we started with the extra gear, but I can still move a big pack with ease. I wish we could cut food down a bit and run fast jaunts, like the air assault course (12 miles, 128 minutes) or even the 4 hour 12 mile we did in basic, but by the time we leave Emandal, we should be much more ready for faster days. Read More
March 14, 2016
Sheltered in the tent as I write this. The rain is torrential, if not biblical. Thankfully we are dry, having decided to pitch the tent 20 minutes before it started. I got moderately wet rigging the camouflage ponchos over our rain fly, but thankfully, I can dry my rain gear in the vestibule of the rainfly by draping it on our poles. Read More
March 13, 2016
Up with the sun and spent a few moments watching a half dozen fearless deer poke around while I looked out across the Golden Gate. Had 2 dried meal packets for breakfast. Shared “Hash Browns, Red and Greens.” (Crunchy. Gross) and “Chicken Salad with Almonds” which was pretty good, except the almonds reminded me of the crunchy hash browns at that point. We bought a two pound bag of grapes from a roadside stand and sat in the grass near where Tennessee Valley road runs into the 1. Reminded me of the banks of the Cumberland outside of Nashville. Read More
March 13, 2016
“Listen man, it’s been good catching up, but I need to go, I’m interviewing the county sheriff right now.”
Besides being the bad-ass who would ignore the county sheriff, mid-interview, to take a personal call, there is a lot to say about my friend Rob Burgess. He’s an award winning journalist, a memorable banjo player and a connoisseur of good books, movies, and music. Most recently, he became a podcast personality at The Rob Burgess Show, where he was insane enough to interview me for his first episode. Read More
March 12, 2016
Wet, but I’ve seen worse. Light drizzle and a good crew crossing the bridge. Gib and Correne left early citing a fear of heights. No news crews, but tons of helicopters flying over and under the bridge.
We have an amazing view of the golden gate from a picnic ground next to the campsite. Lucian gave us a small chairdog ball complete with a little sculpted butt. Definitely going to be taking some pictures of it on the walk. Ed brought phone cards, stamps and sandwiches when he arrived later this evening to hang out on day 1. Read More
March 11, 2016
Guerrilla Camping – 2006 Trip Journal – Day 0
This was written sitting awake on our last night in the city. We had gotten rid of everything except what would fit in two well thought out packs that we had spent a few hundred weekend miles testing and training with. We were finally living out of a backpack.
It all comes down to pack weight now.
Everything is mailed, stored or ready to be heaved onto our backs.
In about 30 hours we walk.