So once when the kids were about middle-school age, we took the “scenic route” home (Wisconsin) from camp (in Montana) and went out to the Oregon coast and drove down Highway 101 to San Francisco. The rule was – no stopping at tourists traps, but we would choose a couple very cool things to do. Those two things resulted in an overnight stay right on the beach and a sunset boat ride around Alcatraz and under the Golden Gate Bridge.
Then once when Ken and I had a conference in California we headed south and then west to San Diego. At that point, we drove north on Highway 101 to Los Angeles.
And once Cindy (Vesperman) and I took a road trip from Monterey down to Santa Barbara on Highway 101.
That left one county on the California coast that I had not visited … a very, very small county, one that was hard to get … unless I went right to it.
The last few times I’ve been out to San Francisco various people told me they would take me “over the mountain” to Santa Cruz, but actually doing so didn’t work out.
This time … well, this time we decided to just plan some time to go …
So right from the airport, we drove south to this very small county and Cindy headed right for the boardwalk with stories of her childhood visits.
Everything was cloudy and quiet and very unboardwalk like – as if the whole world was encased in a fading fog …
Afterwards we looked for an indigenous Santa Cruz restaurant – checking out the best restaurants in town. Linda’s Seaside Cafe called my name. Small, but crowded, it didn’t disappoint.