Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair

Written by Binnsie Friday, 04 September 2009 00:00

Day Two, We’re All Tourists Really

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Dean Bowen demolishing a fun section. Pic Shield

Well, we survived the night unscathed. We drove an hour down the coast, through the beautifully named Devil’s Landslide (gawn, Google it, then be impressed by the amateur RV driving skills of Shieldman and I) and pulled up at the spectacular Waddell State Park. A broken board, painted with a skull ’n cross bones, told us we were at a surfing beach, and we went to bed praying for waves.

The unmistakable San Francisco skyline. Pic Shield

We wake in the morning, shake our weary heads, and look longingly at the ocean. Beautiful, clean peaks are rolling shoreward, teased by a sharp offshore wind. Unfortunately I then turn into a surf reporter and point out in closing, it is tiny. None the less we are confident of waves and set off up north again. The Devil’s Landslide is a far scarier proposition by day, as not only does the road catback and wind through narrow gorge after cutaway pass, it is flanked to the west by sheer, 800 foot drops. I clench my teeth, try my best to avoid both the view and oncoming traffic, and aim at the car in front of me. Ironically the major roadworks going on to ease the problem make it all the more difficult in the present. Along the way we come across bay after bay of raw beauty, but today, no raw power. The potential here is huge.

The RVs stick out like two sore thumbs. Pic Shield

We pull into a mall to find breakfast and are overwhelmed by choice, none of it particularly healthy. Before you can say “orange mocha frappucino” half the gang are lost to the shops, and return 30 minutes later laden with phones and socks and sweatpants and the sort of stuff anyone who’s spent time on the road needs and wants from the start. In the bus and we’re back to Ocean Beach, seeking the salvation/shower that the water provides. It’s small, but the sun is out enough that we can wear short arm wetties without too much discomfort. This definitely makes us feel better about ourselves as men when compared to the standard local fare of hoods, gloves and booties.

Stu Kennedy and Garrett Parkes check out the view from the Golden Gate Bridge. Pic Shield

The boys are itching to see the sights so we’re off to the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s a perfect day which is rare in what the locals call the city of fog. Mark Twain once described the coldest winter he ever spent as being a summer in San Francisco, so we’re lucky, and the boys are smiling. While waiting to get the obligatory team shot in front of the orange bridge a tour bus pulls in an offloads a backpacks worth of Frogs. “Welcome to Australia,” yells one of the boys. The bus driver replies “welcome to France,” then drops his jaw as our wag continues “now piss off!”

Not exactly frothing on the small surf. Pic Shield

We surf again, we kick it in the carpark, we eat pizza (34 year old Talon is asked for ID when he orders a beer with his meal) and then return to our favourite illegal campsite on the beach. I navigate the Slide alone, as my van is full of corpses ten minutes into the drive.