This 4th of July fell on a Tuesday this year, that meant four whole days off of work. Because my job is always nuts I hadn’t had much time to make plans, luckily Mr. P did. My only input was to tell him we needed get out of town and fast. So he decided on a road trip up the central valley, out to the coast and then back down to San Francisco.

First stop Redding California, a town nestled in the shadow of Mt. Shasta. We left on Saturday later than we wanted to and drove up the central valley. It was hot, like 100 degrees and over hot, and I just wasn’t used to it -- the direct sunlight the humidity it was all too much for me so I slept most of the way. After a few hours we hit Redding, checked into our hotel and drove up to the McArthur Burney Falls State Park.

I guess what most people who don’t live in California know about the outlying areas is that if it’s not a city or snooty wine country enclave things get pretty hick pretty fast, like Appalachian hick, rusted-out-pick-up-and-shotgun style hick. And it’s hick that extends way into the past, for example, the state park is named after Sam Burney, a drifter from South Carolina who visited the area around 1850 and, may or may not, have been thrown over the falls by local Indians in a case of mistaken identity. It's located next to Whiskeytown where you can still pan for gold if you get the hankering.

However, this was on the much lighter side of hick which turned out the be a perfect blend of out of the way but close to amenities area because it wasn’t popular enough to be overrun on the 4th of July but still beautiful, easy to navigate and we could find a place to eat the didn’t close at 7pm every night.

Burney Falls

So we drove into the park and took or first hike up to the falls. The spray coming off the falls was just what we needed for such a hot day. Now the path up and around the falls was more of a walkway then trail but still people and the shower shoes still amazed me. Plastic flip-flops are not proper hiking attire. This man in front of us was wearing the $3 style you buy in drug stores, and kept sliding and tripping all the way down to the base of the falls, stopping along the way to pick pine needles and small pebbles out from between his toes. It’s so common I didn’t even bother to chronicle it in pictures for the California Deathwish collection.

So after the falls we drove up to Lake Britton for a picnic and so that Mr. P could do some fishing.

Lake Britton

Before we left Mr. P bought a grill, the Mini-Boss, which is the new love of his life. It's an intoxicating mix of his love of making fire with his need to char meat and vegetables in one compact, convenient form.

Mini-Boss

After we ate Mr. P cast in a line and by sunset he was pulling then in about as fast as he could cast out. I forgot the bug spray though and as it got darker the mosquitoes started to really come in, we packed up and left after the bats discovered that they could use us a lures for their nightly bug feast.

So the next day is was on to Eureka Oregon. We spent most of the day driving through and down the mountains to get there and that’s where I learned we were in Bigfoot country and that it’s all about the redwoods.

I’m kicking myself for not stopping at least one of the roadside souvenir stands with the giant chainsaw carved redwood big foots out front. I just thought I’d stop at the next one, then the next but before I knew it we were in Eureka. Bigfoot hasn’t cornered the market on funky roadside tourist traps either. We passed up many fine opportunities to drop big cash on attractions such as: the One Log House, the Trees of Mystery, giant statues of Mr. P Bunyan and Babe the blue ox, the Hobbit House and much, much more.

Late afternoon pulled into Eureka, checked into our hotel then drove around the city for a few minutes to get an idea of what we were dealing with before we stopped get something to eat. Mr. P was advocating the Samoa Cookhouse, who’s claim to fame is that it’s the last surviving lumberjack camp style cookhouse in the West, has been serving heaping meals since 1893. I, on the other hand, was hungry for food I might like to eat as opposed to having a old west lumberjack experience for dinner and suggested the Lost Coast Café, a brew/pub kind of place.

Somoa Cookhouse

The next day we drove out the coast to rent some kayaks and paddle around the lagoon near Orick. It was kind of a sleepy little place and being overcast we were the only people out in boats.

We paddled around the outlet a little but we weren’t prepared for any sea going activity so after about an hour or so we came back in and walked around the area a little bit.

The beach was very, very smelly.

Perhaps it was the lingering smell of rotting death.

Even though it was called the "Octupus" trail there's weren't any on the trail that I could see.

Banana slugs are always kind of icky, especially the breathing hole.

After the last hike we drove down the Willets to spend the night. We had big plans for finding an ice cream parlor but I was tired and pretty much passed out. Next morning we were considering the "Skunk Train", a vintage steam engine, out to Ft. Bragg. But it was four hours up and down the mountains looking at redwoods. I’d seen enough redwoods for awhile plus it was the 4th of July and I have a strict no children in a confined space rule. So instead we thought we might drive to the next lake and see what was happening. That didn’t turn out to be such a great plan since the map refers to everything as a lake, even a gravel pit of a reservoir next to a trailer park. So we drove down the coast further, stopped for a bbq in, of course, a redwood forest then drove down through Sonoma.

In our infinite ambition we thought we might hike around Sonoma lake before heading home. We parked the car, got out and put on our packs. We walked down to the boat launch to use the bathroom and were so tired and nauseous from the heat we just went back to the car and drove home where it was 75 and foggy like it always is.