Happy Camper Bus
Exit San Fransisco, Enter the Charming and Eerie Mendocino County
Happy Camperbus 2008-05-20 00:07:09 UTC

I have mentioned before that being ignorant of the up and coming scenery and roads ahead proved blissful. In this case it seemed more a thrust into unexpected juxtaposition of incongruencies.

We had to date followed the Scenic Hwy 1. Upon leaving San Fran, we somehow veered a bit and ended up on thy Hwy 101. When we hit a city called Cloverdale, we decided to head back to the overwhelmingly slow and breathtakingly beautiful scape’s the Hwy 1 provides. We mapped it out and were in perfect position to enter the 128 Hwy and in 68 miles would be deposited back on our intended route.

What we didn’t know is that the 128 Hwy began as a curvy, Sunday-drivin-ish, small town livin-esque’ stretch of road and became something much bigger. Wine Country AND the beginning of the California Redwood Forests.

We enjoyed the leisureliness very much of the 128 Hwy and toured the Toulouse Vineyard for prosperity’s sake, and because we heard they serve cheese and nuts.

Just past the vineyards we spotted a Camping Area called Indian Creek. It boasted $10.00 a night (woo-hoo!) campsites and fell at the entrance of the Redwood Forest. We eased the Bus in and were promptly greeted by a man named Jim, whom somewhat sheepishly identified himself as the ‘Camp Host’. We were not yet familiar with that term, though we have met a few more since. The first thing he did was park us in a spot and collect the money in a very hesitant manner. The second thing he did was offer to sell us a nice chunk of ‘Double-bubble Hashish’ because in his words – he could tell that we party. Must be the Bus, I swear. We were becoming leery at this point of his claims to be running the place because of his tarnished appearance and shady maneuvers.

We sloughed Jim off and set up camp for the night while there was still a touch of daylight left. As we were settling in I commented that this little nook we had happened across was so beautiful that I might like to stay there a week, hidden by the surrounding trees and away from the World.

But not a short time later our ‘Camp Host’ was back. He was blathering on and on in a manner that would almost constitute something akin to gibberish. I could not understand but bits, something about wanting ham and eggs and something else about the local “growers” of Mendocino County. It was truly unintelligible and at this point he was becoming a pest. He wandered away in a manner that was akin to slinking back into the woods. Me and Smick had a sigh of relief and commenced relaxing and soaking in the sights.

Around 8:30pm Smick brought out his Dumbek drum and was messing around with it very softly. We are always quiet and respectful campers, aware of the 10pm quiet time which is the norm at campsites. Within moments Jim, our ‘Camp Host’ beat feet over to our spot and told us quite sternly no instruments allowed. We said okay, not wanting to be bothered but he was provoked to give us a long and again unintelligible rant about the possibility of disturbing folks and how ‘this’ campsite is to stay quiet, in every sense of the word and so on and so. He seemed very paranoid and moved from being pesky to bothersome.

We hit the sack shortly there after, and to our horror upon awakening, we were approached yet again. We were preparing our fire in order to have coffee and breakfast when Jim rolled up and announced in a very antagonistic way that ‘his’ campsite only permits “smokeless fires”. At this stage he admitted that he was “Fu*king with us” (which we did not find funny or acceptable in the least) and we were only anxious to eat and go. It seemed such a shame to rush ahead when we were surrounded by immense beauty. Sadly, with that, at Indian Creek at least, came Jim the daunting ‘Camp Host’. Not worth it.