Lost Coast, California
While exploring California’s North Coast, I learned that there’s definitely a line where the “sexy, rugged mountain man” look turns into a “scary, recluse, I’m going to kidnap you” look. And that line is crossed somewhere between Mendocino and the Lost Coast.
Mendocino is an adorable town with a slow, relaxed pace and a New England feel (according to the guidebook. I’ve never been to New England). I absolutely loved my B&B, The Andiron. It was so cozy, relaxing and inviting. Hot tub, beautiful view of a star-filled sky, fireplace, soft jazz. After the previous 24-hour’s whirlwind activity kicking off the relocation process, Mendocino was the perfect place to disconnect and relax. Reentering the real world is stressful!
From Mendocino, I drove further up the coast to the Lost Coast to hike the Lost Trail, which remained lost to me. The guidebook talks about how locals “chillingly obey Do Not Trespass signs”, how the area is struggling to deal with the large number of transients who work on the marijuana farms. While trying to find the trail, I remembered this about 20 minutes into off-roading on an unmarked, dirt road (in the Audi) seeing various ‘Do Not Trespass’ signs. I decided to turn around.
When I finally did find the trail head, by accident…several hours later…after I had given up, several drifters were trying to hitchhike at the trailhead. Unkempt, Uni-bomber-looking drifters. Bears, ok. Scary drifters, not ok. I kept driving.
I did eventually get to hike the beginning of the Lost Trail along Black’s Beach, saw amazing views of the redwoods, and even drove through one. Only in America. The best part was that my hotel was right on the beach, and as long as I looked past the druggie with her dime bag digging something up on the beach, it was a lovely spot to watch the sunset.
Quite fitting since the sun was also setting on my sabbatical. Next stop—San Francisco to apartment hunt.