April 22nd--Rose Valley to Santa Paula

I woke up right around 6am, once again to the panic-inducing sound of raindrops on my sleeping bag. Dude who found religion with the native americans (whose name i cannot remember) was in the same situation and had gotten up just before me, despite having been up several hours later drinking Whalers rum.

I packed up right quick and put everything that should be kept dry in its respective dry bag, and then set about making some breakfast of amaranth gruel with honey and blueberries in the intermittant drizzle. I heard the noises of Grace trying to urge Noah out of bed so that they could all go to the hot springs before heading back to Ojai to pick oranges.

Eventually Noah emerged in his birthday suit and ran around a bit before jumping into the tent with Trevor and dude whose name i've so thoughtlessly forgotten despite his gift of a camping cutlery set. Noah apparently has difficulty getting out of bed in the morning without some sort of naked shenanigans.

Soon enough, everyone was up and dressed and Noah was making a pot of French-press coffee. Meanwhile, i hovered over my breakfast. I wanted to go with them to the hot springs, but was worried about making it to Santa Paula by 1:15pm for the bus to Bakersfield. After taking some time to finish that pot of coffee, they all packed up the two vehicles and prepared to leave. I exhanged hugs with everyone in turn as they were leaving (except for Trevor, who i sense is not particularly touchy-feely), and was surprised to find myself profoundly sad when they all left, kicking myself for not at least getting someone's contact info.

I sat at the picnic table, solemnly slurping the rest of my gruel and sipping my matÈ, digesting this new feeling: missing a group of people i'd just met only the night before. I thought about how comfortable i felt with them, and, on the other hand, how NOT comfortable i probably would have felt with most of the other groups at the campground--about just how much i was a creature of a very particular social mileu. And then i began to think how totally strange and alien it will be to be in Cairo and how much work it will require just to be able to pick up on even the least subtle social subtleties. This has mostly been an intriguing and exciting thought for me, and this is the first time it gave me any sort of fear. Adrienne asked me later if i was having second thoughts about moving to Cairo, but it's not that. It's just the first hints of just how difficult the culture shock will be at times. But, i have so seldom felt at home recently anyway that i'm guessing that it will not be as problematic is it could be, for instance, if i were moving to a place with less social gregariousness.

In any case, i brought myself out of this reverie to look at the falls up above me and the beautiful mountains in every direction. I'm guessing this will be my coping mechanism in Cairo as well: to take a step back and simply look at where i am and recognize it as beautiful. I sound like i've been spending too much time in Cafe Gratitude, but it's true; i do think that there is a certain beauty in most things, and taking the time to appreciate it will help in dealing with its unfamiliarity.

So, i packed up with this in mind, and in anticipation of taking the bus and train back home to see Adrienne. The weather was much more forgiving than the previous evening and i was able to appreciate the scenery, especially with the long shadows of the morning. After completing the short climb over the ridge to Matilija Creek, the road seemed to wind downhill forever. I stopped only a few times to take pictures because i was so enjoying the long descent. I do regret not stopping around Wheeler Springs, as the rock formations and the tunnels around here were quite striking.

The road eventually led straight into the heart of Ojai and just a block over from the Farmers' Market, where i stopped on Grace's suggestion. I picked up some food there for the train trip, including sprouted peanuts and several cherimoyas: two that were ripe and ready to eat immediately, and two that would be ready later, to share with Adrienne, because she'd never had one before. There was a bluegrass band playing there, and they were playing John Henry when i arrived, which endeared them to me. I found all of the avocados being sold there to be under-ripe, so i went across the street to the natural foods store to pick up a couple of avocados and a sourdough bagette. I also asked after Noah and Grace, in case the worked there. I had wanted to at least leave the lyrics to Keep on Trampin' for Grace, as she mentioned wanting to learn the song. No luck.

It was already about 11am, so i decided to waste no more time and set off on the road to Santa Paula. I passed a number of orange groves and then headed up a steep hill to about 1250' (from around 750' in Ojai), snapping a picture at the lookout over the Ojai Valley. The road crested and descended for a short while then began a slow ascent. It had been raining lightly for most of the time since i left Ojai. It was light enough that i was more worried about the baguette strapped to my rack than anything else.

I began to keep a lookout for the stuff that Noah had mention lay on the route from Ojai to Santa Paula: tar seeping out of hillsides and the smell of sulphur, evidence of activity below the surface. Although i saw some incredibly dark soil just over the crest, i hadn't seen the things Noah had mentioned, and i fretted that i'd missed them in my haste to get to Santa Paula. Once past the second, more gentle crest that finally led down into Santa Paula, the rain became heavier while i struggled to keep up a decent speed. The hill was too steep for me to spin the pedals through the descent, but not steep enough to keep up speed in a coast, so i decided to clip in on occassion and spin up to 24 mph and then coast until i slowed down to about 18 or 19 mph. On the way down, i did indeed come across the spot where tar seeped naturally out of the ground. It looked like a road project gone wrong, with random tar deposits on the road itself, as well as dripping over rocks and hillsides and through drainage ditches. It was quite a sight. And several miles down the road, i did pass through an area of almost-overpowering brimstone stench. It was as if the mountain had eaten too many burritos with undercooked beans. I tarried not, in order to capture a sickening scene that wouldn't show up on film anyway.

As i approached Santa Paula, the drivers seemed to get increasingly rude, something i can brush off quickly enough with an urgent package on my back, but after six days of hardly any traffic to contend with, a few honks put me quite out of sorts.

As soon as i got within a few blocks of the Amtrak bus stop, i made the call to Amtrak to make sure i could still get on the bus to Bakersfield, as i didn't have reservations for it, since i had originally planned to leave the day after. The agent assured me that the bus driver would still stop at the bus stop in Santa Paula, even without a prior reservation, so i went to the bus stop and waited beneath the Carrows awning for about 30 minutes. It was the first time i'd driven over the Grapevine with clouds in the sky, and it was quite pretty. I ate 1 and 1/2 of my cherimoyas and waited until Fresno to eat the rest of the second and my avocados with bread. The taste of a decent sourdough with avocado never ceases to take me by surprise with how good it is. And the last of the cherimoya made for a wonderful dessert (it is also called "Custard Apple", after all).

The train was a bit late getting to the Richmond station, so i had to wait quite a while for the next BART train back to the City, getting me there past 11pm, if i recall. When i walked in the house, Adrienne was drunkenly proclaiming her victory over her bicycle tire, holding up her soiled hands in triumph. I was unfortunately too tired to adequately express how endeared i was by this, though i did manage to keep myself up just a little longer before passing out completely.