Isn't it nice that people who prefer Los Angeles to San Francisco live there?

After the complete driving balls up of the previous day, we weren’t in any rush to go hit the freeway too quickly, so we instead treated ourselves to a fully cooked breakfast, as provided at the Pacific Inn - packet pancakes warmed up to seem like fresh pancakes, artificial scrambled eggs made up to look like real scrambled eggs, frozen, fully pre-cooked sausages heated in a bain-marie to resemble genuine, ‘cooked this morning’ sausages, and chopped bacon floating in a sea of broth designed to resemble… well, chopped bacon floating in a sea of broth, I guess. Truth is, it wasn’t too bad – it just resembled they typical US budget hotel approach to food: something to fill you up and get you on your way. Which, come to think of it, was pretty well exactly what we did.

Sadly our run to San Francisco was cut short by a Toys R Us spied on the left so we took the first exit, bought yet more must-have purchases (a Lego Ninjagu Ice-Dragon and more Zoobles) and passed through heavy traffic, all the more surprising given it was only around 11:00am Sunday, on Highway 101 north, turning into Van Ness and going straight past our hotel at the corner of Van Ness and Broadway, before I finally got the chance to fulfill a lifelong dream of driving over the Golden Gate Bridge.

We headed north through Marin County, which is a sensational place, and no doubt heinously expensive – it’s essentially a country hamlet located only a couple of miles from the Golden Gate, and hence, civilization. You’d never know how close you were to the rat race by the feel of the region, as it’s all pick-up trucks, weatherboard houses, and a relaxed, bucolic pace. Apparently it’s one of the most affluent counties in the United States. I’d believe it.

Ultimately we successfully navigated our way to Muir Woods, only to find it was the mad-house which might be expected given everyone no doubt had the same idea as us: a walk in the woods on a beautiful Sunday morning. We ended up parking a mile away, and began the slow trudge up to the main entrance, collected a couple of treasure hunt brochures for the kids on the way in (which ultimately, after much effort, ended up rewarding them with a sticker each, much to their collective disbelief), and started our way up the man boardwalk through groves of Coastal Redwoods, one of the very few remaining stands left in the San Francisco area thanks to the foresight of William Kent, who not only  bought it with his own money, but then gave it over to the greater public and, with one last act of outrageous humility, insisted it be named after the naturalist John Muir, despite others nearly insisting it be named after Kent himself. Somehow I just can’t imagine Steve Jobs buying a massive tract of land, donating it to the public and insisting on it being named the David Attenborough Woods. Prove me wrong, Steve.

Needless to say it was a magical place, all slanted beams of sunlight, fast-flowing brooks and impenetrable groves massed with dense, natural plantings of various native flora. Regardless however, I’ve got to run the risk of incurring the wrath of friends of mine who live in San Francisco and admit that the coastal redwoods just can’t hold a candle to the sheer, outrageous bulk of the giant Sequoia redwoods in Mariposa Grove out near Yosemite National Park. Sensational, absolutely, but not the most sensational.

Not in any rush to get back to San Francisco, we took our time, only to find the weather change for the worse and what was initially just a heavy mist finally settled into permanently, steady drizzle. Somehow though, it was of little impact – the rain falling in the forest just heightened the experience, even when I opted to go pick up the car to save the kids from getting soaked, and had a one mile walk along wet roads, water streaming off me. How bad can it be, after all? I’d rather be walking in Muir Woods on holidays, soaked to the bone, than be soaked to the bone pretty much anywhere else.

The car steaming up thanks to the crush of bodies and wet clothing, we rejoined bumper-to-bumper traffic on Highway 1, forked out $6 to take the south-bound route over the Golden Gate, and a few minutes later were squeezing into an impossibly small carpark in the basement of the Manor Inn. For $69, plus tax, it’s a bit of a bargain given its location – nothing flash, and no breakfast, but a decent sized room with two queen sized beds, coffee and tea making facilities, a microwave and a fridge is hard to argue with.

We ended up having a night in, making a dinner – of sorts – cobbled together from random pickings in our suitcases and backpacks, ready for an early start, a hopeful end to the drizzly conditions, and a day of walking tomorrow.

~ Herb Caen