Pasadena to Portland, the Long Way

Twelve nights. About thirteen hundred miles. One Jeep, one RV, and one rule I mostly kept: stay on the coast.

This was the last leg of a much longer drive. I'd brought the RV all the way from Florida to the West Coast, mostly for the experience of it: one last big American road trip before heading to Europe for the winter. Pasadena to Portland was the finale.

The plan was simple. Leave Pasadena on the last day of September, drive north on Highway 1 and then 101 until the road ran out of ocean, and turn right for Portland. Everything else I figured out as I went, which on the California coast in October means figuring out where you're sleeping, a lot.

San Simeon: the easy start

The first two nights were the gift. A campsite a short walk from the water, nothing required of me, and a sunset on the rocks at Moonstone Beach that set the bar for the whole trip.

First sunset of the drive, Moonstone Beach.

I was going to see Hearst Castle on the way out. Then I remembered I had a 9 a.m. call, and a castle tour doesn't fit around one. I'm told it's very impressive. The coast was free.

Big Sur in second gear

This is the drive everybody talks about, and it earns it. Ninety miles of cliff edge at thirty miles an hour, the Pacific dropping away on the left, and almost nowhere to stop when you want to. Towing an RV, you learn to love the pullouts and to forgive yourself for the ones you miss.

Wildfires had closed most of the camping in Big Sur, so it was a driving day, not a staying day. I stopped where I could, and McWay Falls was the one I'd have turned around for.

McWay Falls, Big Sur.

That night I stayed at Red Dot Ranch, a Hipcamp spot on a hilltop above Pescadero. The host, Mark, I never actually met, and it was the only place on the whole trip where I was completely alone. Nobody else on the hill. The nearest houses were at the bottom of a steep road, a long way down.

I rolled in just in time for sunset, with a field of carved wooden figures for company.

The only neighbors at Red Dot Ranch.

It was a perfect, quiet night, and in the morning I had time to fix a few things on the RV before getting back on the road.

Mendocino, and the office with the best view I've had

The Saturday night was the one without a booking. Everything on the Sonoma coast had been spoken for months ago. In the end the campground at Caspar stretched my stay to cover it, and I ended up with three nights in one place, which on a trip like this feels like moving in.

Two of those days were work days. That was the whole reason for picking an open spot with clear sky: Starlink needs to see north, and the prettiest campsites on this coast are down in redwood canyons where you can't see anything. So I worked with the ocean out the window, and when the laptop closed I walked out to Point Cabrillo Light.

Point Cabrillo Light at sundown.

Mendocino itself is beautiful. I stopped at a café in town meaning to grab a coffee, and ended up staying for a meal, which was great. The bar was the perfect local dive: a friendly bartender and locals at the rail. It reminded me of the Pelican Pub back in St. Pete.

The RV's furnace thermostat spent the week acting up on the coldest nights. I never did replace it, but I picked up the part for later.

Into the redwoods

From Caspar the road turns inland, and the light turns green. Humboldt Redwoods holds the biggest stand of old-growth redwood left anywhere, and one night camped under it was a short day and a long exhale. No signal, no sky, nothing to answer.

Camp under the redwoods, Humboldt.

In the morning I walked Founders Grove. There's a fallen giant there whose roots stand up taller than a house, and standing in front of it is the only way I could make the size of these trees make sense.

For scale: one fallen redwood, Founders Grove.

Then a detour to Ferndale, a little Victorian dairy town that looks like someone kept it in a box, and north into Oregon.

Oregon: colder, cleaner, more north in it

The light changes when you cross the border. The sea stacks start, the beaches go wide and empty, and the air has a bite to it.

A night in Brookings, then up through Port Orford and Gold Beach to Bandon, where the Coquille River meets the sea and a little lighthouse sits on the jetty watching the fog come in.

Coquille River Lighthouse, Bandon.

That was the last night alone on the road.

Beverly Beach: the stop I didn't choose

My son Aaron picked this one and booked it, just north of Newport. He came down with his wife, Jennifer, and my two grandkids, and for three nights the whole point was the people, not the place. It was a really special weekend to have right before leaving the country for three months.

The best part was the simplest one: sitting around the campfire together at night.

We did the Oregon coast the proper way, too. Devil's Punchbowl at Otter Rock, where the sea comes in through the bottom of a collapsed sea cave.

Devil's Punchbowl, Otter Rock.

The Oregon Coast Aquarium, which the kids loved, and where it turns out I'm not done with jellyfish.

More jellyfish. I see a theme.

And Yaquina Head, the tallest lighthouse on the Oregon coast, standing up white against a perfect sky.

Yaquina Head Lighthouse.

The last evening on the coast, everybody ended up on the sand.

Aaron and one of the kids, digging in at sunset.

Last sunset on the coast, Beverly Beach.

Turning right for Portland

On the twelfth I left the ocean behind and drove inland through wine country, with a stop in McMinnville at the aerospace museum (Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum until this year, now the North American Aerospace Museum). It's an amazing collection, and it has no business being as good as it is. The kids, naturally, liked the playground best.

A Blue Angels jet in McMinnville.

Then a week in Portland, staying with Aaron and the family, and putting things away.

I'd planned to sell the RV, but I found an affordable indoor storage unit and decided to hang on to it. Maybe more West Coast travel next September, possibly down into Baja. If not, I'll sell it in the spring when I have more time. The Jeep I did sell. I'm going to miss it, but you can't take a Jeep to Europe. Everything I'm bringing went into one carry-on and one backpack.

I also met up with a couple of friends in Portland for one night out on the town. Let's just say Portland has some very interesting adult clubs, and leave it at that.

On my last full day in the USA for a while, Aaron, the kids and I walked up Powell Butte for the sunset, and Mount Hood came out to say goodbye. Emotional and beautiful, both at once.

Mount Hood from Powell Butte, my last sunset in the States.

The next morning I flew to Amsterdam.

Pasadena to Portland, thirteen hundred-odd miles, every one of them the long way. I'd do it again tomorrow.