STORIES

Part Four.
My Badass Road Trip to California.
The Tail End of My Journey.

San Francisco to Home.

The morning of Thanksgiving Day, before heading to Luc's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Andy and I were watching the World Cup on TV, and after Portugal won its first game, to celebrate, we decided to go for a walk and grab a coffee.

Getting coffee was a mission.

On Thanksgiving Day in America, everything is closed. Trying to find a coffee shop was impossible. Not even a Starbucks was open. The streets of San Francisco felt like a ghost town; all the shops were closed and there were hardly any people out and about.

It was such a weird sight to see.

Where did all the people go?

We finally found one bakery that was open and had a decent cup of coffee.

We walked around for a couple hours, enjoying the calm, bare streets of

San Francisco. Andy was showing me some cool spots (while he was checking the score of the Brazil soccer match on his phone), and I snapped a few photos of the quiet city before we made our way to Luc's house for Thanksgiving dinner.

That day was extremely warm - unusual at that time of year. We were sweating from walking up all those hills.

The next day, after my first American Thanksgiving experience, I got up early, grabbed some coffee, and started my journey up to Portland to spend a couple days with some pals.

I drove up the 101.

I wanted to see the beauty of this drive.

I stopped by the Avenue of Giants, drove through the Redwoods, and saw things that I'd never seen before.

It was beautiful.

I couldn’t believe I was there.

How did I get so lucky?

Was I dreaming?

I’m surprised I didn’t get into an accident.

After a day of driving and soaking in the world around me, it was getting dark, and I was tired. I decided to stay in Crescent City, California. Pop, 6,673.

It’s a small town right along the Pacific Ocean. I noticed a motel on the side of the road with an old-school sign, the ‘Curly Redwood Lodge’.

It was a unique motel.

The room smelled like old cigarettes, probably lingering from back in the day. I didn’t mind it; it gave the room a certain charm.

The rooms and furnishings were adorably charming and retro. It was very nostalgic. It's a real-life, livable museum of a 1960s motel. Oh, if these walls could talk.

Most importantly, I had the best sleep.

The motel opened in 1957, and the wood it displays from the inside to the outside of the building was built from one curly redwood tree. That’s impressive.

The next day, I drove around the town; there wasn’t much to see.

I was recommended to check out Crescent Beach, where Battery Point Lighthouse is, and Pebble Beach. It was pretty magnificent.

It made the town worth staying in.

A 5-hour journey took me 10 hours from all the stopping to snap photos, making In-N-Out burger stops, and checking out thrift stores along the way. I finally made it to Portland. Hooray!

Hanging out with my pals in Portland always feels like home. It’s always the best.

I’m still impressed by this whole journey, the experience I had, and actually doing something I’ve always wanted to do. I felt grateful in every moment. I didn’t know what to expect, I went with the flow, and everything happened the way it was supposed to. No issues. The weather was perfect. The following week, California's weather went all sideways.

I most definitely lucked out.

Like I said before, driving long distances isn’t my favourite thing to do, but it was worth it and I had a wild time.

Thank you.

(Insert jazz hands.)

It was freaking amazing.