A Space for the Unfamiliar
Written on March 4th, 2019 by David Valdman
“Where are you going camping?” a friend asked. “North.” I said.
Two days later, with that plan in hand, I left San Francisco for a 3-day motorcycle camping trip up Highway 1.
This is a story about creating space for the unfamiliar.
Day 1
I needed to use the bathroom. In a hurry, I stopped at the first restaurant I came across and walked into this:
There was a table with a medley of Russian plates and a sign that read, “Welcome! Please help yourself with food and pay from your wisdom.”
I tiptoed around looking for staff while trying to balance the material need to pee and the abstract desire to comprehend this alternate universe.
“The bathroom is out back,” she said frankly.
In the bathroom was an ad for a chef. No cooking experience necessary, salary $0/yr.
I mentioned I was going to stay at a campsite nearby and they offered me their trailer out back. I washed their dishes that night and swept their floors the next morning.
We became friends. They asked if I could stay longer, but I had to say no.
Day 2
After riding for 30 miles without seeing a gas station I began to worry. I stopped by a local general store in Elk, a vestige of a forgotten logging town with population tipping over 200.
“Where’s the nearest gas station?” I asked.
“Albion. 15 miles North,” the lady at the counter said proudly.
With a gas tank near empty, I rolled up a poorly maintained side road to Albion Grocery. Outside were two analog pumps: regular and premium. A man ahead of me was filling up reserve jugs and loading them onto his truck.
This gas station is not on Google maps though it’s existed since 1974. I found it by chance and it saved me from being stranded.
I left thinking “Albion” is a great name for a post-apocalyptic town.
I turned on Highway 128 towards Hendry Grove, a Redwood park where I’d set up camp for the night. The road follows the Navarro River Redwoods: 15 miles of a twisty two-lane highway through thick forest.
For 30 minutes I glided though an aspect-ratio of long, narrow and tall.
Day 3
Redwood groves are pretty during the day, but boy do they get cold at night. In the morning I walked to the bathrooms when a campmate waved me over.
“Chilly huh? Fell below freezing last night” he said.
While making coffee I reminded myself of the last time I was this cold. The memory came distinctly, vividly.
The last thing you want to do when you’re cold is ride a motorcycle. I stopped often to warm up, but everywhere I stopped I was cold.
As I rode from the coast to the Central Valley the skies cleared and I could feel the sun at my back all the way to San Francisco.
My experience of this trip is encapsulated in a place I visited along the way.
Just outside the town of Sea Ranch is a chapel. Everything about its design and construction is strange. The craftsmanship is evident, but the specifications are a mystery.
The patterns are foreign. The proportions are odd. Pieces fit crookedly. Lines meet at curves. Shapes meet at folds. Textures come and go.
From the outside, you are at a loss to describe its volume. From the inside, you are at a loss to describe its shape.
It was made as if to create separation from this world; so that when you step inside, you are compelled to create your own.
It was made to be unfamiliar; so that when you experience it, you experience yourself more than the place.
