Driving north from San Francisco, up to Mendocino on a two- or three-day jaunt, is America's best urban escape. That isn't only my opinion. I can prove it. Consider this: Cross the Golden Gate Bridge and you're there (okay, except at rush hour), sailing through the mountains on a curvy highway flooded with light even when the city you just left is shrouded in fog. What other big city gives you such instant access to nature? Not L.A., where, by the time you get to the desert or the mountains, you might as well have run the Indy 500. Not New York, where the shore eventually appears but only after 500 rest stops clogged with trucks and McDonald's. Not even San Francisco on other routes out of town, where clutter is just as troublesome.
And this: What other circle route—up the coast road, clinging to mountains that would just as soon dump you into the sea, back on the inland trail through redwoods and wine country—takes you past beaches for picnics and oyster stands for lunch, country inns set above the ocean boulders and a Zen retreat with its own organic farm, vineyards hidden in the hills and an orchard where you can pick up the tastiest preserves this side of Provence?
So here I go again, this time in a rented convertible. Once off the bridge, I race up 101, the freeway, but soon turn off onto Highway 1, the nice, slow, winding road that leads over to the coast. It's 150 miles up to Mendocino, but I'm not in a hurry, so I pull off just before the ocean at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center to spend the night.
The driveway is a long, slow hairpin slide through eucalyptus down to the bottom of the valley. All is calm below in this secret, shady world that Alice herself might have stumbled into. I find the office and pick up not a key but a number, for the combination lock to Hope Cottage, a one-room haven at the top of the mountain that is accessible only on foot. It takes me 30 minutes to walk up. And it's hard work, since I'm carrying a small bag and groceries for the night. Once there, though, I'm in Marin County heaven, a lofty paradise looking down to Muir Beach on one side, over to Mount Tamalpais on the other.
The cabin has a tiny kitchen, a big stone fireplace, and, on the wall, a photo of movie-star-glamorous Hope Wheelwright, who built the retreat back in the 1950s. A sign on the fence outside warns hikers that the occupant of the cottage is "On Retreat." And I guess I am. After watching the sun drop into the Pacific, I make a small dish of pasta, light a fire, and climb into bed, falling asleep to the crackles and thumps of prowling animals. In the morning, I descend for a walk through the vast vegetable gardens that provide Green Gulch with one of its reasons for being. Glowing leaves of sun-soaked lettuce are a beautiful contrast to the brooding forest colors in the glen. Green Gulch also supplies Greens, the wildly popular vegetarian restaurant overlooking San Francisco Bay that turns much of the bounty produced here into lunch. For my midday meal, I join the others in a communal breadline but climb back up the hill later for another night in my fortress of solitude.
After breakfast, I set off for Mendocino on an eight-hour ride of dips and curves that comes with its own carnival cast of characters. First stop: Bolinas, the wonderfully wacked-out coastal village where residents are still somewhat stuck in the '60s. They're famous for tearing down highway signs pointing the way into town, so the simple act of showing up feels like sneaking into a club you don't belong to. Today, belly dancers on top of a flatbed truck are wiggling and throwing kisses, just behind a hollowed-out Cadillac with trees sticking from its trunk and foliage where the motor ought to be. Folks are in a more welcoming mood; it's the Fourth of July.
A few miles up the highway, I skip the turn for Inverness and the Point Reyes lighthouse—some other time—but can't pass up a container of Fromage Blanc from the Cowgirl Creamery, in Point Reyes Station. Farther along, in Marshall, I pull off the road for farm-raised oysters. I gulp down six small sweetwaters and a half dozen belons while chatting with the owners of Hog Island, one of a handful of seafood companies along Tomales Bay. While I'm there, a couple pulls in to buy fresh oysters to take to their son's birthday party—an annual tradition, they tell me.
Next: coffee along the Marshal Dillon main street in Tomales. But this town isn't Dodge; scones and latte lurk behind its movie-set façades. Parallel parking, a skill that doesn't pop back quite as fast as riding a bike, makes me nervous. My screaming-red Mustang is now threatening the paint jobs of a rust-colored Porsche Carrera and a silver Audi Quattro.
Crossing the Sonoma County line, I zip through Bodega Bay, forgoing the take-away crab at the Tides Wharf but paying fleeting homage to Hitchcock's horror classic The Birds, which was shot on location here (but at the old Tides, now long gone).
Just a mile and a half to the north, the Children's Bell Tower honors a local boy who was killed in 1994 by highway robbers while on vacation in southern Italy. When his parents made the unimaginable decision to donate their son's organs to Italians in need, Italy went to pieces in a collective outpouring of emotion. Schools and churches across the country donated the bells; the big one in the center was blessed by the pope. The tower that resulted stands humbly off the road, like a Buddha. When the wind picks up, and the bells softly tinkle, there is no more powerful monument anywhere. It packs the same punch as the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.
After crossing the Russian River, the low-lying coast gives way to mountains that shoot straight from the sea. This is America's Amalfi Drive—bold and rocky, a more precarious roadway than the gentle loops that wind through Big Sur. Fog comes and goes. But I keep the top down, betting the mist will burn off. It does, and dancing sparks now ride the swells out to the horizon beyond the breaking waves.
Highway 1 flattens after Fort Ross as it passes through Sea Ranch, the community of environmentally sensitive homes that hide like good eyebrows on a mountain. I cross the river into Mendocino County, stopping in Gualala at a restaurant so bathed in sunshine and New Age music I feel as if I'm eating in a hot tub. Farther north, in Manchester, the beach is bigger than a Wal-Mart parking lot and littered with driftwood the size of dinosaur bones.
I keep plugging away, pumping faster because it's close to five and I'm ready to call it a day. Finally, just south of Mendocino, in Little River, I pull into Heritage House for the night.
Heritage House isn't trendy. It's old-fashioned and comfortable, like a Saturday snooze on an overstuffed couch. It also happens to be set on 37 sprawling acres right above the ocean. Picture the cliffs of County Cork in western Ireland—green and flat like a golf course but suddenly dropping into the sea. Then add some mountains and eucalyptus as a backdrop. Heritage House was started in 1949, long before there were rules forbidding such waterfront land grabs—or a California Coastal Commission to enforce them. The ramshackle cottages are grouped together by name in units of two or more (Sunset, Greenwood, and the duplex Same Time, Next Year—after the movie that was shot here). I settle into Vista III and marvel at the unobstructed panorama up and down the jagged coastline. From my deck, I can hear the throaty rumble of the waves trapped below in the shallow coves, resonating with the slow-vibrating thud of a ship slamming into rough seas.
Heritage House was in the same family for almost 40 years, and only recently sold. But it's still homey. White bedspreads and mismatched pictures rule. A Proctor-Silex toaster sits on each dining room table in the morning. The fireplace in the lounge, large enough to walk into, is wonderfully warming on a cold and foggy night.
The music festival is on when I arrive in Mendocino the next day; I hear melodic strains from the orchestra practicing in a tent above the Pacific. The pretty seaside town prides itself on looking like New England. Its claim to fame, aside from the 1970s hippie anthem "Mendocino," is having served as the shooting location for Murder, She Wrote, which pretended to take place in Maine. Pottery and souvenirs abound; at Wilkes Sport, the house shaving cream costs $28 a tube. This is the last place up the coast within the civilized web spun out of San Francisco. Keep going north and you'll hit Fort Bragg and the belching smokestacks of the Georgia-Pacific lumber mills.
Back on Highway 1, this time heading south, I turn onto Route 128 for the trip across the Coast Range to the freeway that leads down to San Francisco. The road begins in the Navarro River Redwoods, a spooky world still within the ocean's foggy grip, where tall timber hides the light even on a clear day. When rays start poking through, I know I'm almost free. Soon, I bust out of the forest into open hills and bright sun.
Route 128, through the Anderson Valley, is Napa without the tourists. There's no theme train, hardly any places to stay, not much of anything except homespun wineries and acres of space. I stop at Husch Vineyards' wooden shack of a tasting room to pick up some Pinot Noir, and, just before Philo, I turn into the driveway of the Apple Farm.
Sally and Don Schmitt, along with their daughter Karen Bates and her husband, Tim, launched the Apple Farm in the '80s. At the time, Sally and Don also had The French Laundry in Napa Valley, which they sold in 1994 to Thomas Keller before moving to Philo for good. Today they make jam and chutney while running a small B&B. Their products sit out on a long table by the barn, luring drive-by shoppers. I decide to spend the night in one of the designer-chic cottages, which are made of wood and corrugated metal and sit smack in the middle of the orchards. While opening the wine, I realize that the Anderson Valley formula of four parts nature to one serving of civilization suits me fine.
For dinner, I pry myself out of a low-slung chair to drive 15 minutes over to the Boonville Hotel. I'm soon rewarded with smoked trout followed by duck confit with corn salsa and twirly strands of wilted greens. After the meal, I step outside to engage the black Lab that's been staring at me from the patio all evening. And I remind myself to tell Sally and Don how much I enjoyed the meal, cooked by their son, John, who bought the place 13 years ago.
On the last day of the trip, I follow 128 over to the freeway and gas up in Cloverdale, running off a curb as I exit, a jarring reminder that the best part of the journey is over. Now it's a straight shot down the 101 freeway, through Healdsburg, back to the city. But before crossing the bridge, I pull off at Tiburon to stay at Waters Edge, a new inn that truly lives up to its name. San Francisco, framed perfectly in my window, shimmers across the Bay, teasing me to return. And I will. Tomorrow.
OVERNIGHTS
Unless otherwise noted, rates are for weekend stays with a two-night minimum in high summer season.
- The Apple Farm Three cottages (with glamorous high-tech bathrooms) and one room above the main house. (Philo; 707-895-2461; from $175)
- Brewery Gulch Inn Just across the road from the Pacific, this stylish new hotel sets a SoHo standard for design, but with all rooms in the main building. (Mendocino; 800-578-4454; from $175)
- Glendeven Inn Hidden away and cozy like a Maine farm (but across the highway from the ocean). (Little River; 707-937-0083; from $150; $300 for two in the reconverted barn)
- Green Gulch Farm Zen Center Although three meals are included, Hope Cottage ($200) also comes with its own small kitchen. There are also single rooms in the communal guesthouse ($90). (Muir Beach; 415-383-3134)
- Harbor House Inn A junior version of Heritage House, with a splendid oceanside setting. (Elk; 800-720-7474; $295 for small cabins with decks, from $325 for rooms, including dinner)
- Heritage House Inn The 63 cottages vary greatly in price, depending on size and view. (Little River; 707-937-5885; from $150; Vista III costs $500)
- Sea Ranch There are about 1,600 homes in the 10-mile complex that runs along the coast just south of Gualala, with about 70 in its rental program. (888-732-7262; $253-$900)
- Waters Edge Standard rooms are fine, but nothing beats the two ($399) on the harbor with knockout views of the city across the Bay. (25 Main Street, Tiburon; 415-789-5999; from $195)
DINNER OR A BITE
- Boonville Hotel The favorite stop for dinner in the Anderson Valley. (Boonville; 707-895-2210)
- Cafe Beaujolais Once the hands-down favorite restaurant in Mendocino-still quite good, but now with new owners. (961 Ukiah Street; 707-937-5614)
- Cowgirl Creamery Cheeses from a local herd of certified-organic Holsteins. (80 4th Street, inside Tomales Bay Foods; Point Reyes Station; 415-663-9335)
- The Food Company Gourmet takeout, to eat at tables out in back or to save for a scenic spot later along the coast. (A mile north of Gualala; 707-884-1800)
- Hog Island Oyster Co. Eat fresh, farm-raised oysters at bayside picnic tables or purchase live ones to take away. (Just south of Marshall ; 415-663-9218)
- 955 Ukiah Street California fare in a modern setting, next to Cafe Beaujolais. (955 Ukiah Street; 707-937-1955)
- North Coast Brewing Co. Exceptionally flavorful beers and ales, daily tours, and a pub across the street. (455 North Main Street, Fort Bragg; 707-964-2739)
- River's End Perched above the mouth of the Russian River. (On a precarious curve north of Jenner; 707-865-2484)
- Sea Ranch Lodge The glassed-in dining room is sunny and serene. (Eight miles south of Gualala; 800-732-7262)