<< Day 61: Park City to California Border
Home!
We slept soundly in the rest stop parking lot. Around 5 a.m., Ben and I woke up and began the exciting final leg of our cross-country journey—traveling home!
We anticipated opening our front door in just 4 1/2 hours.
We buckled the kids into their seatbelts, and they continued sleeping.
As we entered the highway, we encountered a delay. A big sign announced that the road was closed ahead until 7 a.m. However, an escorted detour was being offered. In front of the detour arrow, we saw a long line of big rigs, and we pulled up behind the last one. A police officer was checking the brakes of each truck. He looked very fresh, with a crisp uniform and a curt attitude to match. He handed us a map of the detour route, which went through the neighboring mountains.
After a short wait, the line of trucks started rolling forward, and we moved with it. We flowed along a 2-lane road through tall pine trees.
We enjoyed seeing the light change around us, as the sun emerged.
The town of Grass Valley was quiet, with empty parking lots and few people walking around in the early morning.
We soon reached the freeway and left our convoy behind.
Here is the beautiful dome from the courthouse in Auburn.
An old house:
We entered the Central Valley, which was like a long narrow bowl filled with hazy smog.
The tall buildings in downtown Sacramento poked out above the trees.
Up ahead, a plane soared in an upward diagonal line after taking off from the Sacramento airport. Today I felt no desire to be on that plane, heading for a different location and a new adventure. I was exactly where I wanted to be—traveling home.
Beneath the elevated highway between Sacramento and Davis, rice fields were flourishing.
That stretch of road is known as the Yolo Causeway, and crosses over a natural seasonal basin that is covered in water during the rainy season. Before the causeway was first built in 1916, travelers between Sacramento and San Francisco had to travel via riverboats or a raised railway.
On the other side of the valley were the rolling hills that surround the city of Vacaville.
The 10 lanes of freeway traffic through the Fairfield area were flowing smoothly—this stretch is often packed bumper to bumper and can transform a 10 minute drive into more than an hour.
Cars zipped around us, weaving in and out, speeding, and cutting in front of other cars without signals or adequate room for safety. Our journey this summer confirmed what we had always suspected—California has the worst drivers in the United States (and the worst roads).
We were happy to see that the road engineers here were participating in the country-wide repavement campaign.
We rattled and rolled, and jiggled and bounced our way through the road construction.
The oil refinery near Benecia:
On the Benecia-Martinez bridge, workers were installing the railings for a new bicycle/pedestrian path.
This bridge used to have six lanes of 2-way traffic on it. In 2007, a separate bridge was completed to carry the northbound traffic. Extensive renovations have been ongoing ever since then on this south-bound side, including resurfacing and the creation of wider lanes and a separate section for bicyclists and pedestrians.
The oil refinery in Martinez:
In Walnut Creek, we passed under the BART (Bay Area Regional Transit) train, which carries passengers to San Francisco and other cities in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Ahhh, those beautiful golden hills!
Ben and I were both quiet, immersed in our own thoughts as we traveled these familiar roads.
The San Jose airport had planes lined up ready for take-off. Happy travels!
We were happy to see that there was water in the Lexington Reservoir overflow area—perhaps there wouldn’t be talks of drought and water rationing this year in the Santa Cruz area.
In the Santa Cruz mountains, there was a motorcycle cop with a car pulled over after the first curve past the summit—the same thing that we see almost every time we pass this spot.
As the road curved to connect to Highway 1, we admired the grace of a flying bird. We could also see the distant spire of the Holy Cross church, which is a Santa Cruz landmark.
We had less than 10 minutes left of our journey, and the children were laughing and chanting, “We’re on the final stretch!” Ben and I joined in.
The peaceful 4-lane highway through Santa Cruz County often has people doing 50 to 60 m.p.h. in fast lane. (The posted speed limit is 65.) I just sit back and smile at this little pocket of sanity, which is so refreshingly opposite of what exists on the other side of the Santa Cruz mountains.
Entering our neighborhood:
We have arrived!
As we traveled around the United States this summer, I had listened carefully to my heart’s response to each place that we had visited. Perhaps we would find an area that called to us, activating the yearning to experience a different environment or way of life. Moab had whispered to me briefly, and the Black Hills of South Dakota definitely held some magic. However, whenever I thought of our home in Aptos (with the ideal combination of ocean and mountains, the clear air and cool temperatures, the community of open-mindedness and acceptance that exists in the Santa Cruz area, the stellar community college and the good public schools, the close proximity of many family members, the abundance of nature trails for hiking and biking, and countless other positive attributes that can be identified as “reasons” to live here), the vibration in my heart resonated clearly: “Home.”
Yes, “home” is much more than a mere building. For us, right now, it is the place where our hearts want to return.
<< Day 61: Park City to California Border
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