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California coast trip, Day 7: North to Sonoma, with old enemy fog

This was only a 115-mile day — from Half Moon Bay to the northern outskirts of Jenner in Sonoma County — but it seemed bigger. Here’s what my notebook says:

Finally, I get a room with full frontal ocean exposure — the roar and purr of waves all night — and I wake to a solid wall of fog. I can’t even imagine where the horizon is until 7:45 (sunrise, basically), when the veil abruptly lifts. Yup, waves. And cyclists and dog-walkers, using the coastal path that runs right beneath my second-story room.

I put in a mile or two on the path. Mellow neighborhood, much calmer and workaday-feeling than some other beachy areas. Except for the house next door to my hotel, the Cypress Inn on Miramar Beach. That house is a hallucination: an angle where the chimney should be, driftwood art all over, and a Seussian riot of succulents in the side yard.

Throughout breakfast I sniff paint — two downstairs bedrooms getting new coats — one of the side effects that come with traveling in the slowest season of the coastal year: All the innkeeprs are making repairs and renovations.

After breakfast, I pass a knot of German tourists huddled at the front door. They’re all looking at a copy of “California for Dummies,” like acolytes consulting the I Ching.

No such need for me. I point north and cling to the 1, through Pacifica, through that city just south of the Golden Gate Bridge (what’s it called again?), where the wind is bitter, evil, lacerating and nasty and I come to the aid of happy travelers from many nations by snapping pictures with their cameras for them. Then across the water (no toll if you’re northbound), climb and then descend to Marin County’s western fringe. Tremendous lunch in Stinson Beach at the Parkside Cafe. It’s just a burger, but it’s Niman Ranch beef and the mustard aioli — clearly, we’re in foodieland.

Sign atop bulletin board outside the Parkside Cafe: “No staples No tape No politics No whining No Stradamus.” (OK, it took me a minute too. Think about mystic predictions.)

Gas in Point Reyes Station: $2.39 a gallon. Then more green, rolling hills dotted with randomly placed cows, with a fence following the curve of the land. Why does that seem so exotic and gorgeous?

Of course — the light. After cloudless hours, my old enemy the fog is back, dropping like a scrim between me and everything else. At first the effect is great, then it’s just dangerous.

Visibility drops to 30 to 40 feet. I creep along the road from hairpin to hairpin, unsure if I’m at the edge of a cliff or surrounded by meadlowland, or maybe alternating. FALLING ROCK and CATTLE CROSSING signs appear, giving conflicting clues, and it’s after 4, so now the light is beginning to fade. Then sure enough, three cows, malingering by a signpost, suddenly loom into view. I lurch around them, pull over to the shoulder for a while, scribble. Still nearly no visibility. Have I missed my turnoff? (No navigation system on board.) I’m thinking it’ll be quicksand and flesh-eating birds next. (Bodega Bay, where Hitchcock shot “The Birds” is just a few miles back). So what do I see next?

Salvation. The wooden towers of Ft. Ross, the old Russian fur-trading outpost that’s now run as a state park. I catch a ranger just as she’s taking down the flag — it’s 5 now — and she delivers the good news. My destination, the Timber Cove Inn, is just five more minutes up the road. And so it is. Food and — once I chase off the raccoon who tries to sneak in from my balcony — bed. Where I will dream of fogless days.

— Christopher Reynolds, Los Angeles Times staff writer

Top photo: The coastal path at Half Moon Bay gets a lot of morning dog-walking traffic.

Second photo: The Golden Gate bridge (but you knew that).

Third photo: I found this cow in west Marin County, where you see a lot of dairy farms.

Bottom photo: The bar and lobby area of the Timber Cove Inn, in Jenner, Sonoma County. It’s like a national park lodge, but a bit smaller, with more style.

Additional Day 7 Photos: