A Hitchhiker's Guide to Marin County

On Saturday morning we packed up the dog and took Highway 1 across the Golden Gate bridge to Marin County just north of SF. We wound up the mountain and ended up at a State Park called Mount Tamale-Pies, or something similar. We hiked up to the top near the fire tower and had a fantastic view of the whole bay area. Josie had a pretty good time leaping from rock to rock and sampling some of the local flora. It was freezing up there, however, and marked the first time since I've been in CA that I've seen ice that wasn't nestled nicely in Southern Comfort.

We continued our journey up over the mountain and stopped in (Tommy) Stinson Beach. It was a pretty small beach community of about 1000 people, and you could tell it was the "Off" Season there. Not many people wandering about and we were the only ones at the Sand Dollar restaurant for quite a while. We walked up the beach and let Josie run about in the surf and attempt to ingest copious amounts of seaweed.

On our way out of Stinson Beach we saw three runners throw up their thumbs to hitch a ride. I occasionally make really idiotic decisions, and this was one of those times. We let the oldest of the guys climb in the back and get a nice tongue bath from the dog. He had run over the mountain to the beach and was looking to get a ride back to Mill Valley. He proceeded to tell us that he was a retired elementary school teached and often ran over the mountain to the beach in less than an hour. He was practicing for the Dally Trail race (may have been called something else), the 2nd oldest race in the nation after the Boston Marathon. He proceeded to point out every time the trail crossed the road. Once we arrived in Mill Valley, he felt compelled to show us around the downtown area. No detail was left spared.

"There's a great bookstore where you can get great maps and books about the Dally Trail,".

"There's the library, it has a great reference section and viewing area about the Dally Trail. Numerous items from my collection are in the display,".

"See that guy with the hat and the white beard, he's Irish. I don't remember his name,".

"Sometimes in the park a guy wanders around with a guitar,".

"There's a famous rock club. Huey Lewis and the News once had a picture of it on an album cover. I don't have that album, though. I think Huey Lewis lives near me,".

I never got the guy's name, but we just started calling him "Abe" after Grandpa Simpson. I fully expected him to bust out an "We wore an onion on our belt, which was the style at the time,". After finishing the tour with him waving to people he knew out of the backseat of our car, we dropped him off near his home. "You can see the top of our house over there near the trees. It's called Pickleweed and..." Just get out of the car grandpa.

Once Abe was gone, Josied whined and pined for her new friend, but our eardrums were happy for the rest. The moral of the story is don't pick up crazy old men who are hitch-hiking near the beach, even if they are overly friendly and frail.

Take care.