Day 31-40 of the 2nd Voyage aka The Lost Days: In which we patiently bide our time and ponder the significance of premonitions, punch cards, and ill-timed comments.

Richard the Mechanic made the three-hour trip from Santa Rosa a few days into our Santa Cruz residency and spent a couple hours down in the engine room with the Captain before hauling away the transmission for yet another trip to his shop. In hindsight, we should have gotten the transmission a punch card as it’d be well on its way to a free trip and/or a spa day at Jiffy Lube.

Since that day, the Captain has been fielding calls from Richard—procuring part numbers from engine components, tracing hose paths, and testing out non-transmission theories—to help him zero in on what exactly is ailing our little hunk of junk. The Captain has also been conducting an informal search for a new transmission…just in case. Our mechanic back in Everett told him that a new transmission had a 90% chance of curing all of our ills. So what happens if our ailment falls into that 10% range? What problem does that point to? The mechanic’s answer? “Who knows.” Okay, but can Mr. Who get the parts?

In and around the transmission, we have been filling our days being tourists and locals in turn. We rented a car for a few days—a brand new (as in 15 miles on the odometer), black-on-black Jeep Compass aka The Gutless Wonder (seriously, it had all the oomph of a constipated possum)—and then as our stay gradually lengthened, took to calling Enterprise every morning saying, “we’re going to keep the car one more day; we’ll return it tomorrow—promise!” and then calling again the next day, and the next. We finally gave up the car before we went broke. When you don’t own a car (and therefore don’t have car insurance) you are obliged to purchase insurance from the rental agency—which will easily double the rental rate. It’s steep, but it’s all-encompassing. And I’ll tell you what...knowing you can drive a brand new car off the lot, return what’s left of it in a shopping cart, and then just walk away brings a whole new level of freedom to driving a car!

But we made the most of it while we had it. We did the touristy things, of course. We spent a morning at the historic Boardwalk where the Captain soundly beat us at putt-putt (or in the Deck Boss’ case, putter-putter); spent an afternoon driving north along the Pacific coast where we had hoped to have lunch in the small town of Davenport, but could only find one café and it was full (we had read that there were six restaurants. Of course, when entering from the south, they list the population at 405, but say it’s 382 when coming from the north—so they clearly can’t count.); and even spent some time watching the surfers on our way to Capitola where we found a seaside restaurant where happy hour may have started at 2:00 pm but the drinks were so weak it’d be 8:00 pm before you cracked a smile. Editor’s Note: this was a rare misstep but it evens out via the discovery of the 99 Bottles of Beer restaurant. So-so food, but a beer selection that’s off the charts. We could have started a punch card to track all the ones we drank, but didn’t. Too bad because we ended up going again and I’m pretty sure I could have gotten a double punch for the hard root beer ice cream float (yeah, you heard right.) And of course we visited the beaches. Many are within walking distance of the marina, but the Captain and I drove up north to Scott Creek Beach where we shared a mile of gloriously-warm sand and surf with only a handful of other people.

On Wednesday, we tempted fate. Monterey has an aquarium (a “world-class” aquarium, we’d been told) and is an easy drive down the coast from Santa Cruz. Monterey will also, probably, be our next port—our jumping off point to Morro Bay. A week ago—when we were a bit more pessimistic—the question had been posed, “Should we go to the aquarium now, or should we wait until we break down in Monterey?” In a moment of optimism, we threw caution to the wind and headed down the highway. Besides, if it’s as wonderful as they say it is, we can always go again. Editor’s Note: We don’t need to go again. If you’re planning on going, be sure to find a coupon…and bring your own fish.

Otter, unfortunately, is not allowed in “world class” aquariums or awesomely-cheesy, pirate-themed putt-putt golf courses like the one at the Boardwalk. But that’s okay, because he spent some fun-filled days at the Bed & Biscuits Doggy Daycare showing those California dogs how the big dogs play. When we brought him in the first day, they asked if we’d like to buy a punch card for ten discounted visits but we declined stating that we didn’t think we’d be in Santa Cruz that long. Later on, when we picked him up after his fifth visit, the guy remarked, “You should have got the punch card, huh?”

The day before we gave up the car, we ran around and did errands—reprovisioned mainly—as there are really no good markets within walking distance of the harbor. Of course we found ourselves at Costco. Now I won’t trot out the typical “everything at Costco is so big” witticism (I don’t have to—Costco published their own joke book…it’s 6,542 pages long) because truth is, I love Costco—I love the fact that you can walk in for staples (beer, bacon and coffee) and walk out with something totally unexpected (lawn chair, falafel and a casket). At any rate, as we were trying to squeeze another case of beer into an already over-flowing cart, I remarked, “Wow. It almost looks as if we’re getting ready to head out again!” The Captain and the Deck Boss both glared. “Don’t say that!” they said in unison. “Wow. It almost looks as if we’re getting ready for a huge staying-in-Santa Cruz party!” I backtracked. Because this is what we’ve become…superstitious people afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing for fear of jinxing a positive outcome. We’ve taken to talking in cypher, second-guessing our intuitions, and interpreting omens in the most mundane of incidents.

The last day we had the car, we stopped at the Entenmann’s outlet. We had passed by the place countless times and the temptation for donuts had finally become too great. I pondered how many boxes to get by calculating the number of days it would take to get to San Diego divided by the weak will of someone addicted to frosted-chocolate donuts and then realized I was doing it again—I was putting the voyage in jeopardy by believing we would actually be going on a voyage. I resigned myself to the fact that I should just buy the number of boxes that I could consume in the parking lot because these donuts were never leaving the zip code, so I grabbed four. At the checkout, the cashier asked if I would like a punch card. I looked down at the little crudely-cut, photocopied card in her hand—good at that store only—and wondered why I would need a punch card that would be totally useless anywhere else in the world. And then it hit me...maybe I was going about this all wrong. Maybe you don’t get a punch card to use it; maybe you get one so you won’t need it. And we certainly wouldn’t need it in San Diego. It was a sign! (Or at least a good theory.) Did I want a punch card? Damn straight I want a punch card. And ten more boxes of donuts, please.

Pictured: Otter and the Captain at Scott Creek Beach

Not Pictured: The madding crowd

 

Pictured: Pirate-themed mini golf at the Boardwalk

Not Pictured: The Deck Boss' "putt" from hole 4 that landed at hole 6

 

Pictured: Bad photograph of hammerhead shark at Monterey Bay Aquarium

Not Pictured: The 15 minutes waiting for it to come around again so bad photograph could be taken

 

Pictured: Best attempt at photo of hyperactive Puffin hopped up on espresso, adrenaline, and spiked squid. Seriously, you would have thought the water was on fire. If you do go to the aquarium, he's over by the sharks. Bring a lawn chair and a falafel--you'll want to catch all his shows.