Took a short trip over to Port Costa for a night of gentle drinking and stimulating friendship. Somehow the former is always a pipe-dream when the latter's involved.
Got there in the late afternoon and decided to walk the tracks back towards Crockett. Such a lovely sunset coming in and the air not yet cold.
Felt like the gang in Stand By Me, leaving pennies on the tracks and looking for dead kids.
Amtrak rumbles right past there almost every half an hour.
Found what looked like the shell of an old train depot, ceiling open to the sky. Across the way little kids were playing tag on a fishing pier and the whole thing reminded me of summer.
Franklin and I kept walking the rails past abandoned docks and pilings til we came to the C and H factory. None of the hardhatted workers seemed to care that we were strolling right through the middle of the place. I guess they're behind fences anyway.
Turned ourselves around and headed back towards town, stopping in the darkness to talk to some fishermen and let a freight train pass by.
Inside the Warehouse the fun had already started.
Where else can you drink beneath the taxidermied glory of a polar bear?
Such a good place to have a good time.
Took ourselves across the street to the Burlington where Kurt had reserved Ms. Kay (aka the big room) for the evening. Schlachta promptly got Schlachta'd.
So did everyone else.
Behind closed doors, things such as this may occur: Dancing; less than subtle attacks of wrestling; imbibing of liquors not limited to bourbon, champagne and absinthe; singing uncontrollably to Steely Dan; kicking fair ladies in the eye; and rolling yours truly up in a rug. We also learned it is always wise to have a room with a couch if you intend to put your teeth into the back of someone's head, thus rendering them bloody and incapacitated for three-quarters of a hour. Of course it is also true that the right song played at proper volume may encourage them to rise from the dead.
Somewhere in there we tried to make contact with even more spirits, but no one seemed to be listening. Its probably just as well.
Good morning, sunlight.
Woke up and assessed the situation in Ivy which consisted of a floor full of me and Franklin and a bed full of Evelyn. Outside the door a couch stood upended in the middle of the hallway, oddly enough having nothing to do with us.
In the midnight melee the kid's glasses got busted. Time for Bloody Marys and free buffet.
Hot chowder, macaroni, potato and ceasar salads and a couple rounds of dice. Just the thing to kick the Sunday morning headache.
Then back down to the tracks to find our pennies and the remains of one very crispy squirrel. With the trains rolling by on the regular we amassed quite a collection of flattened currency and even got a penny to push its imprint into a quarter. I'm glad things like that still make me so happy.
Such a lovely day out and the kid was already down in the muck.
Evelyn took a wingtip to the eye like a true champ.
Over breakfast Lila claimed to have found a giant dead beaver. Deborah re-found it further down the shore, saving us from pangs of jealousy.
Chompers aside it was pretty cute and much bigger than I'd though a beaver would be.
After some deliberation we gave it a good sailor's burial and sent it back to its watery home, no small feat as it was at least two feet long and the consistency of a water balloon. I kept thinking it might split in half as we lifted it, like those huge sharks do when they try to hoist them out of the water.
Oh, the magic of Port Costa.
Haven't been? Go now, as it may change at any moment. Or perhaps that's what people have been saying about places they like since the dawning of time. In this case it may actually be true as the Burlington Hotel is rumored to undergo some sort of renovation and the prices have gone up $10 since last we were there (making a room with a bathroom a whopping $49). I don't think the town would welcome an influx of fancy tourists, so hopefully the changes will be minor and the general attitude of don't-let-my-weird-thirtieth-birthday-candle-hat-stop-your-good-time will endure. Get a room, go for a walk, watch the trains roll by and spend the evening cozied up under a menacing white bear, whip-its and loving violence always optional.