You know you’re back in California when you start seeing billboards for medical marijuana.

We left Gold Beach, Oregon, this morning at 9 a.m., after talking a little walk along the shore. While not as scenic as the drive that proceeded it, there were still some breathtaking rock formations in the ocean, partially covered by fog, before we entered the never-ending Redwood Highway.

Trees that seemed to touch the sky. Lots of them. It went on that way for hundreds of miles.


The Redwood Highway

During the drive, I heard Daughtry’s “Home” on the radio and started to cry, remembering all the people and places we have encountered on this journey, as well as the family and friends who supported us to make the whole thing possible.

It has been an incredible seven weeks and through it all, my faithful sidekick Loren has been just about impeccable. I reached back and petted her on the head as she snoozed, her head on the pillow in the cab.

“I love you, boogie,” I told her. “I’m gonna miss you, but you’re going to have an awesome life with Cindy, your new mom, and your own home. No more driving hundreds of miles every other day. Your own place, for good.”

Blinking amber eyes stared back at me with their usual peaceful expression. Loren is such a love, I just know it’s going to take her no time at all to bond with Cindy. I’ll just be her cool aunt Michelle, who took her on a wild trip across the country. I’ve always wanted to be that kind of relative, like my own aunt Gigi, who took me to the Hollywood Cemetery on her Vespa scooter and the Hare Krishna Festival in Santa Monica when I was 10.

The redwoods soon turned into golden rolling hills with sprawling oaks. It was hot, too - in the 80s. No more coastal coolness. We were in Cali!

Going back to Cali, Cali, Cali...

On the southbound 101, just past the Garberville exit, I spotted two creatures running up the highway. It was a small border collie and a cattle dog. I pulled over and call them to my truck. They came at once, panting in the harsh heat, and happy to see a friendly human. They had collars, but no tags.

If I see loose dogs in a residential area, I tend to leave them be, unless they have tags, so they can find their way home, rather than end up in a shelter. In this case, there were no homes within miles, just lots of hot asphalt.

I called Nancy at Brittany Foundation.

“What do I do now?” I asked after telling her the situation.

“Call the police station or the fire station,” she said. “Call 911.”

My GPS gave me a phone number for the local sheriff station, but a voicemail answered, so I called 911.

“I found two stray dogs running up Highway 101,” I said. “I need to talk to the Garberville police.”

They connected me to the sheriff’s substation, which I found within a few minutes. I had put the dogs in the back of my truck, with a large bowl of water. Loren was unfazed by the commotion, happy to be in the air-conditioned comfort of my truck.

Once at the station, after meeting the officers, I noticed that one of their collars had phone numbers embedded in it. I left frantic messages for both and was told that they would be held in a small, local shelter until the owners were found.

I kissed the little black dog on the head and wished them the best, hoping I had done the right thing.

My phone rang two hours later. It was their owner, who was out of town. The dogs had been left with a friend and broke out of their backyard confinement. They were now safe with a different friend.

The owner was concerned because there was a third, a large white dog with black feet, that was missing from the pack. I prayed she turned up, but felt good that this story had a mostly happy ending.

"Thanks for the ride!"

We stopped in Ukiah so I could get some cash and the teller struck up conversation with me after I said I had lost my ATM card.

“Did you get it in the mail yet?” he asked.

“No, I’m traveling and it should be there when I get home,” I replied.

“Really…where are you coming from?” he said.

For the life of me, I could not remember where we had spent last night. Instead, I pulled out a postcard and rambled on about the overall road trip, that we were on our last day and heading back to Southern California tomorrow.

He took a look at our photo and was quiet for a minute.

“That looks just like my dog,” he said. “We had to put him to sleep last year.”

“Was he old?” I asked.

“No, he was only four, but he had lymphoma. He went from being 100 pounds to 60 pounds and couldn’t function,” he said. “It was the hardest day of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with true empathy. Been there more than once and it never gets any easier.

“Can I keep this?,” he asked about the card.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Be safe,” he said as I left.

We arrived in Petaluma around 5:30 p.m., leaving me plenty of time for a 7 p.m. recovery meeting, which I desperately needed after going three weeks without, and to pick up dinner.

Here it is, folks…my last dinner on the road, an Asian shrimp salad from High-Tech Burrito in Petaluma, which I ate in the truck with Loren. Kind of anticlimactic, I know, but I needed to eat something slightly healthy after my Oregon pig-out sessions. It was pretty good, but I have to admit...salad is not my favorite meal.


Final salad

In our room, Loren and I played with a makeshift woobie, a packet of Kleenex, to release some of her energy. Poor thing had been in the car most of the day.

"Aaa haa!!!"


"You can't get away from me!"


"Gotcha!"


"Alright..."

Tomorrow, we head out bright and early. Home. For both of us. Different places, same meaning. A place where we can just be and be loved. For Loren, it’s been a long time coming. Her Independence Day.