Journal Entry — Anchor Bay
I left Mendocino early. Not rushed, just done with it. Coffee came quick, strong enough to register, and I didn’t give the place time to ask me to stay. Some towns are meant to be exited clean.
The rides south stacked up easier than I expected. A short one, then another that went farther. Nothing memorable about the drivers, which usually means it worked. The road stopped asking to be admired and started asking to be covered. Long stretches. Fewer pullouts. The kind of distance that changes how you sit.
By the time Anchor Bay came into view it felt less like an arrival and more like a pause that hadn’t decided what it was yet. The place was small, coastal in the technical sense, but thinner than most. A few buildings holding their positions against the wind. The road passing through without apology. The water doing what it always does, indifferent to scale.
I ate lunch at a roadside spot because it was open and I was hungry. Nothing clever on the menu. Nothing to slow you down. I sat where I could see the road and finished without checking the time. No reason to rush a meal when you don’t have a destination pressing on you.
The beach wasn’t far. It never is in places like that. The sand gave way quickly to rock and debris, everything mixed together without much effort to separate. Driftwood piled where the tide had decided to stop carrying it. The ground shifted underfoot, never quite committing.
I took a few swings there. Short. Practical. Enough to feel the weight of the club and let the day fall back into line. The wind caught the ball early and pushed it off course. That felt appropriate.
By evening, the edge had worn off in a way that only comes from moving all day without stopping long enough to pretend you’re not tired. I found a pizza place close by and ordered without thinking about it. Hot slice. Grease on the plate. The kind of food that doesn’t ask questions. It filled the space it was meant to fill.
I took a room for the night. One-night terms. No view worth mentioning. I set the bag down, sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, and let the quiet settle where it wanted to.
Inland towns were starting to feel closer now. Not as stops yet—just names drifting in. Santa Rosa. Sonoma. The pull was there, faint but steady, like the road had already made up its mind.
I stayed put. That was enough for the day.
Sand Rating: 6 / 10
Condition: Mixed, uneven, transitional
— BG
Travel light. Swing hard.
Anchor Bay, California – Wikipedia
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