The Golden Gate Bridge was behind us. We were heading north, expecting to see Redwoods. Years before I had driven south from San Jose, at the south tip of the San Francisco Bay, to Santa Clara, on the coast, passing through beautiful Redwoods. Such was not the case just north of the Golden Gate on California highway 101.
The hilly countryside was covered with dry golden grass, beautiful to see, but looking like a fire could be easily started, and would race through it quickly. At first the green trees scattered in it were low and rounded, but as we progressed they changed to cone-shaped pines.
Later we were passing through forests of pines. Then we did something that got both my son and I chewed out by the highway police. To our right, out the car window, we both noticed we had just passed an old, interesting but unused cement bridge off in the distance. It was supported by an old massive cement arch. Both of us wanting to take pictures, we pulled off into a marked triangle-shaped area next to an…
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