It was a time like no other, at last professionally and personally.
Let's face it, I was not a good fit at Chevron Corp., not a good fit for all of nine years too. I thought I would be there a couple of years and then move on. But the first three were so much fun professionally (and they liked me!) and I was making friendships that have lasted to this day, some of them. We were young, just out of college, shared a compassion for Geology and Geophysics, and loved to party. What was not to like?
But after five years it was time to go. I was too much of a rebel. One year the Holiday Party was at Blackhawk Country club, in the exclusive gated neighborhood where celebrities, pro athletes and our local group manager Bob Adamson lived. A rumor started that my partner in crime Ralph and I were going to get on our bikes and on the way to the Holiday Party give a lawn job to Adamson. I was even called into his office to defend myself, BEFORE it happened, even though I had never even considered this act, as cool as it may sound.
I wanted to be vested in their stock plan, and Chevron was reducing the number of years required daily it seemed. If I could just stick it out, it would pay off. And then they offered me a year long temporary transfer to SoCal, where they paid for all expenses, and I couldn't turn that down.
When I returned to the Bay Area, by year 8 1/2 I was burned out. So I went out and got another job. The new employer wanted me to start right away. But I had three weeks of vacation saved up. I needed the break between jobs. And there was an opportunity for some free training I could get at Chevron that would be quite pertinent to my new job. I asked them to wait a couple months and they actually said OK.
The training thing was typical Chevron. I was working on a system at the time comprised of Dec computers running their operating system, VAX. Chevron in their magnanimity had procured training from Dec an unlimited training course (you could take as many classes that they offered for a year for a fixed price) for everyone in the group, but then never gave us the time to go to them. Then, with less than six months left, they told us to pick three to attend. So I had attended one and was scheduled for two more. One was irrelevant, but the other one was central to my new job. Here is what I did:
The first thing was march into by boss' office and tell him I was going to take three weeks vacation, starting...tomorrow. I am sure he knew what was up but amazingly did not question me, I think he was probably glad to get rid of me without having to possibly tell me I was transferred to Houston, as he had been threatening (after taking the vacation, while I was in the class, I actually drove up to the office to give my official notice!).
So I divided the vacation between a family trip for a week and a half, and a bike (motorcycle) trip for the other week and a half. For family vacation (my two daughters were under 5), we decided to visit my wife's best friend from college and family in Ft. Bragg, CA. While we were there, they told us about place called Crabtree Hot Springs out in the middle of the wilderness in Mendocino County. To get there you had to drive up from the south for many miles or from the north for a similar distance. The route from the south was mostly flat, and crossed just a shallow river (one of the forks of the Eel river near its headwaters). However, the last bit was up a very steep hill and then down to the stream that held the hot springs.
Bear in mind in those days, we had a custom converted VW Vanagon for camping. It was the lap of luxury - koa wood throughout, stove, fridge, two double beds, sink, faucet and water tank, fold up kitchen table, and a large tent attachment - the works. However, I say luxury slightly tongue in cheek. The water tank was old and not air tight and needed to be pumped up with an air compressor as often as once a day for there to be water pressure. And there was a leak in the electrical system. The golf cart batteries were supposed to run everything, but you had to run the car for the car batteries to recharge the golf cart batteries quite often - more than you wanted to when you were serenely camped in nature.
But the worst of all was that it was a 1980 VW Vanagon. Which meant that it was air-cooled (VW added a water cooled version a year or two later) and it had an under-powered Porsche engine, which was basically designed for a light sports car.
The van did all right until we came to the Big Hill. Then it became the Little Engine That Could. Or, as it turned out, That Couldn't. It huffed and puffed its way up that hill, and we were about two thirds of the way up, and it just said "No Mas". And had to back all the way back down since the road was too narrow to turn around until near the bottom.
We still had loads of fun. Fun like this: My wife left her purse at the lakeside park where we stopped for a picnic lunch. We didn't realize it until we were camped about an hour later. Fun like I had a tick that burrowed into my neck and did not want to come out no matter what we did, and I was kind of an expert at getting ticks out from having a dog for 14 years that got them constantly. Then when I drove by myself back to the picnic area (miraculously the purse was still there!), a hornet flew into the window and stung me on the other side of my neck.
When we got home I had to have emergency surgery to remove the tick, which was by now probably infected. And they put me on antibiotics - which meant no drinking until the regimen was complete.
But I was determined to get to Crabtree Hot Springs. I decided that the bike trip would be to take the northern route to the hot springs. A few friends and I had made a habit for a few years of taking fully loaded (for camping) street motorcycles into the middle of nowhere seeking the smallest of roads with the least amount of traffic and thus the best of scenery. Our mottoes were "It's only a couple of miles of dirt", and "Rough Road Ahead". We had many successful and a few not so successful adventures this way.
On those trips we may have smoked some smokables and had other stimulants during the days and drank Jack Daniels or brandy at night around the campfire. I made it through three or four days before I said the hell with it and replaced the medicine with alcohol medicine.
The road in from the north went up to Pillsbury Lake on a paved road and then the rest was dirt. Maybe just a few more than a couple miles of dirt. It went down into the canyon that held that same fork of the Eel River much further north where it was an actual river that needed to be crossed, and then up along a ridge, and finally down a steep canyon to where the hot springs were.
The first thing that happened was out of nowhere my battery died going down to the river. There was nothing to do but coast the rest of the way down. We decided to set up camp at the river. The next day I rode into town on the back of my friend's bike with my used up battery and purchase a new one. We had breakfast while it was being charged up, and then headed back to the others at the river. The next morning we headed to the hot springs. Crossing the river was fun and quite challenging as the moving water was about two or three feet high.
The last leg was down maybe a 30% grade with switchbacks galore, and maybe an 1800 foot near cliff off the side. As I often did I got ahead of the rest. I came around a turn and the bike gave way under me. I slid to a stop just off the edge. I was uninjured. However, the bike had my lag pinned, inches from the tailpipe that was probably about 300 degrees. If I moved, I could just completely fry my leg.
When my friends came around the corner, due to the steep angle of the road, they couldn't see me 'under' the bike. Their first thought was that heffe went over the side! but then the next thing they heard was "Get this fucking bike off of me!". I was panicking and decided I couldn't wait for them. Somehow, I summoned superhuman strength and lifted the bike enough to get my leg out and I was free.
The rest of the journey down the hill was uneventful, and we parked at the bottom. We saw a car parked there. It was about a quarter mile hike to the hot springs. It was wonderful, and all the trials and tribulations I went through melted off of me as we soaked. The springs are not what I would call hot springs, more like warm springs, which was in a way better, because we could stay in them as long as we wanted.
It turned out that the occupants of the car were two middle aged brothers. They left a little before we decided to, and were still at there car when we emerged from the trail. They looked at us and at the bikes, and realizing what we went through to get down the canyon to the springs, said "You guys are Rugged!"
And that, my friends, is how we dubbed ourselves the Rugged Hooligans.
Let's face it, I was not a good fit at Chevron Corp., not a good fit for all of nine years too. I thought I would be there a couple of years and then move on. But the first three were so much fun professionally (and they liked me!) and I was making friendships that have lasted to this day, some of them. We were young, just out of college, shared a compassion for Geology and Geophysics, and loved to party. What was not to like?
But after five years it was time to go. I was too much of a rebel. One year the Holiday Party was at Blackhawk Country club, in the exclusive gated neighborhood where celebrities, pro athletes and our local group manager Bob Adamson lived. A rumor started that my partner in crime Ralph and I were going to get on our bikes and on the way to the Holiday Party give a lawn job to Adamson. I was even called into his office to defend myself, BEFORE it happened, even though I had never even considered this act, as cool as it may sound.
I wanted to be vested in their stock plan, and Chevron was reducing the number of years required daily it seemed. If I could just stick it out, it would pay off. And then they offered me a year long temporary transfer to SoCal, where they paid for all expenses, and I couldn't turn that down.
When I returned to the Bay Area, by year 8 1/2 I was burned out. So I went out and got another job. The new employer wanted me to start right away. But I had three weeks of vacation saved up. I needed the break between jobs. And there was an opportunity for some free training I could get at Chevron that would be quite pertinent to my new job. I asked them to wait a couple months and they actually said OK.
The training thing was typical Chevron. I was working on a system at the time comprised of Dec computers running their operating system, VAX. Chevron in their magnanimity had procured training from Dec an unlimited training course (you could take as many classes that they offered for a year for a fixed price) for everyone in the group, but then never gave us the time to go to them. Then, with less than six months left, they told us to pick three to attend. So I had attended one and was scheduled for two more. One was irrelevant, but the other one was central to my new job. Here is what I did:
The first thing was march into by boss' office and tell him I was going to take three weeks vacation, starting...tomorrow. I am sure he knew what was up but amazingly did not question me, I think he was probably glad to get rid of me without having to possibly tell me I was transferred to Houston, as he had been threatening (after taking the vacation, while I was in the class, I actually drove up to the office to give my official notice!).
So I divided the vacation between a family trip for a week and a half, and a bike (motorcycle) trip for the other week and a half. For family vacation (my two daughters were under 5), we decided to visit my wife's best friend from college and family in Ft. Bragg, CA. While we were there, they told us about place called Crabtree Hot Springs out in the middle of the wilderness in Mendocino County. To get there you had to drive up from the south for many miles or from the north for a similar distance. The route from the south was mostly flat, and crossed just a shallow river (one of the forks of the Eel river near its headwaters). However, the last bit was up a very steep hill and then down to the stream that held the hot springs.
Bear in mind in those days, we had a custom converted VW Vanagon for camping. It was the lap of luxury - koa wood throughout, stove, fridge, two double beds, sink, faucet and water tank, fold up kitchen table, and a large tent attachment - the works. However, I say luxury slightly tongue in cheek. The water tank was old and not air tight and needed to be pumped up with an air compressor as often as once a day for there to be water pressure. And there was a leak in the electrical system. The golf cart batteries were supposed to run everything, but you had to run the car for the car batteries to recharge the golf cart batteries quite often - more than you wanted to when you were serenely camped in nature.
But the worst of all was that it was a 1980 VW Vanagon. Which meant that it was air-cooled (VW added a water cooled version a year or two later) and it had an under-powered Porsche engine, which was basically designed for a light sports car.
The van did all right until we came to the Big Hill. Then it became the Little Engine That Could. Or, as it turned out, That Couldn't. It huffed and puffed its way up that hill, and we were about two thirds of the way up, and it just said "No Mas". And had to back all the way back down since the road was too narrow to turn around until near the bottom.
We still had loads of fun. Fun like this: My wife left her purse at the lakeside park where we stopped for a picnic lunch. We didn't realize it until we were camped about an hour later. Fun like I had a tick that burrowed into my neck and did not want to come out no matter what we did, and I was kind of an expert at getting ticks out from having a dog for 14 years that got them constantly. Then when I drove by myself back to the picnic area (miraculously the purse was still there!), a hornet flew into the window and stung me on the other side of my neck.
When we got home I had to have emergency surgery to remove the tick, which was by now probably infected. And they put me on antibiotics - which meant no drinking until the regimen was complete.
But I was determined to get to Crabtree Hot Springs. I decided that the bike trip would be to take the northern route to the hot springs. A few friends and I had made a habit for a few years of taking fully loaded (for camping) street motorcycles into the middle of nowhere seeking the smallest of roads with the least amount of traffic and thus the best of scenery. Our mottoes were "It's only a couple of miles of dirt", and "Rough Road Ahead". We had many successful and a few not so successful adventures this way.
On those trips we may have smoked some smokables and had other stimulants during the days and drank Jack Daniels or brandy at night around the campfire. I made it through three or four days before I said the hell with it and replaced the medicine with alcohol medicine.
The road in from the north went up to Pillsbury Lake on a paved road and then the rest was dirt. Maybe just a few more than a couple miles of dirt. It went down into the canyon that held that same fork of the Eel River much further north where it was an actual river that needed to be crossed, and then up along a ridge, and finally down a steep canyon to where the hot springs were.
The first thing that happened was out of nowhere my battery died going down to the river. There was nothing to do but coast the rest of the way down. We decided to set up camp at the river. The next day I rode into town on the back of my friend's bike with my used up battery and purchase a new one. We had breakfast while it was being charged up, and then headed back to the others at the river. The next morning we headed to the hot springs. Crossing the river was fun and quite challenging as the moving water was about two or three feet high.
The last leg was down maybe a 30% grade with switchbacks galore, and maybe an 1800 foot near cliff off the side. As I often did I got ahead of the rest. I came around a turn and the bike gave way under me. I slid to a stop just off the edge. I was uninjured. However, the bike had my lag pinned, inches from the tailpipe that was probably about 300 degrees. If I moved, I could just completely fry my leg.
When my friends came around the corner, due to the steep angle of the road, they couldn't see me 'under' the bike. Their first thought was that heffe went over the side! but then the next thing they heard was "Get this fucking bike off of me!". I was panicking and decided I couldn't wait for them. Somehow, I summoned superhuman strength and lifted the bike enough to get my leg out and I was free.
The rest of the journey down the hill was uneventful, and we parked at the bottom. We saw a car parked there. It was about a quarter mile hike to the hot springs. It was wonderful, and all the trials and tribulations I went through melted off of me as we soaked. The springs are not what I would call hot springs, more like warm springs, which was in a way better, because we could stay in them as long as we wanted.
It turned out that the occupants of the car were two middle aged brothers. They left a little before we decided to, and were still at there car when we emerged from the trail. They looked at us and at the bikes, and realizing what we went through to get down the canyon to the springs, said "You guys are Rugged!"
And that, my friends, is how we dubbed ourselves the Rugged Hooligans.
