Marcel burrito

Now officially on the wrong side of the Sierras—and a few days too early to deliver Marcel to his winter resting place—we called an audible and dropped in on family friends down in Placerville. A little moochdocking in a quiet, comfortable driveway followed. The days passed easily: eating, chatting, and not much else. Marcel sat still for once, his suspension no doubt appreciating the break after a long year of work.

Just before Christmas, we made the final push to Grass Valley and Kerri’s parents. The routine didn’t change much—park Marcel, eat well, catch up with family we only see a couple times a year now. Amazon deliveries arrived with impressive regularity as we provisioned for returning to the boat in New Zealand. There’s a long list of things that are much easier to find on this side of the Pacific, and we were determined not to forget any of them.

After the holiday dust settled, we loaded back into Marcel for one last outing. Four hours south live my two brothers and their wives—people I somehow rarely see despite being family. We set aside a night to finally spend time together, something adulthood seems strangely good at preventing. Marcel once again became our hotel room, parked politely in yet another driveway.

Three brothers. It has probably been 10 or more years since we have all been in the same room together

Rather than take the quick route back to Grass Valley, we swung north and climbed back into the Sierras, passing through Yosemite National Park. We hoped to snag a campsite in the valley for a couple nights. Even in late December, everything was booked solid. We tried our usual tactic—pulling in and asking anyway—but struck out.

We did manage a single night inside the park, though well outside the valley itself. It was fine. But wandering the valley the next day reminded us why National Parks aren’t really our thing anymore. Even staring up at towering waterfalls and Half Dome, it was hard to ignore the roads, parking lots, and buildings stitched through the landscape. Nature felt fenced in. We didn’t stay a second night, choosing instead to find a dirt road outside the National Park boundary.

Finding one final night in the wild proved harder than expected. Most campgrounds were closed for the season. Eventually we found one that was open, paid up, and spent a quiet final evening out before returning to Grass Valley for our last week in California—moochdocking once again.

Months earlier in Arizona, I’d replaced Marcel’s sagging rear leaf springs. One of the replacements, it turned out, was 0.6 inches shorter than the other—a detail I only discovered later while cruising down the Interstate in a subtle crab-walk. We didn’t have time to fix it then, so the plan was simple: order the correct spring and replace it in Grass Valley before leaving for New Zealand.

Two weeks. A two-hour job. Plenty of time. Kerri even said the words that would echo ominously in my head: “Why couldn’t you do it in two weeks?” I scoffed. Clearly.

I ordered the part two weeks ahead of our arrival. It showed up a week late. And wrong. Close—but wrong. Four leaves instead of seven. Not that it mattered, because California chose that moment to experience a week of rain that felt biblical in scope. Even Noah would’ve stayed inside.

It never stopped raining.

With only nine days before our flight out of the state, I placed another order. Amazon promised delivery three days before departure. Four days out, it hadn’t even shipped. Kerri’s question played on repeat in my head. Then—somehow—it shipped and arrived in 24 hours. How? I still don’t know. But by then it didn’t matter. The job was officially dead as the rain returned for all of our final week. Two 100-pound springs now needed to be returned, and the repair would have to wait until we rejoined Marcel later in the year.

Marcel wrapped up like a a burrito

Before leaving, we unpacked Marcel completely, drained the tanks, and wrapped him up for his six-month hibernation. The day we drove to Sacramento Airport, the rain stopped. Naturally. We boarded our flight to Seattle, where the next leg of the journey awaited: ten days of caring for two elderly parents, an elderly dog, and a neurotic cat while my sister and brother-in-law finally took a well-earned vacation.

Finally, on Jan 21st, we board another jet to make the long final flight across the Pacific where we return to Meriwether and boat life. That also means this blog will go into hibernation (until October/November) and www.roadtothesea.com gets my attention once again. See you there.