ROAD TRIP 1990–1992
In May 1991, long before GPS and smartphones became part of everyday life, I set out on a road trip with nothing more than paper maps. This is the story of the first morning of that journey, traveling from Oakland to Woodside through the heart of the Bay Area. Along the way were busy air corridors, the San Mateo–Hayward Bridge, a still-quiet Silicon Valley, and the everyday streets of Redwood City.
Bay Area
I drove south with San Francisco Bay stretching out to my right. Above me, aircraft lined up one after another on approach. This part of Northern California is surrounded by three major airports: Oakland International Airport, San Francisco International Airport, and San Jose International Airport. In addition, numerous general aviation airports are scattered throughout the region.
The result is one of the most complex and heavily used airspaces in the United States. Watching the steady stream of aircraft overhead, I found myself thinking that compared to the concentration required of those pilots, driving a car felt remarkably easy.
San Mateo–Hayward Bridge
Before long, the San Mateo–Hayward Bridge appeared ahead. Traffic on Interstate 880 began to slow as vehicles funneled toward the toll plaza. The bridge is an extraordinarily long crossing that stretches low across the bay, skimming just above the water.
I had seen it many times from the window of an airliner descending into San Francisco International Airport. Whenever I looked down at that endless line across the water, I wondered what it would feel like to drive across it myself. Now the opportunity had finally arrived. One of the pleasures of travel is that even the smallest long-held wishes can suddenly come true.
After crawling through traffic, I reached the toll booth. In 1991, the toll was just one dollar, paid in cash. Today it costs eight dollars. Times change, and apparently bridge crossings do too.
The bridge stretched straight toward the faint outline of the San Francisco Peninsula on the opposite shore. With four lanes carrying traffic in both directions, it felt vast. As expected, the car seemed to glide just above the surface of the bay. From here, even more aircraft could be seen descending toward nearby airports.
At first glance, it reminded me of Florida’s Seven Mile Bridge. Yet something felt different. The water was not the bright turquoise of the Florida Keys. Instead, it resembled the muted color of Tokyo Bay. The traffic was different as well. Rather than tourists and vacationers, I was surrounded by heavy trucks, work vehicles, and commercial traffic. This was not a scenic highway built for sightseeing. It felt more like an urban artery carrying the daily business of a major metropolitan region.
Even so, a highway running low and straight through the middle of a bay was something I had never experienced in Japan. What surprised me even more was learning that the San Mateo–Hayward Bridge is actually slightly longer than Florida’s famous Seven Mile Bridge. By the time I reached the other side, I had thoroughly enjoyed the sense of openness. Had I been driving a convertible, it would have been even better.
A Quiet Silicon Valley
At the far end of the bridge began Silicon Valley, a place that was still remarkably quiet in 1991. Apple and Microsoft already existed when I drove through the region, but the internet age had not yet arrived. Amazon, Google, and Facebook had not even been founded. Of course, I had no way of knowing any of that at the time. I did not realize I was passing through a place that would become one of the world’s most influential centers of innovation. I certainly never imagined that people across the globe would one day speak the name “Silicon Valley” on a daily basis.
What I saw was simply a calm suburban landscape. Wide roads, low buildings, shopping centers, and quiet neighborhoods stretched across the valley floor. There was little to suggest that this ordinary-looking region would eventually help reshape modern life. If someone had told me that land here would one day rank among the most expensive real estate in America, I probably would have laughed.
Somewhere along the way, the highway quietly became Route 84. Ahead lay the redwood-covered mountains of the San Francisco Peninsula. Continuing west would take me through the forests, across the Santa Cruz Mountains, and eventually to the Pacific Coast. There, at last, I would reach California Route 1 and begin the next stage of the journey.
Everyday Life in Redwood City
Soon I entered Redwood City.
Small shopping centers lined both sides of the road. There were SAFEWAY stores, local shops, Chevron gas stations, fast-food restaurants, schools, and churches. Unlike the highways, there were also people walking. Lots of them.
Tourist destinations are enjoyable, but I have always preferred ordinary places like this. A man eating something he had just bought from a supermarket. A child walking down the sidewalk with an ice cream cone. Someone wiping down a windshield while filling a gas tank.
These are the scenes that never appear in travel guides, yet they reveal far more about a place than famous landmarks ever could. Because traffic was moving slowly, I was able to take my time and enjoy the everyday rhythm of suburban California.
Somewhere along the way, the road became Route 84. Continuing west would take me through the redwood-covered mountains of the San Francisco Peninsula before eventually reaching the Pacific Coast Highway. California Route 1 was getting closer.
Before the Mountains
A little farther on, I crossed Interstate 280, known locally as the Junipero Serra Freeway.
The landscape immediately began to change. Gentle hills appeared, and the atmosphere shifted from the everyday Bay Area to something far more rural and pastoral. The road wound through groves of oak trees as it climbed toward the Santa Cruz Mountains.
Before disappearing into the mountains, it seemed wise to stop for lunch.
Emerging from the trees, I suddenly found myself in a small town that reminded me of Karuizawa in Japan. There I spotted what looked like a long-established market building topped with classic adobe roof tiles. It seemed like the perfect place to take a break.
I pulled in and decided to stop for lunch.
In a single morning, I had crossed the Sacramento Valley, driven over multiple bay crossings, passed through the Bay Area, crossed Silicon Valley, and reached the foothills of the coastal mountains.
Only half a day had passed, yet the scenery had changed again and again.
Perhaps that is the true appeal of a road trip. The destination matters, of course. But the real rewards are often found somewhere along the way.
After lunch, I would continue west toward the Pacific.