Chinanonautica: Up the Pacific Coast of Cali

by Ernest Hogan

We left Monterey before dawn, got food at Ferrell’s Donuts in Santa Cruz. Spanish names. Still in Aztlán, but pretty far north. It starts to change here. The vast Pacific touches the West Coast and Asia at the same time. During the Gold Rush, prospectors used to put their dirty clothes on sailing ships and have them laundered in Hong Kong. And there are influences that aren’t Native or Spanish. NorCal was once part of the Russian empire.

Soon we came upon the Pigeon Point lighthouse. It’s no longer in use. Most lighthouses in the United States are automated. Satellite navigation and GPS are phasing them out even though mariners and fishermen still use them as backup for the electronics.

Boing! Story idea: An apocalyptic event knocks out the world’s electronic systems. An electromagnetic pulse or a cosmic event, solar flare, or something. A ship carrying important supplies needs lighthouses . . .

Kinda vague. Needs something to keep it from seeming like a Fifties thriller.

Lighthouses are beautiful, and there’s something dramatic about them. They make a good backdrop. 

Then, near a cliff, was a bit of Mayanoid graffiti. Or maybe it was Olmecoid. Seems natural after seeing a Zapotec presence.

Did any ancient MesoAmericans make it this far north? Probably. Marco Polo walked most of the way from Italy to China. Modern folks underestimate walking, and when it’s combined with celestial navigation, look out!

After a while, the fog melted away along the road-hugging forest, and we arrived in Half Moon Bay, too early for any of the thrift stores to be open. There were murals, giant metal roosters, and other examples of California outdoor art. 

Mexicans aren’t the only people who like to paint on walls.

Then, while zooming down the highway, a sign caught my eye: MAYAN CUISINE.

What could it mean? Tamales? (Tamal is Nahuatl, they are called “pibs” in the Yucatán, and “uah” in Mayan.) Or—dare I hope—something totally different? 

Unfortunately, we had plans for the day, so we couldn’t check it out. Gonna have to come back someday. So many Mexican restaurants, so little time .  . .

Near the town of Pacifica, all of our phones made a hideous mechanical noise, like something designed to announce a nuclear attack or the approach of an extinction-level event asteroid. We all got that same text: Earthquake alert! Drop, cover, hold on, protect yourself – USGS SHAKEALERT.

We didn’t feel anything, nor was there any interruption to traffic. San Francisco was still intact. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge without incident.

Ernest Hogan’s new book, Guerrilla Mural of a Siren’s Song: 15 GonzoScience Fiction Stories includes some that caused him to be called the Father of Chicano Science Fiction.