Rollin' on the Russian

By CRAIG NAKANO

Aug. 13, 2000 12 AM PT

TIMES STAFF WRITER

GUERNEVILLE, Calif. —

Something about the Russian River makes me want to return. Maybe it’s its appeal as a canoeing and kayaking center, or the natural beauty of the area, or Guerneville’s down-to-earth ambience, free of the snootiness you sometimes encounter in Sonoma County’s wine country.

Or perhaps it’s the interesting mix of people that a local comic described as “hippies, rednecks and gays,” all living in relative peace, along with the hordes of family campers who arrive every summer weekend.

So in June I went back for a weekend of canoeing, dining and relaxing. My partner, Todd, and I flew to Oakland, rented a car for the 1 1/2-hour trip to Guerneville, then drove north through Berkeley, across the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge and up U.S. 101.

At the northern end of Santa Rosa, we turned west onto River Road, two lanes that parallel and occasionally cross the Russian River as it runs through a string of towns: Forestville, where we would start our canoe trip; Guerneville, whose five-block downtown is the hub of local life; and Monte Rio, site of our inn.

With rain clouds threatening, we checked into the Rio Villa Beach Resort around 8:30 p.m., then drove to Guerneville for dinner at Sweet’s River Grill, where we had enjoyed a fine meal last summer.

Todd’s penne pesto with grilled chicken came cooked appropriately al dente. But my New York steak was a disaster. What the menu described as a whiskey-peppercorn sauce with sauteed mushrooms was a tasteless, gelatinous mess.

After dinner, I thought a walk down Main Street would improve my mood. We passed a couple walking toward us--locals, I assumed--who stared and grumbled something hostile about tourists under their breath.

A block later, a guy in his early 20s walked by. “Go home,” he muttered. And a half-block after that, another passerby looked me straight in the eye, leaned in as we passed and enunciated slowly: “Go home. Just go home.”

Todd shrugged off the encounters. If he lived here, he said, he’d probably grow tired of tourists too. But the words still bothered me. On the way back to the inn I kept thinking: the clouds, the dinner, the tourist-hating jerks--what next?

On Saturday morning, the previous night still fresh in my mind, I stepped out onto the balcony for a first good look at our lodging, a resort catering to families that comprises three properties. Our room was in a three-story yellow cottage with five units; down the road 100 yards is the Rio Villa’s 11-unit main complex, plus two cabins.

At $89, our room was simple and spare, with a small refrigerator. There are fancier B&Bs; in the area, and bigger rooms at the Rio Villa, but the appeal of ours turned out to be its deck, which had a prime view of the Russian River. Surrounding redwoods and a rose garden below scented the air. The trees formed a mosaic of greens--mint, emerald, olive--in the background. I spent a couple of hours just watching the water.

Breakfast, included in the rate, was on the main building’s patio, a sunny spot with an outdoor fireplace and blooming flowers all around. We were greeted with smiles and hellos by Rio Villa owners Don West and Rick Boen and other guests: a grandmother and her family, all planning the day’s canoe adventure; four San Francisco yuppie types sipping coffee and talking about work; and a husband and wife, whose young son seemed eager to hit the water. It was beginning to feel like a vacation.

After scarfing down orange juice and hot, flaky apple and cherry turnovers, we drove 15 minutes to Burke’s Canoe Trips in Forestville. Burke’s is the only Russian River canoe rental that sends customers downstream, then shuttles them back to their cars. We paid $39 (cash only) for the canoe, paddles and life jackets, and listened to a staffer’s rundown: The trip is about 10 miles and takes about three hours, excluding stops at beaches and sandbars. There’s no time limit, so many folks pack picnics and complete the journey in five or six hours. We could judge our progress by two bridges that divided the route into thirds.

Even though we had canoed before, last year we struggled from the start, careening into other canoes, hitting rocks and dropping our camera in the water. This time, though, we reached the first bridge without incident--no crashes, no tip-overs.

The water was calm and the weather was perfect--high 70s, blue skies. A few ospreys stood sentry on tree stumps along the way, and hawks circled above.

When the river quickened or an eddy turned our canoe sideways, we didn’t fight it. We just sat back and floated, the river gently spinning us in slow circles as if deliberately providing a 360-degree panorama.

Three and a half hours later, our journey over all too quickly, Burke’s shuttled us back, and we drove into Guerneville for a decent lunch of calzone (one spinach, one pepperoni) at Coffee Bazaar, a cafe just off the main strip. We spent the afternoon wandering past the windows of Main Street’s eclectic shops: a clothing store selling tie-dyed T-shirts, a chain-saw shop, a cafe called Brew Moon, a five-and-dime that actually sold things for 5 and 10 cents (little plastic dolls, spinning tops).

While I ran into a grocery store to buy film, a friendly employee chatted with Todd in the parking lot and filled him in on local history. Redwoods, some as tall as 350 feet, once towered over a forest floor of ferns. In 1865, a saw mill opened and the trees were chopped down, turned into trestles for the first transcontinental railroad. The town was named, appropriately, Stumptown, then renamed in honor of the mill’s co-founder, George Guerneville.

That night we ate across the river from our resort at the Village Inn, a handsome country cottage with a deck set under 100-foot redwoods. Dinner was chicken Marsala, perfectly prepared and served with sauteed squash and zucchini, and a tender and juicy filet mignon. Midway through our meal, a hawk skimmed the surface of the river below. Clutched in its claws was the catch of the day: a fish, about 9 inches long, still wriggling.

On Sunday, one of our innkeepers recommended lunch at Fife’s. A gay resort that’s a local institution, Fife’s seemed an odd choice for food. Ads in local publications called to mind guys with washboard stomachs hanging out by a pool.

When we arrived, we walked onto the resort’s deck . . . and right into 1975. Groovy, shaggy hairdos. Abba’s “Fernando” on the stereo. And the swimsuits. So much flab, so little fabric.

But when lunch arrived, the food was good: sandwiches of thin slices of smoked turkey breast neatly stacked with roasted red peppers, melted brie and a strip of crispy bacon. Good food, free entertainment at the pool--what more could you ask for?

Before heading back to the airport, we took one last stroll down Main Street in Guerneville, just as we had the night of our arrival. This time, though, the sun was shining, the people were smiling. We drove away, eventually losing sight of the river, but I knew it was there, quiet and calm, waiting for our next visit.

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Budget for Two

Air fare, LAX to

Oakland: $258.00

Car rental, three days: 109.66

Rio Villa Beach Resort, two nights: 194.02

Dinner, Sweet’s: 53.47

Burke’s Canoe Trips: 39.00

Lunch, Coffee Bazaar: 10.99

Dinner, Village Inn: 45.97

Comedy show: 10.00

Lunch, Fife’s: 27.65

Gas: 30.34

FINAL TAB: $779.10

Rio Villa Beach Resort, 20292 Highway 116 (River Road), Monte Rio, CA 95462; telephone (707) 865-1143, fax (707) 865-0115, Internet https://www.riovilla.com. Burke’s Canoe Trips, 8600 River Road, Forestville, CA 95436; tel. (707) 887-1222, Internet https://burkescanoetrips.com.

Craig Nakano is an assistant editor in the Travel section.