I've passed this Bay Area town 1,000 times. Here's what happened when I finally dropped in
I've passed Crockett so many times in the last half-century, that I'm convinced it can't live up to the legend built up in my mind.
It appears like a model train village while crossing west over the Carquinez Bridge. And in a region where change is constant, this town of 3,642 residents never seems to budge: The ancient brick C&H Sugar factory keeps chugging along. There are a hundred trees for every house. I feel like I can hear the Crockett birds singing from inside my automobile.
'It's like this little town that's lost under the bridge,' said Samantha Bartlett, who co-owns a whimsical Crockett antique store called Cat Vintage.
After more than 1,000 Crockett drive-bys for childhood Tahoe trips, Vallejo family hangouts and Davis college visits for my son, I finally stepped inside the city limits on a recent Friday. And I'm happy to report that the one stoplight town (literally) is worth the offramp detour, and a sneaky-great day trip for Bay Area residents who love to bike and ride transit.
My rule on these Bay Area downtown visits is to reach the destination from my home in Alameda without using a car. Crockett requires three modes of transportation: a water shuttle to Oakland, Amtrak to Martinez and a short but challenging bike route mapped out by my friend Javier Panzar through the Carquinez Strait Regional Shoreline.
I alternate between cursing and praising Javier, as each turn in the road seems to reveal another big hill, followed by another unforgettable sight: old cemeteries, majestic hawks and ruins of the Port Costa piers. That waterfront town used to handle most of the grain passing through the Bay Area. Now it has 193 residents. (And 192 of them seem to be displaying Pride flags.)
The downhill ride into Crockett gives a taste of the charm to come. Revival Coffee is a welcoming community space nestled in the town's old mortuary chapel. An octagonal American Legion memorial is covered with flags. The Crockett Museum, housed in the former train station, has C&H history, tributes to service members, mounted yearbook photos going to the 1920s and the first Crockett school bell.
Inside, I meet volunteers Dick Boyer and Erin Brosnan, the perfect representation of Crockett's key demographics. Boyer is an initially-prickly-but-plugged-in local (John Swett High School class of '55) who warms quickly. Brosnan moved here from Oakland in 2005, and fell in love with the small-town feel. In Crockett, she says, you can join a trash pickup with your kids and see the impact of your work. 'You really feel like you can be part of something. I love being around that.'
The train stop in the early 1900s served two towns, Valona and Crockett, which had an unhealthy rivalry. There were two high schools, two mortuaries and two movie theaters — which sometimes would show the same picture, even though they were just blocks apart. (Crockett apparently won this battle. Valona is now an unincorporated community in the hills.)
C&H started in 1906, which Boyer says was good for the town. The first plant manager was civic-minded, putting in a swimming pool, community center, rifle range and anything else people needed.
'He learned a long time before he started here, if you keep your workers happy, you aren't going to have any problems,' Boyer says.
The Carquinez Bridge's debut in 1926 changed Crockett's look, but not the working class atmosphere. The newer suspension bridge is named after Al Zampa, an iron worker who built the biggest Bay Area bridges, joining the 'Halfway to Hell Club' when he fell off the Golden Gate Bridge into a safety net that put him in a body cast for 12 weeks. ('If I'm so lucky,' he reportedly said at the hospital, 'then what am I doing here?')
Two blocks inland from the factory, I reach the main drag, Second Avenue, which, like every other street in this town, is on a hill.
Locals recommend Lucia's sandwich spot — 'pronounce it loo-chee-uhs' I'm warned twice — over the more well known Dead Fish restaurant on the other side of the freeway. As I eat my fancy club sandwich — there's homemade aioli and hints of lemon juice in the greens — it reminds me of my stop at Provisions in Vallejo. More great chefs should get tired of the big cities and set up their dream restaurants in old downtowns with much lower rents.
I cruise around on my bike, marveling at the old and new. Someone has set up a batting cage in the old brick fire house. Public bocce ball courts are well groomed and ready for action. A model train society roosts in the top floor of the union hall. Toot's Tavern (established in 1901 by one Toots Donato Pezzuto) is filled with locals, and one white terrier.
I settle into the Crockett Library to check emails, and it's the most endearing stop yet. The 1,000-square foot craftsman house has just two tables, one occupied by Mark the librarian. 'We have sticker making on this table for the kids at 2:30,' he says. 'We might have to move you to a computer desk.'
There's a surprising amount to do in town, much of it free. The library has a Dungeons and Dragons night. Toot's hosts local bands. A skate shop sponsors DJ sets and art nights. If I ever get sent to witness relocation, I'm moving here.
The last stop of my visit is Cat Vintage, founded by New England native Samantha Bartlett and her sister Jessie. The interior is well-organized with antique clothes, old Sunset magazines, a giant glass puma and hundreds of VHS tapes. ('The Secret of NIMH' is playing on a small 1990s television.)
'California was kind of a culture shock when I moved here,' Samantha says. 'It was so different from the little towns I lived near in Maine. Crockett felt like a little bit of home for me.'
I grab a VHS copy of 'E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial' and a 1970s Dynamite magazine with a teen Mark Hamill on the cover, and wonder why I didn't take the offramp here 35 years sooner.
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I've passed Crockett so many times in the last half-century, that I'm convinced it can't live up to the legend built up in my mind. It appears like a model train village while crossing west over the Carquinez Bridge. And in a region where change is constant, this town of 3,642 residents never seems to budge: The ancient brick C&H Sugar factory keeps chugging along. There are a hundred trees for every house. I feel like I can hear the Crockett birds singing from inside my automobile. 'It's like this little town that's lost under the bridge,' said Samantha Bartlett, who co-owns a whimsical Crockett antique store called Cat Vintage. After more than 1,000 Crockett drive-bys for childhood Tahoe trips, Vallejo family hangouts and Davis college visits for my son, I finally stepped inside the city limits on a recent Friday. And I'm happy to report that the one stoplight town (literally) is worth the offramp detour, and a sneaky-great day trip for Bay Area residents who love to bike and ride transit. My rule on these Bay Area downtown visits is to reach the destination from my home in Alameda without using a car. Crockett requires three modes of transportation: a water shuttle to Oakland, Amtrak to Martinez and a short but challenging bike route mapped out by my friend Javier Panzar through the Carquinez Strait Regional Shoreline. I alternate between cursing and praising Javier, as each turn in the road seems to reveal another big hill, followed by another unforgettable sight: old cemeteries, majestic hawks and ruins of the Port Costa piers. That waterfront town used to handle most of the grain passing through the Bay Area. Now it has 193 residents. (And 192 of them seem to be displaying Pride flags.) The downhill ride into Crockett gives a taste of the charm to come. Revival Coffee is a welcoming community space nestled in the town's old mortuary chapel. An octagonal American Legion memorial is covered with flags. The Crockett Museum, housed in the former train station, has C&H history, tributes to service members, mounted yearbook photos going to the 1920s and the first Crockett school bell. Inside, I meet volunteers Dick Boyer and Erin Brosnan, the perfect representation of Crockett's key demographics. Boyer is an initially-prickly-but-plugged-in local (John Swett High School class of '55) who warms quickly. Brosnan moved here from Oakland in 2005, and fell in love with the small-town feel. In Crockett, she says, you can join a trash pickup with your kids and see the impact of your work. 'You really feel like you can be part of something. I love being around that.' The train stop in the early 1900s served two towns, Valona and Crockett, which had an unhealthy rivalry. There were two high schools, two mortuaries and two movie theaters — which sometimes would show the same picture, even though they were just blocks apart. (Crockett apparently won this battle. Valona is now an unincorporated community in the hills.) C&H started in 1906, which Boyer says was good for the town. The first plant manager was civic-minded, putting in a swimming pool, community center, rifle range and anything else people needed. 'He learned a long time before he started here, if you keep your workers happy, you aren't going to have any problems,' Boyer says. The Carquinez Bridge's debut in 1926 changed Crockett's look, but not the working class atmosphere. The newer suspension bridge is named after Al Zampa, an iron worker who built the biggest Bay Area bridges, joining the 'Halfway to Hell Club' when he fell off the Golden Gate Bridge into a safety net that put him in a body cast for 12 weeks. ('If I'm so lucky,' he reportedly said at the hospital, 'then what am I doing here?') Two blocks inland from the factory, I reach the main drag, Second Avenue, which, like every other street in this town, is on a hill. Locals recommend Lucia's sandwich spot — 'pronounce it loo-chee-uhs' I'm warned twice — over the more well known Dead Fish restaurant on the other side of the freeway. As I eat my fancy club sandwich — there's homemade aioli and hints of lemon juice in the greens — it reminds me of my stop at Provisions in Vallejo. More great chefs should get tired of the big cities and set up their dream restaurants in old downtowns with much lower rents. I cruise around on my bike, marveling at the old and new. Someone has set up a batting cage in the old brick fire house. Public bocce ball courts are well groomed and ready for action. A model train society roosts in the top floor of the union hall. Toot's Tavern (established in 1901 by one Toots Donato Pezzuto) is filled with locals, and one white terrier. I settle into the Crockett Library to check emails, and it's the most endearing stop yet. The 1,000-square foot craftsman house has just two tables, one occupied by Mark the librarian. 'We have sticker making on this table for the kids at 2:30,' he says. 'We might have to move you to a computer desk.' There's a surprising amount to do in town, much of it free. The library has a Dungeons and Dragons night. Toot's hosts local bands. A skate shop sponsors DJ sets and art nights. If I ever get sent to witness relocation, I'm moving here. The last stop of my visit is Cat Vintage, founded by New England native Samantha Bartlett and her sister Jessie. The interior is well-organized with antique clothes, old Sunset magazines, a giant glass puma and hundreds of VHS tapes. ('The Secret of NIMH' is playing on a small 1990s television.) 'California was kind of a culture shock when I moved here,' Samantha says. 'It was so different from the little towns I lived near in Maine. Crockett felt like a little bit of home for me.' I grab a VHS copy of 'E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial' and a 1970s Dynamite magazine with a teen Mark Hamill on the cover, and wonder why I didn't take the offramp here 35 years sooner.
