Good bye, Los Angeles.
I packed my bags and shoved them into the trunk in a display of frustration that went widely unnoticed. Like Louisville, like Austin, like Tucson, this is a place where I could see myself for an extended period of time. Granted, I am experiencing each locale as a traveler for only short breaths at a time, but comfort and serenity are states that one instantly notes upon their onset.
I started the car at 11:15am, and before heading out onto the Pacific Coast Highway, I stopped at In-N-Out for breakfast. I ordered a Double Double and it was finished long before I hit the coast. The first part of the trip was tedious, short bursts between stop lights and intersections. I admired the water to my left, and the hills basking in sunlight on my right. I went through Santa Monica, Malibu, and Ventura before crossing onto US-101. After Santa Barbara I made my first stop in Solvang, an authentic Dutch village where I had visited on my last trip to California ten years ago. I stopped at a place called Olsen’s Bageri and got some cookies for the car ride.
On US-101, towns popped up randomly along the water. Another short stop near San Luis Obispo preceded my return to the PCH, which I took for the remainder of the drive. I went to the Hearst Castle, but didn’t feel like paying $24 for a tour I’ve already taken once in my life. I thought about trying to walk all the way up there to sneak onto a tour for free, but the bus ride actually takes a few minutes so the hike would take too long.
I continued along past San Simeon. The coast disappeared for some time, but when it returned I was right alongside it. Close enough to watch mist form on my windshield. The road narrowed to one lane in each direction. I began to snake along hillsides and up through mountains, down into canyons in what I can only describe as the most incredible driving experience of my entire life. At one point, I saw an unmarked vista small enough for maybe one or two cars, and I slammed on the breaks to see what was there. When I exited my car I was greeted with a breathtaking view of the Pacific. After tiptoeing the edge of the cliff to take some photos, I sat watching, a skinny boy on a stump, for several minutes.
Another car pulled up. A man in his late fifties/early sixties exited the car and made his way toward me as I sat with my feet hanging off the side of the rock. We got to talking and he informed me that he was just starting a cross-country drive that would take him to Boston, then down into Florida, before returning through the middle portion of the states on his way back to the San Jose area. I told him about my trip and he grabbed an Atlas from his car so we could compare routes. We talked for maybe ten minutes before he left. Another couple pulled up a few minutes later and the husband, Greg, commented on my New Jersey license plate being out of place. They asked what I was doing, I told them about the book. The wife told me that they were from Minnesota, and had flown out to San Diego where they rented a car. They were driving up to San Francisco, but spending the night in Monterey. Greg was very interested in the book and he handed me a business card so I could contact him after it is finished. We left the vista one after the other, but I soon lost sight of their car.
WATCH THE WAVES BREAK AND ROLL BACK
I was too engrossed in what I was witnessing. With the water on one side, and steep inclines on the other, fog began rolling up the sides of mountains making a tunnel under which to drive. The terrain became rougher, the speed limit dropped to 25mph. At times, the sun would shine through the clouds and fill the car with warmth. The Pacific would glisten and shimmer. A moment later, the sky would be a gray void. In a span of five miles, the outside temperature might shift by up to twenty degrees. At the coldest mountain vista it was 64 degrees.
one , two, three , four , five , six, seven
I made it to Big Sur just as the sun was beginning to set. With my camera dying, with night approaching, I sped on toward Monterey.
All told, the coastal route drive lasted a shade under nine hours. Every second was worth it. This is the trip. This is what it is. Moments like today exemplify how lucky I am to have the opportunity to probe and analyze every inch of earth on which I tread. And each grain of sand or dirt, each speck of pavement inspires. Like Molly said, every vision and every physical encounter is another story that I will be able to continually share for the rest of my life.
