A Daily Post Seems Do-able...

essay

Wednesday July 14 2010

Another long day! I took full advantage of the rented motel room-- I took several showers, utilized the provided electricity to run the hot plate for two meals (breakfast was a cheese omelette and toasted onion bagel with cream cheese… yum!) sorted through the various pay cable channels (HBO, Showtime etc), and of course made absolute use of the hi-speed internet (I Skyped the ex for an hour, checked all my routes through Google Maps, and uploaded a couple of entries to the blog, all while listening to Pandora). I asked for a late checkout and spent the time wisely, cleaning everything that looked dirty in my car (yes, I polished my knob, thanks for asking).

At noon I took off, meandering up Route 1 to Big Sur. Oddly, it's not called Pacific Coast Highway up here (even though it IS the only highway on the Pacific Coast), but rather the Cabrillo Highway. There were many scenic pictures to take (which I took), and a few mural shots in Pismo Beach to add to my collection. Then I hit the danger-studded and wildly dipping Road on the Western Edge of America (yes, the PCH. Which road did you think I meant?). I was not reassured that at least ten times during the journey we travelers were ferried to one side of the road because the other side was being 'shored up' following road failure. Funny choice of terms, with the shore being so terribly far BELOW us! I was also alarmed by the sign which informed me that for the next 60 miles I would be driving through a 'falling rock zone'. With the road being hewn out of the near vertical cliffs bordering the Pacific Ocean, falling rocks aren't tumbling down the side… no, they are in freefall, like the penny over the side of the Empire State Building. At least I'd never see the end coming.

An interesting phenomenon on PCH and other 2-lane roads is the way faster drivers pass the meandering ones. On straightaways when the lines change from solid to dashed, the 'rabbit' speeds past the 'turtle' using the oncoming lane, hopefully completing the pass before violently meeting bumpers with an oncoming car. On those vast stretches of winding, cliff-hugging road however, there are small turnouts built into the road every quarter mile, which a turtle can utilize to allow the impatient rabbits passage. The problem with that system is that the turtles are going slowly because they simply don't have the ability to drive these difficult roads. They are in a state of white-knuckled panic for the entire route and turnout duty is not only far from their thoughts, it is an optimistic impossibility, so us rabbits have to think of more clever (and dangerous) ways to leave them in the dust (where they belong).

If flashing your brights at them doesn't work (and it doesn't), if honking and tailgating doesn't help (and they won't), waiting for a hairpin turn is the next step. They use the lane-shortening advantage inherent in curves to jump in front of turtle dude. Sometimes they keep an eye out for oncoming traffic. If they don't they face imminent death unless they can slam on the brakes and scramble back to their original position, frustrated but determined to make it happen with the next danger-filled opportunity. Sometimes they instead pull into a turnout to change their suddenly soaked and smelly underpants. I know I did.

I was doing that very thing when I saw the sign, and briefly considered going to the famed Hearst Castle. I even made it up the driveway, into the parking lot and into the visitor's center. I had told myself that I'd pay whatever the tour cost (now $24), but the next tour was 3 hours away, so I said fuck it and got back on the road. Maybe one day I'd see what all the hype is about. Until that time, I convinced myself that the tour was how the Hearsts originally became wealthy, a skewed bit of logic I won't even try to describe.

At 3 pm, after sixty alternately frustrating or nail-biting miles I got to my favorite beach in America, the Pfeiffer, near Big Sur. It's very remote, a mile-long sand spit flanked by mountains, featuring gorgeous, huge, climbable rocks projecting out of the water a scant 50 yards offshore. More of the more daring beachdwellers has ascended to the top of them, looking for all the world like the little plastic people residing on wedding cakes. It was enlightening to watch how quickly they scurried up the rocks, yet how hesitatingly they returned. Some became petrified and were glued to their position and had to be coaxed, sometimes with pelted rocks.

One of those huge offshore mini-mountains featured a bizarre natural stone tunnel going all the way through it at water level, and waves came crashing through from the open sea, sending fierce plumes of whitewater streaking horizontally towards the shore. Centuries of this action had carved a small valley in front of the tunnel, pushing lesser boulders to the sides, which people scaled trying to approach the absurdly violent tunnel. Invariably they would be caught by a shooting wave and be shot off like a target in the carnival, only to soggily emerge from the drink and try again.

I opted for a calmer endeavor -- the boulder hop. Along the relatively wind-free southern border of the beach there was a maze of boulders bordering the ocean. Crevasses between them were filled with sea life: side-scurrying crustaceans and raspy rough starfish, tidepool fishlets and slimy green plants, all fascinating to watch as they went about their watery lives. The boulders themselves were dotted with antediluvian footprints and sandstone impressions of an earlier age. I hopped them as far as I could, but although I could clearly see them continuing on for a long while, a churning pot of angry ocean smashing the cliffs between me and them made passage impossible. You see, I had forgotten to bring my ITD suit, or for that matter even to design it. For those of you who remember back to my Hawaiian trip in 1998 (I think), a weekend in Hana watching the deadly roiling sea inspired my idea for an ITD suit-- Impervious To Destruction. Basically it would be a wearable inflatable raft, blowing up on command all around the wearer until they were the hot dog in an indestructible thick rubber bun. The waves could throw them into the cliffs-- they would just bounce off and laugh. The stumbling point for me came was maneuverability. When deployed, the user was as helpless to affect their position as a snake in a box. So like most of my brilliant ideas, I left the ITD suit in the closet to collect dust.

I knew I'd have no reception so I left my phone in the car. Unfortunately that meant I also left my clock in the car. When I got back I was shocked to see that it was after 6 pm. If I wanted to get to Monterey, find a campground and set up my tent before nightfall, I had to get going! Somehow I made it happen. I found the one Monterey campground in the AAA camping guide, was amazed that it wasn't filled, got a spot and erected my tent. I also finally got a chance to use the air mattress pump I picked up following the very hard night's sleep at Ventura's Faria Beach. It worked like a charm. Too bad the mattress had a hole -- it filled in under a minute, and emptied in under five. How to fix, how to fix? The hole was on the flocked side of the mattress (velvety soft so you don't slide around… which you do anyway). I went into my tool section and found some Elmer's wood glue. It would take a while to set, so I had dinner while I waited (Chunky soup and a tortilla). It was fire season so no campfires were allowed… I heated it all up with my Coleman stove. Good times.

10 pm and the glue was dry enough to try refilling it. The Presidio must be next door -- suddenly we could hear 'Taps' through a distant speaker. Uh-oh, quiet time. I again used the electric inflator, plugged into the car's cigarette lighter. It was a very noisy product to operate in the quiet campground, sounding like a nervous vacuum cleaner. A minute later I was done and the mattress was firm. I went to sleep.

I woke at midnight on the cold, hard ground. I did not fall off the air mattress, or roll off. Rather, the mattress was flat. This time I filled it with my breath, then passed out from hyperventilation. Again woke to a flat mattress, but this time it was 5:30 am, so I packed and left to find my morning retreat, a McDonald's. Bless them all, they have been my short-term motel stop for 40 years. A cheap meal, a warm (or cool) environment and the three S's (shit, shave and if you don't mind the mess, an above-the waist shower as well).

Some try to sleep there as well, but the establishment frowns upon that. Well, in the dining room anyway, but they leave you alone in the parking lot, as long as you don't set up a tent. I learned that long ago, the hard way.

And We're Traveling!