San Fran is where we left off, we awoke not thoroughly murdered again and rose to do a bit of shopping... We headed to Best Buy again, as you do, and looked at many cheap things. Then I successfully navigated us back into Central (my nav is back up to a decent standard again, seems the first couple of days threw me off a little, moon must have been in the wrong place or something), and we undertook a mini-pilgrimage of sorts as I went to the official original Upper Playground store.. Which won't mean anything really but suffice to say it's a clothing label I like and they support a lot of cool artists.
From there we were back underway again, heading south on the 101 to Santa Cruz, which we did a lap of and decided seemed nice enough... Then we left. South still more, we finally hit the old Highway 1 heading down the coast, and soon made it to Monterey... From here, much as the towns of North Cali are the snow and forest playground, the track down Highway 1 is the coastal playground. All the towns are scenic and pretty, catering to the rich beachhouse and holiday home owners and the unwitting tourists ripe to be trapped... Also obviously infested by some of the approximately 584.3 million immense road-ship Winnebago motor homes which infest Merka like ticks on the backs of the vastly obese geriatric folk who sail them...
Oops not sure where that came from... Anyway, yes, Monterey pretty, beachfront boardwalk and old fashioned kind of carnival area with rides and such... Leaving there I turned the nose of the Challenger southward toward the cliff-hugging coastal road beckoning not far away... And got stuck in traffic for an hour. Really. THEN we got to the coast road which was beautiful, and I got stuck behind a dick in a new 4x4. Who was doing about 20 the whole way. And not pulling over. With no passing lanes. In fact a whole bunch of us got stuck behind him, for about 45 minutes, until I finally tired of tailgating him with my high beams on, and passed him illegally on a double yellow, as did several other people. I hope he drove off the edge. Americans as a rule are pretty good at getting out of the way of faster cars, except apparently in California, where I got stuck behind several. And as much as I don't subscribe to stereotyping of any sort, I have been taking note, and it is ALWAYS chicks in the fast lane blocking traffic no not getting out of the freaking way.... ANYWAY... Once past d-bag in the coast road we were away and funnily enough the road ahead was empty, because he had been blocking it so long. From there it was a lot of fun... Photos courtesy of my copilot, who is getting pretty good with my camera...
I could go on with photos but I won't... If there is one thing that Americans do know, it's how to make a road. Anywhere. Usually cut through solid rock, or hanging off a cliff. Or both.
The second part of the pilgrimage also happened along the way as we passed through Big Sur... A name you might know if you anything of Henry Miller or one of my personal favourites, Jack Kerouac. The whole area has been known since the early days of America as one of the most beautiful and inspiring places on the continent, and you can see why. Apart from the masses of Americans who now flock there for some peace and solitude...
It was late again by the time we started looking for a motel, gas was running a bit low... We intentionally drove on beyond all the beachy tourist traps for fear of the motel prices, and I was quietly stoked when we pulled in to an oddly named little town which will not mean anything to anyone, but means a great deal to me... The relevance held only (as far as I know) in the song lyric "Alright I'm on Johnson Avenue in San Luis Obispo and I'm five years old or six maybe..."... For the (often really quite unfortunate) events that occurred in the little California community of San Luis Obispo were fundamental in shaping the life of our friend John Darnielle from The Mountain Goats. And yes, obviously I found Johnson Avenue in the morning, and drove end to end. More on the town in tomorrow's instalment though. We then found a nice-enough motel next to the freeway (sensing a theme here?) with another lobby smelling strongly of curry and staffed by another Indian lady, and settled in for the night. We had driven through the forecourt of the place over the road first, which I decided looked as little substandard, and no sooner did we get into our room in the other place than we were entertained by police, fire and ambulance screaming into the parking lot of the other motel with sirens blaring. Not sure what we missed out on, but never mind... And that was the coast.
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