I gave in to the urge and drove on. Which is peculiar because I spent the day before driving 12 or so hours from Salt Lake to San Francisco. Kerouac must have gotten into my subconscious. And let me remind you, I am a flight attendant now, meaning I could have done this for free in considerably much less time. And yet, I needed to get that car out here for the sake of my sanity.
Back to the point, after spending a whole day in a car the day before, I decided to embark on another car journey along a small stretch of Highway 1, also more aptly named, Pacific Coast Highway. My one regret in the spontaneity of this trip is that I wish I could have posted a poster on back my car stating, "I am a tourist. I am enjoying the view. By all means, please pass me!" I swear, the speed limit on that road should be 25 mph.
Leaving Pacifica, no more than a couple miles from the eloquent Taco Bell,the Pacific Coast Highway turns into a one lane road driving through a forest of trees. A thick layer of trees darkening the day light line both sides of the road. To me it felt like instantly leaving a small city to entering a protected national park or a forest inhabitable for miles.
All the trees soon make sense. Free roaming hills painted in green appear beyond the trees. The highway leads on to a tunnel through the hillside. I'm both a sucker for tunnels and a sympathizer with the tunnel. One thought exclaims "I am driving through a huge chunk of earth right now. This is awesome!" The other side of my conscious simply asks "Was this really necessary?" The two thoughts don't battle long as there are beautiful views of beaches, cliffs, hillsides, and oceans straight ahead.
That stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway from Pacifica to Santa Cruz is merely a small portion of what California has to offer. It is not in my ability to describe the views and the beauty of that drive I took that day. This is why: As in most things, the scenery only lends itself to an open mind. While I may have seen a countless number of tan sandy beaches, unadulterated coastal land for miles and miles, and rolling hills of green and cattle, another may simply see the road to home or work, or some place anywhere other than where they just were.
I didn't stop to see and take in as much as I should have. I had a destination in mind, Santa Cruz. I wanted to get there with enough daylight to enjoy it. Regardless, I did spot a picturesque lighthouse along the way that screamed at me to check out. The view of that lighthouse sitting on rocky cliffs and the introspection it inspired was worth the time and daylight it required. I was surprised to find it to be a hostel as well. Why not though? It's a view travelling vagabonds feed off of.
It is hard to fight the urge to write a string of adjectives and superlatives when describing the drive along the Pacific Coast Highway. It is simply beautiful. It is one of natures many masterpieces. Where else can you hear the roaring ocean, feel the ocean spray, and stare at rolling green hills? Nowhere were it is quite like Highway 1.
I eventually made it to Santa Cruz. From my short stay I found it to be enjoyable with an intersting crowd. The boardwalk and its rides were open and crowded. People seemed happy. I wandered around aimlessly wondering what I was more drawn to: the open road or the destination?
The sad part of the Pacific Coast Highway? Either way you go, north or south, it ends up right back in a big city where it is forgotten. Where the opportunities of the open road are neglected. Where the mind turns back to the responsibilities of work, family, and human life. Where once again, our life given source is ignored and forgotten.
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