Spoiling Senses in Lush California- Includes Driving 1

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I left Flagstaff and drove on Route 40 into California. I drove across the Mojave Desert without any water, and stopped just before Bakersfield to hydrate. What an experience. From the green plains of Arizona to hills of desert, during intense midday heat. I was a mess, and stopped in Maricopa, along highway 166. My plan was to bypass the Los Angelos area, and head west directly to the coast. Sunday was a long driving day, and I stayed in Maricopa. The town is barely more than an intersection of routes 166 and 33.

One of my most pleasant driving experiences to date occcured along 166. And for this reason I highly recommend the drive just as spring is bursting into the air and the earth. After Bakersfield, take 99 south to 166 west. There is where green explodes! The hills are green, the grass is neon, the hills grow to mountain size and are covered in green! The trees lining the road are more than evergreen, they are lush and full and soft green. I yelped in excitement, because this color, the proof of easy life, soothes me. Then my nostrils picked up something. I was onto 166 and the road cut through a valley populated with small trees. They were farmed, planted in rows and columns acres back, and although I saw no blooms, I smelled them. The perfume filled the car. I rolled down the windows and breathed deeply. The thick odor was intoxicating. I remembered the bulb show at a local greenhouse, how the blooms filled the air with a surprisingly dense perfume. This was similarly pungent, here, outside in the valley, and also similar in scent. I breathed as much and as deeply as possible as long at the farm lasted.

Someone had purchased the neighboring land and installed some industry, which begged my windows be rolled up again. Then, just a few miles later, the perfume returned, through the sealed glass. And it was spectacular! If I could wear this scent, everyone around me would be lulled in drunken contentedness. Then I saw the sign. Orchids. I was driving through a lively orchid garden larger than Versailles.

I told the locals at Tina's Diner in town, and they had never experienced my drive. Perhaps it's a phenomenon that only lasts a day or two. How sad.

The next morning I awoke early to reach the coast. After a detour for some random town exploration, and a drive to Avila Beach, I decided to wait to drive much farther until the weather cleared up. Sponataneously, I set my sights on Cambria and drove into town. Immediately I fell in love. Unlike a much more touristy neighbor, the town was small, just one main road, without a single chain motel.

The shops were the stuff of retirement dreams: "A Taste of Paris" types that were filled with charming, utterly useless trinkets. They lined the main road and the small side streets, next to cute cafes, bakeries, the quaint Bed and Breakfasts. For a town that is maybe a mile of total street, there are perhaps sixteen restaurants, and these often have a garden frontage. So, too, do some of the shops, with barely landscaped flowerbeds that were all in bloom. The fruit trees held blossoms, and some of the shops kept their doors open, burning floral incense to entice entry. The whole town was alive, and visitors and locals alike were spending the morning walking around.

The night I got in, I explored a bit under clouds, read the restaurant menus, and went to dinner. At the Wild Ginger Café not only was my belly gleeful, but I befriended a local couple and the four of us (myself, the couple, and Deborah, the owner) talked during my dessert and their dinner about travel, food, and youth. Completely satisfied after Deborah’s superb cooking, and slightly buzzed, I walked to the wine shop. A local drunk with a rather severe wandering eye, was confused at the locked door. I pointed to the sign in front of his nose (‘Back in five minutes’), and we waited together. He bought something cheap from the fridge, and after some internal debate I bought something not quite as cheap. When I returned to my room, I settled in to write.

The next morning I abused the no limit rule on coffee in the lobby, then packed my things and went walking. Snapping photos of the lovely town bright in full spring splendor, I spent a lovely morning. The forecast called for overcast skies, but at the moment the sun was burning out the clouds. I was resolute, I would drive the Big Sur Highway 1 strip only under clear blue skies, but at the moment the weather was just fine. I decided to drive inland, to Paso Robles, and play the day by ear. A few miles along 101 I saw a car parked at a vista pullout, tapped my blinker, and decided to make a friend.

A woman was standing over a hill, snapping photos, her husband parked inside the car, waiting in the passenger seat. I said hello and set my camera to the best setting, foliage. It sucks light out of nowhere and positively lights up the vegetation. She was eighty, healthy, and alert, locating perfect shots for me. Not that it was very difficult, we stood at the roadside, looking out over a stunning pastoral valley. The hills rolled in velvety greens, the sky was light blue and a high wind pulled the clouds with dragging shadows across the vista. On the pasture beneath us, trees gathered by a pond where cows grazed and a cottage stood in the shade. We talked about our journeys, her daughters, the visit to a friend suffering from Alzheimer’s that had darkened her mood and invigorated her desire to travel. She told me about her years volunteering and the convenience of CB radios, then encouraged me to drive to Big Sur while the weather was this good. We said our goodbyes, and drove off, her heading east, me toward the coast. I would stop if the weather got nasty, but go a little further today.

And so I drove highway 1. The road curved and climbed and fell, my windows were down until I met the coast, but the winds were too high to drive steady, and so I put into the stereo my book on CD The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, and the afternoon was glorious. I stopped for the futile attempt to capture the view, but my favorite was when I saw many cars in one lot. As I drove in I saw the sign “Elephant Seal Vista.” The learnings explained that for some reason the massive species enjoys this particular stretch of sand, and shows up every March to molt, and every April-ish to mate. This time they were molting. Which means they lay on their backs, jiggling themselves gently as they snooze, to shed winter’s layers.

They reminded me of the younger brother in A Christmas Story, all bundled in his snow suit, unable to right himself upon falling in the yard. Imagine wearing a suit of 500 pounds of fat, with short awkward flipper sleeves that allow only limited access to your great bulk. They must be like children, I thought, making strange farting noises, learning to accept their helplessness, their strange mobility handicap, maybe just waiting to be rescued by a strong arm to right them, as well.

I took lots of pictures because they were funny, and as I walked the path, there were dozens more the farther I got. A ranger later told me that a few died there on the beach, and the California Condors made a special appearance to feed on them.

Highway 1 is arguably the most scenic drive (and most fun drive) ever built. If you know of a better one, I would love to drive it, because I know nothing that beats this.

As the clouds rolled in- and I wanted to get outside already! I chose Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park to camp and hike. Just a half mile inland, and the thick forest sparkled with life.