We took a prosaic road trip down
I-15 to San Diego last fall, my wife Tracey and I, and decided to take the
scenic, long way home on coastal California State Highway 1, also called The
Pacific Coast Highway (PCH ), The
Cabrillo Highway and sometimes El Camino Real. The Cabrillo highway is named
after Juan Cabrillo who ‘discovered’ California
in 1542 and promptly died there, apparently from too much bliss. El Camino Real
is the Royal Road
or the King's Highway that roughly connects all of the 21 Spanish Franciscan
Missions, mostly along California Highway 101. These roads meander in and out
of each other in the shape of Freeways and two lane highways and we wanted to
see what was left of the old roads. We figured the weather would be good for
some intermittent credit card camping, and the traffic would be light for us to
drive our little Mini Cooper fast but leisurely up the coast. So with a tent,
some sleeping bags and a sack full of snacks, we headed north on a typical
sunny November Sunday in Southern California .
The coast thruNorth
San Diego County
is lined with contiguously cool little towns, each with their own flavor, all
the way up to Oceanside
where we were forced off the coast on to "The 5" for a long stretch
to get around camp
Pendleton . I swear the US government
could balance their budget if they sold all their prime, coastal real-estate in
California .
We finally exited towards The Cabrillo - Highway 1 and the Beach Cities at Dana
Point to visit good friends Laguna and plow thru Newport, Huntington and Long
Beach. We had to bail from the coastal road again when we got to the busy LA
City beach towns (Hermosa, Redondo and Manhattan) and we headed for “The 405”
to circumvent the traffic and 1960’s strip mall madness. Highway 1 thru LA can
be like a visit to an old college roommate; sometimes you just don't want to
have that much fun.
Federal and State freeways all have names inCalifornia but they change and everyone
calls them something different, so they just label them "The"
followed by the number. It is very personable. CALTRANS runs the greatest road
system in the world, because they have to, but they do have their quirks. They
don't allow unprotected left turns so every traffic light, although actuated
and timed to perfection, includes annoying, protected left hand turning
movements. They also don't believe in clearly marking roads for you once you
are on them so make sure you are on the right road when you start. Finally they
write directions in the road, which seem backwards to me, and they have Braille
dots for lane devisers so blind people can drive too, which is nice.
We took “The 10” west to get around LA and visit the statelySanta Monica pier and hippy-dippy Venice beach before
heading north to Malibu
on The Cabrillo Highway 1. Besides the rock and roll history of Topanga canyon,
a few trophy homes and a cozy little pier, there is no 'there' there in the
famous 27 miles of Malibu
beach front. At the north end we camped in Point Mugu State Park nestled up a
Sycamore lined canyon where you can hear the surf and not the highway. It costs
35 dollars to camp in California State Parks now and I understand it is very
competitive in the summer to get a campsite. I think they are trying balance
the state budget with exorbitant camping fees.
The coast thru
Federal and State freeways all have names in
We took “The 10” west to get around LA and visit the stately
In the morning we popped out
into Oxnard and Ventura, found a Starbucks in a Speilberg suburbia and followed
the merging of The Cabrillo Highway 1 and El Camino Real Highway 101 up to
Santa Barbara. This is a recurring theme along the coast; just when you get
into the rhythm of The Cabrillo Highway 1, you get dumped on to El Camino Real Highway
101 or another soulless freeway.
We followed the winding,
split-level local streets up into the hills to the original Mission that was built by Spanish Franciscan
Monks to indoctrinate the local Indians and lure them away from Russian
influence in the late 18th century. California Missions bounced quietly between
Span , Mexico , the US and the
Catholic Church before gold and freeways were discovered and the place went nuts.
North of here we were funneled back onto “The 101” - El Camino Real again for a while but we did escape to The Cabrillo Highway 1 near the rolling hills ofLompoc and the Eucalyptus
lined beach towns south of San Luis
Obispo . We detoured to Avala beach for some killer
fish tacos and to watch some south swell surfing next to the nuclear power
plant. SLO town is a wonderful berg, rated as the happiest and most livable
town in the USA ,
or some such nonsense, but it does really have a pleasant downtown and a State University
to keep it vibrant. We continued on to the foggy coast town of Morrow Bay and the smaller, simpler town of Cayucos for the part of California that time
forgot.
Further up the coast is undeveloped range land for 100 miles, except for theHearst Castle
in San Simeon and a few lodges and hippie enclaves. The 2-lane Cabrillo Highway
serpentines in and out foggy coastal canyons, ad infinitum along this stretch.
Egrets and buzzards graze in pastures while Elephant Seals and Sea Lions rule
the rocky beaches. This is the postcard California of Chevy and Coke
commercials with the open road, rocky cliff beaches and the ubiquitous sunny Pacific Ocean . This is what the coast is all about, no freeways,
strip malls or stop lights, just the American two lane highway and there was
not a motor home in sight. It was
heaven. I was torn between driving race-car fast to relish the corners and the G
- forces, or grandpa slow to savor the incredible scenery. We climbed over a
thousand feet above the ocean, above clouds, and dropped back down to cross
majestic arch bridges over deep, narrow canyons. Landslides cut the road down
to one lane in several places where CALTRANS worked feverishly to fix the road,
stabilize the slide or permanently mitigate the danger with new cantilevered
bridges. We rested at a small turnout and ate lunch with the birds and the bees
above the cerulean sea.
When we had had enough driving we dove inland into the Redwood Canyons ofBig Sur and found a campsite surrounded by 15 foot wide
trees that were hundreds of feet tall. Cool, quite and dark, these forests
provided a nice change from the dynamic sunshine of the day. I truly believe I
saw Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy working on a 57 Chevy at one of the road
house grilles.
North of here we were funneled back onto “The 101” - El Camino Real again for a while but we did escape to The Cabrillo Highway 1 near the rolling hills of
Further up the coast is undeveloped range land for 100 miles, except for the
When we had had enough driving we dove inland into the Redwood Canyons of
Further north, the road
alternated between a shamelessly commercialized 2-lane and a standard freeway
thru the towns of Carmel, Monterey and the agricultural top of the Salinas
valley where at least there were some killer farm stands and the apparent last
sighting of Bobby McGee. Further on is Santa Cruz which prides itself on 'still
being weird', and it is, but I still don't get it. With Trophy beach front
homes and a sleazy pier, a yuppie downtown and a campy carnival, it is
contrarian more than a contradiction, more awkward than an anomaly. There is a
Coastal Redwood preserve up winding Highway 9 that gave us a sense of what the
area was like before it was weird. After
Santa Cruz , the
beach towns’ end and the shorts and flip flops are replaced with something
warmer, something more seasonal. The Cabrillo
Highway becomes 2 lanes again with bucolic
agriculture and pasture land stretching to the ocean cliffs. The last 60 miles
of road toward San Francisco, above Half Moon Bay, becomes increasingly rural, sub urban, urban
and eventually citified, but we could not bear it. It was time to turn east, up
an unnumbered winding rural road thru the hills, and head for home.
On the way home we had a date with an old friend inPalo Alto , a very old friend with more than
101 years on this coast. She has seen some changes in a land where every road
wants to be a freeway and every town wants to be a city. She tells us of a
simpler time and a kinder and gentler place. There were 2 million people in California when she was
born. In 1980 California had 20 million people and I
thought that it was full at the time and had ‘been had’. California
now has 40 million people and adds another million every three years or 70
million by 2100. California and its coast are indicative of our future, the microcosm
of the American dream, and they are being loved to death. Still, we were able
to find the old highway and a few glimpses into the past of what California once was; a
place where we could be alone with the beauty and diversity of the undeveloped
left coast. I can’t help but think that
maybe this spring we will drive the coast north of San Francisco and discover yet another California , before it
disappears.
On the way home we had a date with an old friend in