Staring trough a window overlooking downtown Los Angeles I felt a stirring for a change of view. I immediately jumped on an opportunity to take a pilgrimage along California’s scenic Pacific Coast Highway.
P.C.H or Route 1 is a major state route hugging majestic cliffs and beaches on the west overlooking nearby mountain ranges and ancient Redwood forests. The further you drive from the city the more you appreciate this beautiful state. Tight valley roads keep you engaged as fresh ocean air fills the breath. Very soon, monotonous traffic lights become a faded memory. Four weeks of this should be enough clear anyone’s head.
I’m no stranger to camping, although rarely solo. I’ve also never been as trusting of my old Grand Cherokee’s competence outside LA county. That last saw me exercising an enormous demonstration of faith. The truck’s battery stops holding its charge so the engine is kept running between short stops, and the terminals disconnected overnight.
Once parked, I had to be prepared to stay for a while. A game would be played each evening as I scout a ‘camping’ spot for the night. An off road trail along Big Sur on what I assume is private property, on the sand Dunes of Pismo Beach, or the dead end of a metered street that needs to be cleared before 6am. Falling asleep before midnight is no longer as hard as it used to be.
The thought of a dead truck each morning was surprisingly not stressful. On contrary, there were no such thoughts at all. It made for a more fulfilling adventure. A few cameras occupying the front passenger seat. A surfboard strapped on the top rack. It doesn’t get more simple than that.