When we left Sonoma, our minds were relaxed, bellies filled with wine (along with the back seat and trunk), and the dirt from Yosemite had finally been scrubbed clean.
Our next part of the trip was to travel down the Pacific Coast Highway (CA-1 for all your tourists), soaking up the coastal views, sheer cliff walls, seals, and winding road. Now, it is a trip that could be made in a single day - totaling 489 miles, but we really wanted to enjoy ourselves and be able to stop where we wanted, whenever we wanted, so we decided to break the drive up into two chunks. Half one day, half the other.
Leaving Sonoma, it was hot. I'm not talking about uncomfortable or even manageable hot either. I was sitting in the drivers seat, shorts and a tank top, and I was miserable. If any of you out there know me - I like the heat. The hotter the better. Humid, dry, I don't care, crank it up and I'm fine. But on that particular day, I was in pain. I could feel the sweat just running down my back. See it running into the corners of my eyes. I probably could have driven in just underwear, but I had a lady in the car - I had to be presentable. I could not wait to reach the highway and crank the windows down and let the wind wrap me up. Luckily, it wasn't long until we were out of wine country and back out on the open road.
Our first site to see was the Golden Gate Bridge. While in San Fran, I was lucky enough to pass it, get some great photos of if, but ever actually set foot on it. This time, I had the pleasure of driving over it. It was absolutely marveling. Looming over us as we passed under its arches. I always knew it was big, but crossing it really put it in perspective. That. Is. One. Large. Bridge.
We quickly made our way through San Fran - contemplating a pit stop, but decided against it because we had so much more to see ahead. It really wasn't long until we hit the PCH and the view just opened up. Almost immediately, the coast appeared and the road just disappeared, winding down along the water.
The views were absolutely ridiculous. At times it was hard keeping my eyes on the road. Cliffs just dropped away to pristine, uninhabited beaches. Waves crashed along the jutting rocks. The water was so blue, so clean, so inviting. And that was just to the right. To the left, the mountains rose and fell, covered in tall grass that swayed in the breeze, inhabited by the occasional cow staring at the passing cars. It really is a sight to be seen.
Continuing on our way, we kept seeing signs for fresh berries and decided we needed some. Thats when, as if on cue, the sign for Pie Ranch appeared. We looked at each other and we knew. That was our place. Pulling in, it was packed. I was excited, giddy at the thought of buying a pie and housing it in the car - stuffing my face with boysenberry, or raspberry, or rhubarb. It all sounded so damn good. With whip cream of course. So imagine our disappointment when we stroll in to see no pies. And virtually no berries? I wasn't mad, I wasn't even sad. I was offended. I wanted to yell, scream. How could Pie Ranch run out of pies!? The world pie is in the god damned name! It wasn't called Limited Amount Of Pie Ranch. So. Utterly. Lame.
Dejected, we crawled back into the car and continued down the road. Luckily for us, the view only managed to get better and about twenty to thirty minutes down the road, we found our Mecca. The holy land. Swanton Berry Farm. We pulled over and when we walked in, I was speechless. It was amazing. Berry everything. Shortcakes, truffles, jams, cobblers, fresh berries. The list goes on an on and on. Not only that, but everything was Earth friendly. Biodegradable dishes and silverware. They even had empty glass jam jars for coffee. But the most impressive thing? The people that ran the place, while around, didn't monitor the shop/bakery/kitchen area. So, it was an honor system based method of payment. A cash drawer was out in the open, with a small sign explaining to pay for everything yourself and to please be "fair." I was stunned. Coming from LA - you'd never see anything like this. In a strange way it melted my heart.
Paige and I made out selections; strawberry and blackberry shortcakes, a basket of berries, and two coffees and just sat, people watched, and enjoyed ourselves. We didn't say much, but just soaked it all in. It may have been one of the most relaxing moments of the trip. Looking at each other, we both decided that this is something we would both be happy doing - living up in the middle of no where, picking berries, running a small business like this, backed by a union of farmers. It reminded me of what I loved about Ithaca so much. That sense of community, but removal from the regular world. It was refreshing being on a farm, where morals, and pride are more valued than how much is in your wallet.
By the time we left Swanton Farms, it was beginning to get dark. The fog started to roll in and we decided it would be smart to find a place to sleep, not wanting to burn too much of the drive during the night and miss the view. We had assumed it'd be easy to find a place. Boy were we wrong.
It was mainly my fault for being naive, but I never thought that the PCH was a touristy thing to do. Again, how much more wrong could I have been? Not very. Secondly, it was a Saturday night, so it was that much more busy. We drove and we drove, stopping at each motel, asking if any rooms were available, only to be turned down by each and prompted to continue further down the coast. We eventually hit the main strip of motels, probably close to twenty, lining both sides of the highway, only to learn all of them were sold out.
At that point we decided dinner was more important. It was now ten, and we were hungry and tired. We eventually found a place, a rather empty, beachfront imitation diner, where the food was drastically overpriced and they couldn't tell the difference between Sprite or water (d'oh).
When our stomachs were full, we tried to find a store that was open to find water to brush our teeth and drink, but it was too late. We even knocked and begged at a store for the cleaning ladies to let us in. It was rather funny - us wandering around, clearly rather lost without somewhere to stay, while the hotels all had bars that were full of people having a good time. From the inside looking out, we must have looked pretty sad. But, in retrospect, there is no one else I'd rather share that experience with. We made light out of the situation, laughing at everything. I felt bad, guilty for messing up this leg of the trip but not planning ahead. Thankfully I had the perfect company, who melted away all of those feelings.
Eventually we posted up on a side road, reclined the two seats and curled up in our sleeping bags from Yosemite (clutch) and passed out next to each other, separated by the center console of my Civic (great room accommodations).
Ideal? Hardly, but we made the best out of it. After all, this was supposed to be an adventure right?
Bliss...
ReplyDeleteieyu, ilys!