4/13/2013. - Day 18 - The Big Sur, the sea lions, Oh, and can you say "Hi" to the queen?

4/13/2013. - Day 18 - 
The Big Sur, the sea lions, 
Oh, and can you say "Hi" to the queen?     

                                                                                                                            Two roads diverged in a yellow wood 

And sorry I could not travel both

And be on traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear

Though as for that the pass there

Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay

In leave no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

I am awake later than I wanted but sleep is so good after so many years of disrupted sleepless nights. I connect with the backpackers in the kitchen so they know I am alive and kicking (and serious about taking them along with me) and go about getting my belongings together. I stop in the kitchen to see how crowded it is in hopes of making the hostel signature pancakes. Suddenly, Syndrome swoops in front of me and seizes the pitcher of mix and commandeers the griddle. This is OK. I have a few other odds and ends to do before we take off, so I make a point to set up my plate and juice glass beside the pancake station, signaling that I am returning and I am next, and I leave the kitchen. I'm passively dealing with this situation. For now.

I come back approximately 10 minutes later, and Syndrome is STILL working on his pancakes. All 12 of them. All 12 fluffy golden golden circular pancakes. And he has been waiting for my eventual return. He is a meticulous stalker and he is painstakingly detailed in his culinary creation as well. I collect my plate and juice glass and stand formidably near to both Syndrome and the griddle so that when he removes his pancakes it will be evident that I am next to begin my breakfast preparation--and so it is obvious that he is abusing the allotted time for having control of the pancake facilities. But Syndrome has done his evil villain homework and is a step ahead this morning...

As I clutch my dishes and stand waiting for the pancake station, he casually begins to scoop his pancakes from the griddle, and in doing so, turns to me in a calculated movement and inquires with a deep and sinister grave voice "Would you like some pancakes?"... I can honestly say that I had to fight very hard to contain my shock and not allow my facial expression to give me away. Syndrome is dressed in what appear to be navy stirrup pants, a hiking jacket, and wild hair. Somehow I come up with, "oh that's OK. I'm making some as soon as you are finished." There are a few tense seconds that pass and Syndrome looks as if he is about to flip. A brief rage passes across his face, but then he regains control and his facial muscles relax and he retreats, with his huge stack of perfect pancakes.

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN!?!?!? I'm pretty sure there was no real danger involved, but no sir, I would not like your stalker special pancakes. Social worker's intuition sent my creep radar on red alert during that exchange. We social workers are [supposedly] a good judge of character and those might not have been specifically tainted pancakes, but there was something not right about that dude and his uncomfortable villain likeness and stirrup pants. Next, the man from last night who was spooning ice cream directly from the container strikes up conversation. He appears much less villainous, and I bite. Within seconds, however, he is talking about magic and then indicates that I should check out his "celestial" website because he "thinks I'll really enjoy it." I thank him. But I think to myself that it sounds very sketchy and I will certainly pass on that world wide web adventure. After preparing my own pancakes, untouched by evil villains, I rally the backpackers and we pile into the pickup and head for the Big Sur. Syndrome keeps watch as we gather and pack up the truck, but does not intrude further.

Rick and Tyla are my road trip buddies for today and they are from England. Rick is in back checking the map for points of interest. We pass several of them before we realize we should be looking a little closer. He is also monitoring the highway for state parks where they can camp next and at which point they will ultimately depart my company. Tyla sits in the front and chats with me about England.

We pass a sign for boar crossings shortly out of Caramel. I have never seen a boar crossing. I warn the Brits to be on the lookout for wild boars. A wild boar to the front of the Ford could severely hamper our plans for traveling the Pacific Coast Highway without interruption. And I don't have a grill with to prepare them for dinner, thus a dead boar equals nothing more for us than a dented fender and famine.

We continue along our route and talk about England and the comparisons and contrasts with the states. I learn that the Queen of England is simply a figurehead and has no real power or duty other than to be a diplomat and provide tourists with entertainment. Many Americans have asked my companions to tell the queen "hello" when they return. I find this odd, as do Rick and Tyla. We joke that they will send her greetings next time they are on Facebook chat with Her Majesty. Maybe I can add her on Skype.

Lots of young people from overseas engage in backpacking and overseas travel-- and it seems quite sparse here in the U.S. I am not sure if we are more fearful, or feel more obligated to dedicate ourselves to the work force immediately, or purely lack interest for exploring. The international folks I have come to know on my journey frequently take trips in their youth and have dubbed their travels "gap year," meaning you take a year off from school/work/reality to travel and discover.  I am taking a gap something, though I am not sure what it is yet.


The PCH is beautiful. For the most part, it is a winding ribbon of a highway that cuts into the edge of the cliffs high above the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean while making its way along the West Coast. On one side there is solid rock; On the other there is a sheer drop. At some places along the way, there are large bridges where the road is simply a pathway perched atop a giant structure of concrete. I am both anxious about driving on what seems a risky roadway, and simultaneously awed by the spectacular view. The Brits are the primary beneficiaries of this drive, as they have the freedom to look around and I must focus on the task of driving.

We stop prior to a major construction area to take a few photos of a particularly aesthetic scene where the view of one large section of the highway is completely unobstructed, showing a cement bridge structure rising up from the crashing waves and stone below.  Not wanting to pass up a photo opp, we pull over and get out to perform our stereotypical tourist duties. Rick is too close to the edge for my comfort so I need to close my eyes several times to avoid screaming in fear of him falling. After we have captured the appropriate amount of images, we return to the pickup and the backpackers make comments as to whether or not I am too scared to continue on as the driver due to my previous behavior. I inform them I am not frightened of driving off of the highway; I am simply frightened of them falling off of a cliff because they are too close to the edge. And besides, the highway has guard rails.

As we continue along PCH, we discover that much of the highway is under construction. This means the narrow roadway is even more narrow and more creepy. There is also an area where a new tunnel comes through the rock and winds along the jagged cliffs overlooking the ocean below. We are stopped frequently where the construction has reduced the road to one lane. This allows for extra scenic viewing time for me as the driver; however, it also allows a clear view of the surface underneath the road being worked on. The Brits comment that it appears the entire highway has fallen away underneath the temporary roadway and they can see all the way down the side of the cliffs from their vantage point on the passenger side. Thank you young British teenagers for providing me with additional anxiety.

After about an hour or so of driving, Rick
declares that they have arrived at their destination for the night, a state park off the PCH. We exchange goodbyes and they set off to explore and find a camp site. I fondly remind them to say hello to the queen.

After the Brits are gone, I am left to my own thoughts again, always a dangerous situation. I reflect on how quiet it is traveling alone. Sometimes I enjoy the silence and time for reflection and other times I think it is quite nice to travel with others and sit back and listen to their stories. This trip has been rather unbalanced in that aspect and I did not notice much until Rick and Tyla had come and gone. I am reminded that we are not meant to travel this life alone, but rather we are meant to live in fellowship with others, to be surrounded by community to help us grow and learn and evolve. On this trip especially, I have already been blessed with the amount of diversity in my newly found acquaintances and the opportunity this presents for us both to exchange stories and gain insight into each other's worlds.

I wish that I could somehow share with you the spectacular views from the remainder of today's drive down the PCH. My own words, no matter how eloquent and descriptive, could never capture the true beauty of that highway as it weaves along the rocky coast, high above the shoreline. The picturesque views of the waves crashing below me, the beautiful wildflowers and succulents that connect the roadway to the rock beneath, and bridge the conquered civilized world and the wild waves. These are indescribable and there is no way to fully depict them here that would do any justice. Having physically seen their beauty, I am certain I am inept at writing in such a way that would allow you to see through my eyes.

I continue along the highway until the roadway comes to an area where it is nearly level with the sea. Along this stretch there are several areas where there are trail heads nestled along the highway. At some points there are fences that extend the length of the highway and these too have trail heads that can be accessed by going through a gate-like opening in the fence. I pull the pickup as far off the highway as I can and make my way to one of the trail heads, across the field of succulents towards a beach concealed from view from the highway. The path to the beach leads up a small crest of land. As I ascend the crest, I find myself directly above the beach, and stunned by the scene below.




A strip of shoreline extends below the crest and dozens of sea lions lay sleeping scattered along it. Beyond them, is a small rocky area with a few pools between the rocks where a other sea lions frolic. There is a well worn sign that requests I keep an unspecified "safe distance" from the seals, and displays a red circle with a line through it with a picture of a human petting a seal. In my mind, this converts to: Keep a safe distance away; the safe distance is not petting the seals.









I decide that I need to navigate through the sea lion minefield so that I can watch the other sea lions playing in the rock pools more closely. I begin to tip toe through dozing sea lions, some oblivious to my presence, some keeping  watchful eye but largely uninterested. There are a great deal of them, but not so many that I can't maintain at least a 7 foot distance as I pick a trail through them. I finally reach the rock area and am amazed as I sit on the rocks and the sea lions dive and play just a few feet from me in the water.




This is an absolutely surreal situation, being able to observe nature in such an intimate setting. The sea lions dive and play in the pool at my feet, floating to the surface with bobbing heads and bottomless eyes. There is an awkward moment where they seem to take notice of me, all suddenly staring directly at me with those huge dark eyes. I quietly say [more to calm myself than to command them] "stay down where you are please" to the floating giants. I am slightly second guessing my interpretation of safe distance as they float there, staring at me. I wonder about backing up as they can likely get onto the rocks where I am sitting quite easily...

Considering I am a good half mile from the road, and am wearing flip flops (bad decision) on slippery wet rocks, it is likely best I retreat since no one knows where I am and I don't feel like slipping to my death/getting eaten by sea lions with very little chance of being discovered. The pansy in me wins over and I start towards the sandy beach.

A problem presents itself immediately. The number of sea lions on the beach area has increased significantly in the short amount of time since I last crossed. Additionally, a number of sea lions are now making their way in from the ocean, and a few are also trekking back to the water. There is traffic. There are tons of sea lions. The tide is coming in.There is no path.

I am unsure what degree of danger a sea lion poses to a 20-something female on foot on a beach. I mentally make a note to start researching local fauna prior to entering their habitat. I am fairly certain they are awkward on land, cannot necessarily grab me with their flippers, but can probably tear me to shreds with their teeth. There is a small opening in the path which I start for. I make a run for it just as a giant sea lion bursts from the beach and slides into the water. I managed to get out of his way but the other sea lions have seen now taken note of my presence.

There is still a small path between them and the water and if I time it right, I may be able to sneak through between waves. There is still a lot of seal traffic coming in and out of the water and I am trying to respect them from a safe distance while also trying to hold it together and not become their midday snack. I make a run for it when I see a small opening--but a medium sized seal spots me and there is not much room between him and the water. He is not sleeping, he is not oblivious to my presence, and he is not feeling friendly. As I am trying to tiptoe by, he roars loudly and starts towards me baring his teeth. Crap. The only viable option I see here is to run towards the water and go around him. A clever friend of mine points out after I relay this story to her that running "into his natural habitat" was not the best choice, but at the time it was the only choice. As I dash towards the water the opening for a dry route gets smaller and smaller. The oncoming waves rush towards me and drench my lower half. I am safe from the sea lions. I am also soaking wet. I consider this another near miss.

Not dead. And NOT friendly.

Because I am on vacation and I really don't care, I take off my pants and hang them out the back window to let them flap dry as I drive. I have officially labeled myself as an out-of-towner/redneck. I am driving a pickup with ND plates, carrying a motorcycle, with pants flapping in the breeze.

The pants-less journey continues South, as I come upon Hearst Castle. I was unsure if I would arrive at a decent time to see this incredible structure, and indeed as I enter the visitor center (now with pants back ON) I see the last tour of the day leaving and preparing to climb the hill up to the castle. The visitor center is quite comprehensive in its information and there is plenty to see despite not being able to actually tour the castle itself.

Hearst Castle, view from afar.

Today's journey comes to an end as I make the final stretch to Los Angeles. I enter the city in the dark and drive to the heart of Hollywood which will be my home for the next couple days. There is a parking lot directly across the street from the hostel, where a man gives me the great deal of $20 to park for the night. Fantastic. I hate parking. Prior to this trip car seats were the bane of my existence. They have now been replaced with parking in urban areas.