PCH

The Hobo Producer Pacific Coast chapter begins in San Francisco. Of course. San Fran is an interesting place to drive a van that may have engine failure or run out of gas at any time (the fuel gauge doesn’t work). The lanes also rarely connect in a parallel way. Amazingly, it didn’t prove to be a problem.

So where else to go but Haight Street for a night of Twoonie Brewskies and billiards with gay men. Waking up at a parking lot on a roaring beach, hungover in a camper van: so cliche.

The Pacific Highway is absolutely breathtaking. The ocean roars the entire way over the roar of the Hobomobile (yet to be named) directly alongside the highway. It’s hard to go too far when in a state of amaze like that. A wee little town between the expensive state parks offered a quaint little haven by the name of Moss Landing. The RV park there not only beat the price of the campgrounds, but also had wifi and power and showers. In other words, heaven.

There was just enough time in the day for the brief wander to the beach to witness sunset. In its glory the whole trip sinks in.

Freedom. Possibly a word or feeling previously unknown. This is that. And as the sun reflected in the amazing shore a colour scape that included emerald green, there was a moment easy to experience. To describe it is futile. This sunset had some other magic that can only been experienced while alone.

It will be hard to travel with anyone ever again. Driving Big Sur is probably screamingly gorgeous in the daylight, but with no one on the road to protest the speed I preferred to maneuver the 360 degree turns at, it was a happy accident that we traversed under nightfall.

Cambria was on the other end of that windy wildness. It’s a sweet town like any other in this district; historical and quaint. I would live in any of them. The people are so so sweet and are so happy where they are. Most important, they don’t mind a van parked next to their stretches of glorious beaches. Waking up there, pouring out of the car with my dog, greasy and unkempt, the ocean sang us a welcome that plants the thought that things couldn’t have gone more right that night.