Family Camping Trip, Part III

There's something about the hot valley air that makes me crave the ocean.  My need for some marine layer usually starts around mid-July, which is a big reason why our summer family trips are set on the coast for this time of year.  Josh indulges me by driving us down Highway 1, even though we both know this route is the long way.

Our first glimpse of the water is in Benicia, but we always joke how that doesn't count. It's the Bay, we say, as we continue toward Santa Cruz. Each mile we head west, the temperature drops. First down to 90, then 80, and as it quickly moves toward 70, it settles in around a blessed 68. If we're lucky, it may even dip into the low 60s.

Winding our way into Big Sur, I roll down my window. Lola shouts, the wind is too much for her in the backseat. I take a deep breath.  We've made it, I say. Josh quickly reminds me of the many miles we have to go, the many extra miles we must go.

But that's OK, because this road is my indulgence. It's my welcome to summer, enjoy it while it lasts, because in a week you'll have to go back to heat, back to work, back to reality.

Each trip, something unusual will happen. It's like this highway knows it has a historical reputation to live up to.  Last year, as dawn broke on the west, we saw a man on a skateboard. Given that this road can barely contain its two lanes, plus a slew of bicyclists who believe in playing chicken with amateur RV drivers, skateboarders tend to stick to the small coastal town.  But he, he was moving so fast, we had no need to slow down other than to stare.  His friends followed him in a van, one of them hinging themselves on the side of the vehicle with a video camera in hand. Later on, we searched for him on YouTube. We never found him, and now I wonder if I imagined it all.

This year, it was I who nearly fell out of the passenger side window, as I saw a California condor. Given that this was the only time I had ever seen one outside of a zoo, I could barely stay in the car when I saw it sunning itself on a cliff. Josh! I shrieked. A condor!! A what? He shouted.

In which we then had a very brief discussion as to how he would not be turning around the car to go and verify my sight, and no he would not stop the car so I could run up the cliff and take a photo to confirm that I did indeed see a condor.  The conclusion of this conversation then led into another in which we began talking about exactly how endangered California condor birds are (the one I saw had large tag marked "40" on it), what sort of habitat they must require, and the possibility of whether that specific condor had been born at the San Diego Wild Animal Park (which we determined was not likely.)

After another hour of switchbacks, slow traffic, and an endearing conversation about conservation, we leave the rugged cliffs and coming flying out onto the flatland. 65 has never felt so fast. Only a few more miles and we're there.