Day 19 – Pacific Coast Highway to Carmel

321 Miles

We were elated to have made it to the other coast, and enjoyed a great day at the beaches in Santa Monica and Venice yesterday. But we still had a lot of miles (roughly 6000) ahead of us, and decided it was time for an oil change and tire rotation before hitting the Pacific Coast Highway (Highway 1, or “The PCH” for short) toward Carmel.

Unfortunately, the place in Beverly Hills that we chose to do this simple task (a national chain) found a screw in our tire. The curious part was that, having stopped for gas only minutes before pulling into this shop, I had checked the tires, and there was no screw. In other words, I had a strong sense that more than my tire was getting screwed. If you’re interested in a side story, you can read my lengthy Yelp review here:

https://www.yelp.com/biz/midas-beverly-hills-2?hrid=OFmhb_mfDcVeUDF4zQtomw

Look for the one-star review from Patrick J. That tells the whole story.

In the end, we found another place that did a beautiful plug on the tire for us, which, to make a long story short, not only got us to Carmel, but to San Francisco, Portland, Canada, and all the rest of the six thousand miles home. Isabella is still driving on that tire. (Unless you’re reading this in 2022 or later. In that case, my guess is the tire has been changed by now.)

Back to today’s journey. Isabella and I had both driven the PCH in our younger years, and were excited to show the kids the wonderful views, especially near Big Sur. 

Our first stop outside of the L.A. area was Malibu, with beautiful, clear blue skies and holding great promise of what Highway 1 might have in store.

Santa Barbara came next. We got out to stretch, talked to some locals about what to do and see (shopping and eating, mostly), then found a nice “craft ramen” restaurant — whatever that means — for lunch. Hey, if it’s not craft, it’s crap. Can I trademark that?

I’d heard about places where driving on the beach is allowed, so after some inland driving on the 101, we stopped in Pismo Beach to ask about it. There, we found an eclectic shop of antiques, license plates, pottery, random junk, surf boards — you name it. A sign at the entrance said something like, “EVERYTHING is for sale.” The owner offered us what I’m sure would have been a delightfully long and interesting boat trip: “We can do some surfing, some diving, fishing. And, hey, we can go out whale watching — but you’re not going to see any whales.”

As appealing as it had been presented, we took a pass and backtracked just a bit to Oceano, where for a $5.00 fee, we could drive in the sand, right alongside the Pacific Ocean. I don’t know why, but there’s something I’ve always loved about this. Isabella and I have driven on beaches in Australia and Ireland previously, and I think I was more excited about it than the kids were when we finally found the place. Perhaps there’s a childhood “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” fantasy still alive in the back of my head. If I just dart straight for the water, we’ll float to another land…

We stayed and enjoyed the area for at least an hour. Everyone had a chance to drive — even Julian, who, perhaps needlessly, sat on my lap to experience the freedom of driving without any lines in the road. We took pictures of the beautiful dunes and some of the other drivers who shared in this relatively unique episode in our journey.

Unfortunately, as we headed farther north from there, the skies began to fill with the dreaded Pacific fog. For a while, it remained largely offshore, so at our next stop, we were able to enjoy views of the massive, rolling blobs that are elephant seals. Nearby was another lookout point where little rodents who were clearly used to humans came close for pictures and to ask for food.

The fun pretty much ended right at the point where the vistas should have been best, near Big Sur. As we swerved in and out, up and down, along the higher elevations and tighter curves of the highway through Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, we saw that fog rolling in denser and denser. Away from the coast, it remained relatively clear. At the coast, the magnificent views of the bluffs and ocean were shrouded in mist, I tried to have some fun by taking the road a little fast — an idea which was not popular with the rest of the family. Then, it got dark. And as we were all ready to just get to the hotel, we came across roadwork. On a Sunday. On a somewhat dangerous two-lane road. In dense fog. We waited about twenty minutes in line for a pace car, yellow lights a-flashing, to lead us all down the one, functional lane, so we could finally finish the drive to our hotel in Carmel.

We did what hungry and tired people do, then asked for a late checkout to enjoy the hotel grounds a bit longer the next morning.