Driving down Highway 1

Our first destination was Big Sur (Lucia, actually) and the road that would wind, rise, and drop us there was the coastal highway. I had seen pictures of the views and vistas from Highway 1, I had heard the stories from my mom who got a mild case of motion sickness riding in the backseat of a van without a clear view, and I read the reports of rock slides, mud slides, and road closures. In sum, I expected an adventure.

Immediately out of San Francisco the unobstructed views of the Pacific were vast and the road was only minimally curvy. We saw dramatic cliffs, waves crashing on the rocks, and kite surfers braving the cold harsh waters. We would pull over, snap photos, drive on. We had planned on taking our time, so we did.

Right before Santa Cruz, Hwy 1 flattens out, fields replace the ocean views, and traffic builds up. From Santa Cruz to just past Carmel is a very boring drive. In fact, disappointment set in and I worried that our hotel for the night would be in a flat, uninteresting section of the highway.

The moment we passed Carmel, however, the climb begins and the road winds you up the cliffs and mountains. This is where people get car sick, where the road closes for rock slides, and where those breathtaking panoramas of cliffs and ocean begin. We stopped frequently (and often abruptly) because right after that bend you'd look up and see this majestic scene suddenly before you.

Bogdan and I have this running joke about superlatives (how they've overused and often exaggerated), but here the superlatives and adjectives were flowing - actually it was more like the "wow,"s "oooh,"s and "oh!my!"s were flowing. The road and surrounding areas are very wild and uninhabited with sparse exceptions of private driveways that dip down steeply to probably a fabulous home with literally million dollar views. You don't see gas stations, or restaurants, a few lodges and hotels, but it's mainly the road and the coast. (And you and your camera, of course).

Our first stop after Carmel was Garrapata State Park, which we had read before means "tick" in Spanish, so we tread carefully to the rocky coast. Bogdan climbed the rocks and I took pictures of the vibrant plants and flowers and the bright blue shining sea. We left, without a tick bite, and headed down the road toward the "very often photographed" Big Sur bridge. The bridge itself is nothing spectacular, but the mountains behind it, the rocky cliffs, the waves crashing against the rocks, makes it one photogenic spot.

As we weaved in and out of the mountains and past Big Sur, we saw that our lodge was still 20 miles away. Although you may mistakenly believe "ah, 30 more minutes," on this stretch of Hwy 1 you'd be lucky to get there in an hour - winding switchback roads, 15 mile per hour turns, the possibility of getting stuck behind a timid driver, and the numerous pull out opportunities for photos all make for an extremely leisurely pace.

We also both worried that by the time we got the 20 miles from this magnificent stretch of highway, the road would flatten out and get boring and sad just like it was back near Monterrey. Of course, we had seen the lodge's photos, which promised just as spectacular views, but a small shadow of doubt passed over us. And so we tried to enjoy the views while we still could.