The Pearl

Carrying on from the last post...the day did not end in the wee hours at Pacific Grove.  After a casual stroll featuring alien vegetation and disappearing kayakers we carried on up Route 1 and hitched our ride at Point Lobos State Park.  For a crew traveling to Big Sur, it would be a sin not to hitch your ride at Carmel's gem on the coast.  A breezy hike salted with with smell of a sweet batch of Eucalypti can do wonders for the senses.  As we rounded the North corner of the park our trek was abruptly stopped...down over the water we see a flock of birds nosediving into the Pacific.  During our admiration we noticed some unexplained movement below...little pockets cutting through the waves and the dives and the immense beauty surrounding all of us.  From a fellow hiker we obtained our answer...tide pools.  These boys from Milwaukee and Pennsyltucky are far from home.

Sliding down the coast into the outskirts of what is known as Big Sur, we approach Garrapatta.  A beach getting swallowed by the eager mouth of the Pacific.  After a childish attack on the rocks embedded in the lip where the ocean touches the sand, we head further south.

When most visitors reach the iconic Bixby Bridge they stop, park, and take a picture next to that sign of establishment marked beauty.  Gene and I choose to descend, the first true test of the Dart on a rugged dirt road.  We are officially in Kerouac landscape.  Seemingly we were chasing a ghost, in his book "Big Sur" he followed his demons from City Lights down to Ferlingetti's cabin somewhere below the Bixby Bridge.  This is where he came to die, not physically but mentally.  As a fellow manic-depressive I carry sympathy for him, but also fear.  Are Gene and I strolling into the same fate? On my two visits to this holy land, I am instantly reminded that this is not paradise, this is the wild.  You don't see any swimmers or surfers daring The Sur.  We apparently took on a challenge of our own with this beast; where we would sleep has still not been discussed.

Camp site after camp site is full, and there is truly just one road in this god forsaken place...a turnout is not very discrete.   Eventually we gather some advice from an park employee...he tells us there are spots to lay our heads up the road and "to the left".  This left turns into another left, right, left, straight...all the sudden we are elevated.  Every turn holds a turnout or some resemblance of shelter, but we proceed.  True mania goes till the end.  We stumble into a sliver of an alley occupied by some Korean hunters.  Between the bugs and the uncomfortable language barrier mixed with shotguns, we carry on.

The journey up seemed forever, but over the storms of dirt mixed with sharp turns and dips, we reached our summit.  The dart put in an agile performance.  There was a group of 4-5 cars and tents lined up at the very end enjoying the last bit of their summer.  The side of the hill with some sleeping bags and white wine served as our domain.  All in all, we were rewarded for our journey...where the culmination showed natures true colors.  As Steinbeck calls it...."The Pearl".