Going Up and Down (But Up)

It is the volt to the veins.  The great reminder, of memories old and anew.  Of the first and the most recent.  There are gems of some kind just about everywhere you look.  And if there aren't any in the exact here and there, well, the anticipation of them in the very near future, YOUR future, is enough to tide you over.  

The ocean and road play cat and mouse: they are side by side, then not - the road wants you to take into green, see what's going on in towns medium, small, and next to nothing.  It knows you know the sea is very close by, and that you'll see it again if you just let the road guide you.

And so, it did, on Cinco de Mayo no less, for us to take in and celebrate.  All around us were reminders of all the rain the last handful of months.  Some good (flowers aplenty) and some not (the creeks were fine, but the sideways trees speak of a rough recent past).  After proper margarita and enchilada intake, plans began to be made.  We'd need to review just what the hell happened.

This was now a month or two afterwards, so the result was seeing how nature deals with what it wrought.  Driftwood is one thing, certainly not uncommon on any shore.  But this...

this seemed to let there be no doubt.  In April, residents and those visiting began piling it up along the shoreline, always in some sort of design.  (So much so, you'd think it had been there for decades)  This was new to me, but it likely wasn't to those south of San Simeon, some of who've seen much.  Maybe seen it all, though if we've learned anything the past 5 years weather-wise, it's a lot we've never seen before.  This will likely happen again.

That kept coming to mind as I ambled, looking at the turbulent Pacific.  Always shit going on.  What it might take of the coastline, it continues to give in waves.  A pack of surfers were doing well with a good tide considering it's near impossible for me to get out of the rack early, ever...certainly not on vacation.  I was fortified not by waves but by a breakfast burrito and hot sauce from Gilroy, but then again, the waves kept me moving.  Deep, slow breaths.

I wanted the coast to be my guide this time.  Paso Robles, maybe another visit. Hey, by the way, I saw a sign for town that, I swear, said its population was 18 people.  Is that true?  I'm pleased to report that it IS true.  A small dairy farm used to be here, now moved south to SLO where you can get help and run a business, but descendants (and others) stayed.  What's left, besides trespassing, was a barn with plenty of homemade wares and freshly made ice cream.  The kind where you eat it and realize that what you're tasting is how it's supposed to taste, why it became so popular, the kind that you'll think of when you're at someone else's place and you're given some slop you take to be polite and, after one lovin' spoonful, let melt to then toss out.

There is a collage of memories afterwards, though what stands out was The Big Scoop beating grown adults over and over again at bar shuffleboard.  She might have eaten 4 or 5 desserts that day as well.  I was complimented (in a roundabout way) on her personality and spirit and I kept to myself stuff like "yeah, but does she wake you up at 3:30AM because she can't find her pillow in the dark?"

The following day brought more of the same.  This is not a stretch where you're looking for the next truck stop.  You're looking for the next place to stop and look out, get out, and roam.  I can think of 2 states like that.  Hawaii is the other.  So, there you go.

It was a strengthening by mother nature, one that is always there but never in the same place 365 days a year.  You find it, and it gives life.  It gives strength.  It gives you just enough energy to make it to Buellton and Solvang.  Solvang for a hearty meal (do they make any other kind there?) and wandering.  Buellton to feed ostriches, as you do.  You can also take in what was, and what is.  20 years ago, this Summer, I started in Carpinteria and then ambled north.  It was a true vacation with no plans, the kind you can take at that age.  Somewhere in Los Olivos (maybe at the Cafe?  I don't exactly remember) I'm forced to share my profession with a local.  "Oh, really?  You know, a film company came to scout.  There's going to be a movie filmed around here in a couple months."  That's cool, I thought, never knowing what would happen.  

What was - Days Inn.  Outside of the windmill, an average motel I chose not to stay in due to the proximity to the main drag & the 101.  Now?  It's the "Sideways Inn" with fire pits and "an out of this world gym."  Driving past it, as expected, the Hitching Post II was packed.  In that brief flash along 246, all I could think of was a line from the bartender, where he says a busload of old people showed up.  That's what this area has endured, for good and bad, for the past 2 decades.  

Is that the same kind of evolution that you find along the coast?  That storms of any kind can come along, and with it some things stay while others are washed to sea?  Like any good thing, there is an eagerness to see what's changed, what's the same, all the while thankful to the eternal: that the coast, in its evolving form, will always be there.