If you’ve ever visited Texas in the middle of summer, you probably wish you hadn’t. Though it’s home, there comes a time each year when it’s best to head elsewhere in search of more mellow temps. And so, with girlfriend in tow, we hit the road.
With Yosemite faintly in the review mirror we crossed through the valley of central California on the morning of July 8. It was just shy of 4:00pm when we crossed the Bay Bridge into the city. By 8:00pm, neither of us ever wanted to leave.
Temperatures rarely squeaked above 70º even after the sun finally burned off all the fog. We spent three days in San Francisco in the company of the most talented and kind-hearted people either of us have met. Every spare minute was spent outside. At night we camped out in the back of the car to ensure an early start each day. Sunrises were met with endless cups of coffee. This was the routine until my girlfriend boarded a plane back to Dallas and I continued down the coast.
I spent the following three days cruising the PCH south through Big Sur. The stretch of land between San Francisco and Ventura is a coastal wonderland. For someone who lives landlocked by metropolitan areas, nowhere near a major body of water, it was a different planet.
Campsites were booked solid but Highway 1 is rich with roadside parking. I woke up every morning as the fog rolled in and saw the sun set behind a different landmark each night. The remainder of the of my time was reserved for the trek home, but it was a reluctant return trip to say the least.