Pacific Coast Highway

I mentioned last week that Barb and I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, also known as California State Route 1, or simply "The One" Thanksgiving week. The highway hugs the California coastline from near the northern border of the state all the way south to Interstate 5 in Orange County, a distance of some 655 miles. We picked it up at Santa Cruz and enjoyed about 150 miles of coastal vistas through Monterey, Carmel, the Big Sur and San Simeon before turning east toward the Central Valley just beyond the little community of Cambria. It was a return visit - we had been on a portion of the highway last year at Christmas and felt the need to make that drive again.

The vistas are simply stunning, and the highway deserves to be labeled by National Geographic as a "Drive of a Lifetime." You may recognize the Bixby Creek Bridge as one of the most photographed vistas in America.

At the mid-point of the Central Coast, San Simeon is the nearest community to the Hearst Castle. We had reservations at a nice beach-front lodging facility there; our plan was to spend the night, do some Castle touring the next morning and then head toward Fresno. However, when we got to San Simeon, there were about three buildings and a State Park. No sign of beach-side lodging. I called the reservations number and said. "Okay, I'm in San Simeon sitting in a parking lot and I don't see your facility." The clerk asked, "What do you see?" I said, "An old country store." "Oh, you are at OLD San Simeon. You need to drive about 3 miles south to NEW San Simeon." Who knew?

We did storm the Castle the next morning, and the picture above is proof that in this digital age one should never trust a photograph as evidence of anything. They took the picture of Barb and me in front of a green screen down in the visitor's center. You then have your choice of photos with you superimposed in front of the Castle, the Neptune pool, in the dining room or any number of other locales. It sort of fits in with my overall impression of the Hearst Castle, "Nothing exceeds like excess!" Wandering through the Castle and the grounds, Barb kept saying, "Think how many kids at the orphanage in Peru this would feed!"

Driving eastward after leaving the Castle, Heading east, I experienced an epiphany of sorts. Some 55 years ago, James Dean was a big name movie star - the teenage idol of the day. My classmates and I saw every movie he made; a short list, because Dean died at age 24 in an automobile crash. His death simply embellished the legend.

A few miles past Paso Robles, we went through a junction where State 46 and State 41 merge - the junction where James Dean's speeding Porsche 550 Spyder collided with Donald Turnupseed's Ford coupe as Turnupseed took the left-hand fork onto highway 41 in front of Dean, the same turn that we made. From my teen years I knew that Dean died at a remote intersection in California. It wasn't until I saw the sign that I realized it was this very intersection.