Pacific Coast Roadtrip

Shortly after our arrival into San Francisco, I unceremoniously passed out in the arm chair at our hosts’ apartment. So, taking artistic license with time, today’s post comes to you from the future!

We got an early start in Paso Robles this morning. Route 46 back to Highway 1 started out very arid. Except for the vineyards and other agricultural fields, everything was looked pretty drought-stricken. Over the next half-hour, though, the surroundings turned greener, trees started taking different shapes, and the air filled of water and salt, and the fog cleared. An unmistakable, unforgettable indication of arriving at the beach!

The 46 dead-ends into the PCH. As George so succinctly put it: we put the water on the left, and headed up toward Big Sur. The drive was absolutely astounding in every way!

Weaving through Big Sur was tremendously exciting. It must be the most beautiful and exciting road in the country. We did have quite a bit of trouble with tourists driving twenty to thirty miles-per-hour below the posted speeds, though. Curiously, it was always a convertible Ford Mustang leading the line of frustrated motorists. No less than five times were we stuck behind a Mustang who hated fun. If you drive a convertible Mustang, you are a horrible person; please exit left into the ocean.

If the drive from LA to Malibu was a crash course in engine braking, today was a master class, under the harsh tutelage of critical necessity. But truly, that was the most fun I’ve had in a car, maybe ever. I do love my truck.

At the north end of Big Sur, we stopped at the Nepenthe Restaurant for lunch. Mesmerized by the stunning brilliance of our surroundings, our quick stop turned into an hour or so of sitting on the porch just staring at where we were.

But we wanted time for Monterey, so we tore ourselves away from the observation deck and got back in the cars. As we pulled into the city, I was feeling good about how well I managed on a standard transmission through Big Sur on my fourth day to own one. I was swiftly punished for my hubris with a million uphill starts.

We stopped just outside the Cannery District and went into the Monterey Bay Aquarium. It was definitely the coolest aquarium I’ve ever seen. The tanks were stupefyingly massive with amazing mixes of animals in each. We got to see the feeding in the Sea Otter exhibit and in the Kelp Forest.

On the way out of town, we stopped for dinner at the Beach Cafe, in the third floor of Unscripted Monterey, a beachside motel that used to be a Best Western. It was a delightful discovery by George, a completely empty restaurant with great food and a killer sunset.

From there, the 1 up to San Francisco was a little more challenging. None of us have great headlights, and the sea air creates an impenetrable grime on our windshields that illuminates opaquely when hit with someone else’s headlights. In the remaining hour and a half of driving, we stopped three separate times to window-wash. And weirdly, the truck has started being a little intolerant of idling while I Windex. I don’t know why it’s running rough, but it is odd.

Finally, we careened down the winding expressways into San Francisco. With the help of our host, we found a parking garage for the night. It’s Valet Only, none of the attendants spoke particularly good English or Spanish, and I had to explain how to find reverse on my four-speed. I didn’t add that it’s become very difficult to start, and that it will not idle. So if we still have cars in the morning, I’ll be impressed.

Part of yesterday’s Big Sur drive. It’s less exciting in the dash-cam edition, but it’s fun to be able to make these.

Here’s a Chevrolet C10 parked out front that actually has more problems than any of ours!

One of my life’s goals, a promise to myself now broken, is to never ever drive in San Francisco.

I realized this morning that waking George up is watching someone going through all seven stages of grief.

All the way from Oklahoma, wow! Sooners, right? Roll Tide!

Remedies. Instagram style.

I think the thing that has surprised us the most about each city we visit is how little time we have there. San Francisco is no exception. I travel here for work occasionally, and I love this place. One day just isn’t enough.

We had to start the morning by rescuing our cars from the sketchy overnight garage. This morning’s attendant was much more talkative and friendly. He did not, however, care to look at the claim checks. We should have done some shopping.

First he rescued the truck, which he could only barely bring to life, and brought it sputtering to the entrance. “Yo, it always do that?” Then the Cabriolet, which he seemed to find just as amusing as Evan and I do. And finally, when he broke out the Alfa, he had a huge grin on his face. “Man, these some pretty old cars.” Indeed, and all likely older than you, sir.

From there, it was a “quick” drive to the next garage. Unfortunately, not having actually driven in this city before, I did not realize how stupid Google Navigation’s advice truly was before it was too late: Turn right onto Market Street.

Past due for starvation prevention, we started wandering and found ourselves at a sushi place just south of the Castro that had pretty killer lunch specials. I could eat fish from San Francisco for the rest of my life and be quite happy about it.

Then we spent the afternoon in the Golden Gate Park on the west side of the city. With such tall trees, it’s surprisingly easy to feel like you’ve left the city for a quiet, green paradise.

Here, we confronted an uncomfortable possibility: the truck may have a cracked head gasket. On a cold start, the exhaust is white, but the sputtering in the garage held still long enough to realize it smells sweet, which indicates coolant. However, there’s no oil floating on the coolant in the radiator, and the oil on the dipstick isn’t milky, so if we’re right, it’s minor and my donkey has plenty of miles left in him. But it does explain why the fan clutch, fan, and water pump were so new: Jaime had an overheating problem. I’ve decided to believe that he thought he fixed it. And in truth, the exhaust issue wasn’t apparent until we encountered cooler weather in Paso Robles.

We’re hoping that the idling issue may be the sign of some partially clogged injectors. After reading yesterday’s post and coming to the same conclusion, Chris Devidal, a coworker at Four Kitchens, proposed his favorite brand of injector cleaner, so after the park, we made a quick stop at AutoZone for two bottles!

Not to go too long without demonstrating that this journey is, in fact, all about food, I split off from the group to meet another coworker, Jon Peck, his wife Sarah, and their baby Genevieve for dinner at a gastropub in SoMa. I haven’t seen that baby since she was a month old, so she was much bigger than last I saw. She kept looking at me and smiling and waving. And she kept trying to reach for the fancy beer. But she still didn’t make much noise. She will absolutely be the coolest kid ever. If I’d been thinking, I would have suggested walking over to the garage to get a picture of baby driving the truck, since all I have is pictures of her hangin’ out with the cool kids in pubs or at tech conferences.

Tomorrow we’ll head out to Phillipsville via the 101, which takes us over the Golden Gate Bridge and up into the redwoods along the Avenue of the Giants. I’m excited!

I got bitched out by some granola lady in a Nissan Leaf