A day off in California
This morning, and for the first time on tour, I wake up in the van.
"Morgenstund" by Edvard Grieg seems to be gently wafting from a distant corner of the universe. I eat a protein bar, stretch, soak in the morning sun and the cool air. Today, dear reader, is a day off for Ghastly City Sleep. We discussed the pros and cons of taking a little road trip from this road trip - the van's missing crank case cover which makes gravel and bouncy road refuse and detritus our kriptonite, the co$t of gasoline and the gluttonous chevy 20 we ride in, the trailer with all our equipment…
If any of you know CB, you know about his life-changing road trip out west he embarked on years ago. It s a great story, and something about the timing and the landscape made a remarkable impression on him and helped him make the decision to move to New York and peruse his dream of playing music. That story culminates in a trip to the famed Big Sur on the central coast of California - a geographically diverse miasma of microclimates, mountains, redwood forest, waterfalls, beaches, rivers, whales, seals, sharks, birds, rainbows, and a general apex of American Geographic majesty. In my official synopsis I'd like to add that the landscape is so pristine and breathtakingly gorgeous it coaxes you into belief in unicorns, and the possibility that one might just appear at any moment out there.
The drive would be about one or two hours, but CB said that despite all the beautiful things we'd seen thus far, it would be worth it. 'nuff said as far as I was concerned!
So the plan was to depart asap and go to Big Sur for the day, return to San Francisco and crash at our friend Nathan's, wake up the next day and rock Oakland. With no big drives on the horizon, we geared up for a relaxing remainder of the California coast.
I walked to a starbucks with CB before everyone else emerged from the Texas Toast. We went to a starbucks to use the facilities*, headed back to Texas Toast, gathered our brethren, dropped our trailer to leave at the Toast house till our return, and hit the road.
Once we got to Big Sur country, there was a single two way road winding tight around a great shear mountain sloping unabashedly to the crashing pacific. The water all up and down this coast was nothing to toy with… surf country, big water… the mountains are all covered in what appeared from a distance to be a healthy velvety fur, the color scheme of the landscape is all muted and earthy, golden and hazel, with deep navy sea under cloud cover. A huge cloud of mist touched the shore like wizard hands, the clouds drifted into the mountains just at road range, so many times we were driving through thick mist such that you couldn't see 20' in front of you. Glancing down to our right (east) was a shear cliff of brambles, to the left (west) the face rises up into gray nothingness…
We cross Bixsby Canyon Bridge, every break in the road a chance to see the drama that is the ocean crashing way down below. We're just looking for a place to land, anxious to get to the drama and soak it all in. We find a touristy spot, park and walk down little dirt trails until it dead ends at a vista point, a wooden balcony about 4-5 stories above the beach we so desperately want to touch. the search goes on…
We drive further down and see cars parked on a dirt turnaround, and a tiny little trail leading down, down, down. We park, descend, and find the trail splitting in two, one leading to a mine-shaft style wood framed hole in the mountain that just had the gravity of a black hole, and another tree covered path with a stream racing down to what must be the beach. We go for the mine shaft.
The tunnel goes about 40 feet until it opens up to an amazing scene:
We emerge perched about 20' above the water, on a trail with a wooden fence. Below us is a small patch of beach surrounded by a scoop in the rock, being pounded by a huge sublime pulse of thick black pacific force. Each wave seems to tear hundreds of pounds of pebbles and rocks from the beach like greedy fingers only to slam it all back down with a crash. The water has a viscous film of giant leathery kelp at the surface, the canopy of what must be a deep dark underwater forest in constant motion.
Every edge of rock we walk over meets the sea with violence. The forces at work are of a physics our bodies can't possibly relate to, and certainly wouldn't last long in. Resilient purple & white spotted starfish grip these edges. Nick scrambles over rock to try and pry one from its perch and fails. We walk to the end of the path, climb over the wooden railing, and crab walk on all fours to the outer edges. Waves are crashing, leaving little pools of life in the crevices, where we find sea anemones out of an Ernst Haeckel coffee table book… I recognize the species from coastal exploration at Montana Oso west of San Louis Obispo. I let my fingers gently drift into the scrambled wig of the anemone as its fingers close in with a surprisingly dry sandpapery suction… it feels good! My bandmates look on with caution as I risk getting an alien sting from the tentacles. I implore Evan and Nick to sample this tactile delight (okay, from here you really have to read this in some pretentious Olde Worlde Explorer's voice, maybe I have a pipe in my mouth, retelling at the explorer's club over curated cocktails in gramercy, y'kno?) and they follow suit. Commence Comprehensive Digital Photography via Mobile Cellular Devices!!
We explore the other trail, and the beach, where we see a sea lion swimming along in the distance. The tide seems to be coming in. Not a soul around, one could potentially get "locked out" of certain spots by the tide!
We are all starving, tired, the day has been long and glorious. CB knows of one other spot in his memory where he reached a larger beach, and we decide to go for it. With tips from a local cafe, we find the narrow one-lane path where trailers dare not go and make our way to the beach. Here, we found the golden egg...
The beach was a long proper edge, lined by a forest of giant bonzai, and 20' out into the surf stood two great rocks, beach mountains. The one on the right had a great hole carved in its belly by millennia of hard pacific waves. the left mountain was spotted with succulents, and had rock formations that looked prehistoric. When I say that, I mean it appeared as though some art director fabricated the rocks for a dinosaur movie. Prehistoric, Ignatious, penetrated by millions of rock worms millions of years ago? The whole beach scene was from another world. This was a Tattouine beach, I half expected a mammoth to emerge from the woods behind a flock of saber toothed tigers to play a game of quarry-bone heehaw with a bunch of mermaids and unicorns with leis and rare healing herbs adorning their horns.
I noticed two little tiny people climbing the left mountain in the distance, and I tore off my shoes and ran for it. I had to climb to the top. Little ice cream scooped pores in the rock face support my scrambling hands and bare feet. I am quickly past the point of no return, mid face, looking down to the surf, looking up to the top. I'm a spider. I'm a monkey. I'm at the dizzying top, I can see everything the world has to offer. This was the magnetic pole of awe for me on this tour. Here we are, at the top. For the next three weeks, I will be climbing down this moutainn until I step into my apartment in Brooklyn. Every word I've written on this blog describes a step to this point. I was ear to ear teeth. I was deep deep breaths. I was longing for all my loved ones, every friend, every lover, my whole family, I wanted them all to be here with me. I decided that I'd better enjoy this for myself. I started singing, I yelled out as loud as I could. All around me was gray clouds, mist, the sea, people on the beach were little ants, mountains on the shore disappeared into nothingness. The surf attacked my mountain relentlessly all around me, impossibly below me. I imagined a great storm, how many tsunamis this mountain must have weathered through history, the white foamy fists driving into the thorax of rock with death in mind, and here I was, a little tiny rickety boney fleshy flea finally on its crest. Me and the mountain finally meet, and I was happy I got the chance to shake its hand at this exclusive password-protected secret society cocktail party that took so much effort for this van full of brooklynites to breach.
I felt truly happy. I felt the whole tour was for this moment.
I climbed down, laying back on the rock, back to the mountain, all hands and feet searching the rock for steps. and tried to express my enthusiasm. Nick, who is afraid of heights, decides to go for it, followed by Brandon. I ascend with them one more time and take a last look before we decide to leave the beach.
We go to a local bar / restaurant and order delicious food, some local beers, and reenergize before our trip back up to San Jose to get our trailer and then the final leg to San Francisco. We arrive at Toast house, say hellos & goodbyes, and ship off to San Fran. We get to 24th st and enter Dirty Thieves, take photo booth pics, drink a couple IPA's.
We walk to Nathans house but he's not home yet. We drink whiskey and water on his doorstep, take medium format pics with my holga copy, I blog on the sidewalk.
We eventually meet up with Nathan and crash on his living room floor. What a day!!!!!
be sure to check out more photos here!
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