I drive south on HWY 1, the Pacific Coast Highway. There are delays caused by roadwork going through Carmel, but as I drive on towards Big Sur, the traffic thins out. A bank of fog floats in and out, flirting with the coast line. The sun is shining, and the sky and ocean are their own shades of blue. Cars are parked along the side of the road, surfers pulling on wetsuits, hauling surfboards down to the rolling waves.
The road winds, sometimes through stands of sequoias, sometimes along the edge of steep cliffs. I’m filled with eager anticipation as I near Nepenthe. The last time I was there was in the late ’80 with my beloved friend Jacquie. I don’t know if it was the hour of the day, or the day of the week, or the time of the year, but we were the only two people in the restaurant that day. Today, cars are parked along the side of the road near the entrance. I boldly enter the parking lot and get a parking place right away. I smile at my good fortune.
There are people everywhere. I climb the stairs to the restaurant, nestled in trees on one side, a breathtaking view of the ocean in front. The waiting area is filled, and there’s a long line outside the hostess’s podium. We are informed that the wait for a table is forty-five minutes. I decide to try my luck at the Kevah Café.
There’s is a line at the café as well, but not as long. I place my order and settle at a table in the shade to wait for the salad to be served. I write in my journal and watch a blue jay perch on a ledge, and then sweep across the patio, looking for scraps of food. The salad is served and I dig in. My taste buds are thrilled. The bitter, peppery taste of the arugula is offset by the sweetness of the orange supreme, the goat cheese and dried cherries are a tangy combination, and the shaved red onion and sunflower seeds add crunch, all are enrobed in a perfect citrus vinaigrette. I eat slowly and savor every bite.
I wander down to the gift shop to buy postcards to send to my grandkids and end up on the back porch. It’s peaceful, the breeze playing in the windchimes. I stand at the rail and watch the ocean roll to the shore and remind myself that nepenthe means anything inducing a pleasurable sensation of forgetfulness.
I pull onto Hwy 1, behind a silver haired man in a blue Corvette convertible. I follow him down the winding road at a safe distance. I love the way Freedom handles the road, moving gracefully around the curves.
Foggy days have allowed the wildflowers to flourish. There are patches of bright California poppy, mustard, and lupine. Sometimes we drive through dense fog, and then blue skies, the fog lurking out at sea. After a while Mr. Blue Corvette pulls onto a view point and waves. I wave back and drive on.
For a long stretch, the road is steep and has more curves. I slow down, grateful that there is little traffic. The road lengthens and in the rearview mirror, I see Mr. Blue Corvette. We drive in tandem along the coast.
I come around a curve and the scene before me is captivating. The ocean is turquoise and violet, above it a puff of fog, and an architecturally interesting tunnel clinging to the hillside. I pull onto a view point to take a photo. Mr. Blue Corvette waves as he drives past.
Continuing on, the road becomes straighter. There is more traffic, and more homes and ranches. I drive through San Simeon, home of Hearst Castle. Cars leave the road to go to the beach, or the castle, and soon I am behind Mr. Blue Corvette. We drive through Cambria’s business section and then residential areas.
Mr. Blue Corvette turns right onto a residential street and waves. Waving farewell, I drive on towards the 101 to continue my journey.
The Write Mind of a Lefthander 