I will do a big update of all this Los Angeles last of all, covering the holes and in-betweens of these Odysseys - never fear.
But for now, let me tell you about what I think was the most magical adventure yet undertaken - north to Santa Cruz and back down through Big Sur.
I set out relatively early one morning, driving up the 1 and the 101 as much as humanly possible. Long story short, drive with no to minimal stoppage up to Salinas, where I figure I'd take lunch and the John Steinbeck Center (read museum) in. Ended up at the local brewpub for lunch, had a yummy sandwich and porter, and made my way down the street to the Steinbeck Center. There I met the gentleman who used to be the Dole produce buyer for Giant in the Washington Metropolitan area. Small world -- go figure this man chose the fruits and veggies I've consumed. I learned quite a bit about Steinbeck that I hadn't previously known and was all excited to pick up a copy of "Travels with Charley," his tale of his own American odyssey road trip, but alack - nowhere to be found in the gift shop. There was also an local agricultural museum, which was pretty neat. Dig this, apparently 3/4 of America's iceberg lettuce is grown in the valley. Crazy.
On from there through Castroville (Artichoke Capital of the World) to Santa Cruz. Here I beg the reprieve of the reader for a short detour into one of the most extraordinary and awful sights of the trip yet. In the planted fields lining the road are hundreds of migrant workers of all ages. They come in school buses that have trailers with port-a-potties attached. Backpacks and other belongings held upon racks. It was eerie and disheartening to see -- this is one of the aspects of America that hasn't changed over the years, the scene could have been from Steinbeck's time.
Up to Santa Cruz and make my way to the library - home of the Frank Kofsky archive. Kofsky was a documentarian of the Avant-Garde Jazz scene of the 1960s and the reason for my quest was some material in the archive pertaining to Marion Brown, the musician whom I wrote my thesis about and a project that I'm continuing in this post-graduate life. Anyways, the archive is in Special Collections and despite having written the library to double-check I'd have access to the material, lo and behold - two things - one, I might not have clearance and two, it was still summer and so the Special Collections were only available for about three hours rather than the all day session I'd anticipated. (I'd also gotten a request for some research from WKCR that I was supposed to complete as well!)
Anyways, disheartened, I made my way down the Boardwalk where my terrible mood only subsided when I saw and heard the dozens of sea lions that make their home beneath. So special. So beautiful. Such odd sleek creatures, but with amazing vocal cords. The cry of the sea lion is a song of the sirens. I spent quite a while just looking and watching them sit, play, sleep - and you could get so close! It was really something else.
I ended up at a motel just off the downtown strip. The whole area a little seedy, but the hotel or seaside motel, to be more appropriate, was very nice, recently redone with hard wood and stone floors and a big flat screen TV. It was a little odd - this being my first time spending an evening alone in the hotel room, but I made the best of it. I took a book, always a solitary person's best friend, and made my way down the strip looking for interesting store and a spot to grub. A couple decent thrift stores and a compellingly hip record store later, I ended up at a sushi joint where I must say I had some of the finest sushi I've ever had. Pickled radish, and fresh artichoke sushi were some of the highlights and washing it down with a Sapporo, I must say I felt fighting fit by the end. Made my way back, watched some King of the Hill and fell asleep...
...waking up early enough for the continental breakfast. I decided to make my way to the library early to try and negotiate with the folks there. Driving into the campus, I took the time to appreciate the cattle grazing on the immense land that used to be a ranch, the remains of which still haunt parts of the campus. Passing an immense family of deer, I parked and made my way to the front doors only to have them locked! Summer hours - too early. I wait for it to open and immediately make my way to Special Collections and hark! what nice people, so accommodating - they hooked me up with an extra hour.
The Marion Brown interview was intriguing, but perhaps the best item I heard was an audio letter from Bill Dixon to Kofsky that cemented my opinion that Dixon might have been a prophet. He had the clearness of message that a prophet has, a powerful tone and a message of humanity. We really lost an extraordinary artist with his passing earlier this year.
Upon completion of my task, I lit out southbound with the intention of making it down to Big Sur to camp. My first stop however came at Pt. Lobos State Reserve, just south of Carmel by the Sea. Words cannot describe the spiritually cleansing experience that was Pt. Lobos. I got there with only about two hours left of daylight and so the illumination of the seaside was amazing. I feel like whatever burdens I had were left on those beaches. I've never really felt quite as much at peace as I did during the hour and a half I was there. I made friends with seals, deer and rabbits. It was stupidly beautiful.
However, all good things must pass, and realizing that it was nearly dark and I was still quite a distance from my destination, I left and continued on. Driving in Big Sur, you're on the coast, but its dark and so you can only hear shapes and the crashing of the oceans. Weirdly, sometimes there is pasture filled with cows on the edge of that precipice. In a sense, the experience was much like Kerouac's in the novel Big Sur, where you're overwhelmed by the sounds and darkness, it's ominous and looming. With that in mind, it was dark when I got to Big Sur and decided to stop in at the relatively uppity Big Sur Inn Restaurant. There had delicious deep fried artichokes and a locally raised burger. Whoa. By this time it's like 930-10 at night, so I find a private campground on the Big Sur River and pitch my tent.
I really had no idea where I was, what the surroundings were like, so waking up in the morning was a complete surprise.
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