Greetings from the West Coast,
I hope your summers are going well. Personally, I feel like a pebble skipped across a lake, one day merging into the next in some sort of weird, cross-country groundhog day. I have officially moved to California.
True confessions: at least half of the boxes stacked in my car were filled with books, and that was after storing 60% of my personal library. You story lovers out there will understand me when I say that books are definitely an “essential item,” and we are never truly home until they’ve been unpacked.
Armed with a travel mug, a cooler, and a packed SUV, my dad and I left Connecticut on a beautiful July morning. Three hours later we hit traffic in Pennsylvania, and sat there for two hours, enjoying the lovely picnic my mom packed for us. Thus, after driving 11.5 hours, we traversed only 350 miles. Ooof.
On day two we made it out of the rugged mountains and into the plains, and after 12 hours and 650 miles, landed in Illinois. The deja vu was intense as I made this exact trip over a decade ago for college.
Days three, four, and five merged together into one long, flat runway of plains and desert. We drove 12 hours a day, but since we crossed three time zones we gained an extra hour each day. I posit that corn is grown in every state, except maybe Alaska and Hawaii. The New Englander in me definitely missed her trees and mountains, and thankfully we hit Lake Tahoe in California on the last day.
After a couple days of rest and rejuvenation lake-side, we drove south and explored Yosemite, a lifelong dream of mine. This national park is stunning, and well worth a visit. Driving past enormous trees and zigzagging down steep mountains, it was hard not to feel very small imagining the prehistoric creatures who roamed this land. We stayed in the valley between the massive granite summits, and repeatedly my quick trips to the parking lot slowed into stock-still, silent gawping.
After Yosemite, we drove west to Carmel-by-the-Sea, a gorgeous area, and then south down the Pacific Coast High Way. It was a bit like a three-hour rollercoaster ride. I’m not joking: the road not only curved sharply back and forth as it traced the edge of the mountains, but tilted at an unlevel angle. Oh, and then there was the vertical rocks towering over us and the sheer cliff drop into the ocean on our right. Bless my dad for letting me drive. I think I would have hurled otherwise.
The whole way, there were stunning natural wonders. I was almost on awe-overload, but scrounging up some appreciation for the sea lions wasn’t challenging. Gas prices along the PCH reached as high as $10.19, but thankfully we filled up before our scenic drive. We breakfasted in beautiful Santa Barbara, skirted traffic around Los Angeles and, after 11 days, 4,000 miles, 11 states, and over 65 hours in the car, we landed in sunny San Diego. Two days later, I was on my first film set, but I’ll tell you more about that next month.
Let the adventure begin!
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