Before starting the road trip we had talked about doing the 4500 mile drive from Chicago to Vegas- route 66, the most famous road in the world. Wisely we decided against this because I don't think two people can drive for 2 weeks and not murder one another or at least leap from the moving vehicle. What the second leg of our California trip held was the Route 101. A stretch of coastal road 450 miles long linking LA and San Francisco. We expected a lengthy drive and decided to take it in two days. What we didn't expect was taking most of the first day to find our way out of LA. Admittedly, we weren't a championship rally team. If fact we were kuk. I'm better with a math equation in my hand, (standard grade please) than I am with a map. Even with a GPS on board we were a road trip recipe for disaster. And this was not bush-whacking through Bangladesh, we were cruising though LA. It took us many disputes and a few close calls to end up on the road that would take us North, towards our Holy Grail- San Francisco.
There are parts of the 101 that take you through Karoo-like plains, parts that take you into one-horse towns, and cliff faces that rival Cape Town's beloved Chapman's Peak. We experienced driving rain, intolerable heat and everything in between. Wildlife ranged from Elephant seals to toothless Hillbillies, and I think we counted 17 McDonalds along the way (that delicious yellow-and-red 'M' drew us in on more than one occasion). We were forced to stop for the night in a motel straight out of Wrong-turn, and decided that the proprietor must have murdered everyone in the area because there didn't seem to be many competing for his business. The next morning we were treated to passing through Big Sur, Monterey and Carmel. At the latter I drew on my negotiating skills and used "overwhelming fatigue" to convince Sarah that we had to stop in at Pebble Beach where the Masters was to be held a couple of months later. Strolling into the clubhouse of one of the famous golf courses of all time wearing baggies and slops, we felt slightly out of place and a bit like we were dirtying the marble floors just by being there. We slipped out the back and found what we could in the trunk (boot) of our Kia that would raise our game to look like we actually belonged at the course. In Tiger Tiger gear – anything to hold on to the dream - we re-emerged looking like we deserved a place at the club. I again explained to my navigator that I couldn't drive on an empty stomach and insisted we get a bite to eat. While being one of the best settings I have ever shared a meal, the sting that Pebble Beach's Stillwater Restaurant dealt on my wallet encouraged us to hold the remaining 4 McDonald's outlets on our route in a much higher regard. By the end of the trip we were using coupons. Before we left this historic sight there was time to record the moment with a couple of snapshots, and this is where we discovered that once again the Koreans had beaten us here. Clearly they did not hold the same reverence for the course that I did since their kids were building sandcastles in the bunkers surrounding the 18th green while they played air-guitar with the flag. I decided to do the noble thing and respect their culture by telling on them to the marshal.
With full bellies, empty wallets and failing camera batteries we pushed on. San Francisco was in the distance and we'd had enough of the Kia which, by this stage was looking a bit like the Huis Dog digs after a session of pre-drinks. We'd defeated the mighty 101, just.
NB Tip- Find the cruise-control button in your car before getting to the destination.
