The 1 is a gray snake of asphalt that lies right up against the coast of the Pacific, all the way up and down the entire span of California. For drivers, its never the most practical choice, but neither is California generally; driving with your windows down is required by law. The air is cold and fresh, brisk I guess, and a bit salty. The sun hangs pinned to a blue wall sky in your side mirror. On bad days or in the morning, there is fog that rolls over the roads, obscuring notoriously rocky terrain and sudden sharp turns. For this reason it's important not to light a bowl until after the most dangerous curves have been navigated safely, at which point it is by all means recommended to smoke, and is in fact required by law in some counties and state national parks. Eventually you reach Big Sur, the approximate center of the coastline, a towering forest of redwoods with cliff side views of the sea in the gaps between trees. Various artists have spent long months there lodged in isolation, seeking to capture its elusive essence in words and songs. Various other people just take pictures on their cell phones. And it goes on, and on, the road. One of those roads that’ll take you as far away and back again as long as you eventually remember to turn...
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