An Artist and a Writer Travel Highway 1 North

a journey begins:

bixby creek bridge

AH, LIFE IS A GATE, A WAY, A PATH TO PARADISE ANYWAY, WHY NOT LIVE FOR FUN AND JOY AND LOVE...

Jack Kerouac,

from his novel Big Sur

FOREWARNED BY other travelers of the awe-inspiring and fear-inducing Bixby Creek Bridge that lies in my immediate future, I load my car with plenty of trip essentials. Best to be forearmed, I tell myself, looking at the expansive pile of bags and containers in my trunk—after all, one never knows what will be encountered on an adventure. Let’s go, Echo, I call, and watch my large white poodle, himself a veteran traveler, bound joyfully into the back seat. The prospect of another California road trip thrills us both.

The dramatic view of Bixby Creek Bridge, while driving north on Highway 1.

I’m out the door, I phone to Pat, my cohort on this journey of discovery to record the sights and experiences, both well-known and little known, of California’s legendary Highway 1. Arriving at her place, Pat’s dog Pokey (also a poodle) saunters out, nose to the ground. Pat follows with her own provisions, an ice chest loaded with water, sodas, and food. Pat is not one to linger over a leisurely meal, not when, just around the next bend in the road, an unexplored ocean vista or quaint seaside villa beckons to be painted. Yes, portable food works best for her. With a stack of CDs on the front seat console—a mix of jazz, classical, spiritual, and rock and roll—my small but spirited Mazda is packed full and the passengers loaded. Destination: Highway 1.

From Fresno, we head out to Highway 41, through Kettleman City and over to Highway 101 at Paso Robles.

A clear, sunny March day ushers us down the road, a welcome change after weeks of gray skies and winter’s drenching rains. We eagerly anticipate that magical moment when the coast will appear for the first time on the horizon. That’s when the adventure will really begin, when Pat will have endless opportunities to take the photographs she uses as reference for her watercolor paintings, and where I will be able to explore and record in words the ambience of the coastline and of small coastal towns. And, quite naturally, the appearance of the coast also marks the moment when savory visions come to mind of fish and chips, garnished with tartar and cocktail sauces, or delicious smoked salmon.

Road construction closes down one lane after crossing Bixby Creek Bridge.

Leaving Highway 101, the first inkling of spring greets us: We pass through lush green fields and mountains, profuse with yellow mustard, and see smatterings of pink and white flowers blossoming in fruit orchards. Then we see the ocean.

A few surfers brave the cold to face the challenge of the higher-than-usual surf. The beaches are relatively quiet, although we see some locals and tourists out strolling, enjoying the day. There is a brisk nip in the air, a reminder that winter still lingers.

From the majestic coastline at San Simeon, we begin a steep climb as we head north on Highway 1, hugging the cliffs that rise dramatically from the flat, sandy beaches at sea level. A last glance behind gives us a striking view of the jagged rocks and white, frothy waves below. The road soon narrows appreciably and, with a shudder, the daring adventurer in me recedes firmly into the background as I thank myself for having chosen to approach Bixby Bridge from the south, on the northbound inner lane, snug against the hill. A southbound car passes us, seemingly inches from the edge. The driver’s face is a study of taut concentration.

Recent torrential rains and storms have eroded the hillsides of the Santa Lucia Mountains, and slides have obliterated sections of the road. The result means not only a white-knuckle drive, but also occasional one-lane closures to allow the traffic to pass. Where possible, we pull off the road to view the dramatic cliffs and crashing waves below us.

And then, suddenly, we are upon it, remote and infamous Bixby Creek Bridge, a 700-foot arched span straddling at tremendous height the treacherous rocks and ocean below. From our vantage point looking north, it doesn’t seem quite as daunting as the picture painted by the stories we have heard, yet I find myself slinking across the bridge, not looking down but straight ahead until my tires touch solid ground on the other side. We pull off the road and get out of the car, telling the dogs to stay put.

Gazing upon this arched mass of imposing concrete from the side of the road, I can’t help but be in awe of the engineering and construction marvel that Bixby Creek Bridge is. Built in 1932 during the Depression era of public works projects, I imagine brave men hanging precariously on edges 260 feet above the cliffs and sea, carving out a highway from solid rock over treacherous canyons and ravines. They constructed one of the highest bridges of its kind in the world. It stands erect, continuing to reign unchallenged as the most daring of all Highway 1 visions.

Points of Interest:

Bixby Creek Bridge

Within a week of our visit, we would learn that a section of Highway 1 north of Bixby Creek Bridge washed out, closing down the area for a few months while construction crews stabilized and rebuilt the road. Indeed, we, too, face minor lane closures as we pass through the area, the construction and repair equipment on the road serving as an ominous reminder that we are driving on unstable ground. A temporary red signal light coordinates traffic on the single open lane, and the steep, winding cliff edge reminds us of the precariousness of the road we travel.

Traveling on, we cross several bridges smaller in scale but similar in design to the Bixby Creek Bridge, until we reach the turnoff to Point Lobos.

NOTHING BEHIND ME, EVERYTHING AHEAD OF ME, AS IS EVER SO ON THE ROAD.

Jack Kerouac, from his novel On the Road

point lobos state reserve

(and sea lions!)

BUT I REMEMBER SEEING A MESS OF LEAVES SUDDENLY GO SKITTERING IN THE WIND AND INTO THE CREEK, THEN FLOATING RAPIDLY DOWN THE CREEK TOWARDS THE SEA…

Jack Kerouac,

from his novel Big Sur

AFTER THE NORTHWARD TREK through Big Sur toward Carmel, we reach Point Lobos State Reserve, where Monterey cypress groves vie with rock and sky for visitors’ attention at a cliff-top overlook. The Reserve’s scenic six-mile coastline is spectacular. In addition to the 1,500 acres of topside wonders, which includes many pleasant hiking trails, the adjoining 750-acre underwater section of the reserve features giant kelp surpassing heights of 70 feet. Officially named Punta de los Lobos Marinos—the Point of the Sea Wolves—the reserve was designated a Registered Natural Landmark by the National Parks Service in 1968.

We park the car and tumble out, eager for a stretch.

Walking to the cliff edge, we gaze at the sea lions below, their languid bodies dappling craggy rocks as they alternately bask in the sun and then bark and fight for king-of-the-mountain positions on the rocks. Listening to their discordant, but entertaining, vocalizations, we conclude that sea wolves is indeed a fitting description for the sea lions’ constant torrent of chattering, which easily carries over the crashing surf below.

Although we could linger for hours, mesmerized by the antics of the sea lions, after a while we decide it is time to again hit the road, knowing the next stretch of Highway 1 is bound to offer yet more enthralling locales to breathe in and experience.

Sea lions laze on rocks at Point Lobos State Reserve.

Points of Interest:

Point Lobos 1,500-acre wilderness

750-acre underwater reserve

Beachcombers stroll on Carmel Beach.

WHAT IS, APPEARS. GO OUT TO WALK WITH A PAINTER, AND YOU SHALL SEE FOR THE FIRST TIME GROUPS, COLORS, CLOUDS, AND KEEPINGS, AND SHALL HAVE THE PLEASURE OF DISCOVERING RESOURCES IN A HITHERTO BARREN GROUND OF FINDING AS GOOD AS A NEW SENSE IN SUCH SKILL TO SEE AN OLD ONE.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his journal entry of October 13, 1837

carmel-by-the-sea

INVIGORATED BY OUR BRIEF jaunt through Point Lobos State Reserve, we find ourselves humbled by the extraordinary natural beauty that surrounds us as we drive north through gently rolling hills and forests. From time to time, we pass small oceanside resorts and communities and, at one point, take a turn off the road to eat our lunch. Unbeknownst to me, it is a driveway to an exclusive home hidden high up on the hill. Pat and I notice a car coming toward us down the dirt road and agree that we’d better move on. But the driver beckons us to stay as she maneuvers her car around us. I lean out my window, and say, I’m so sorry to block your way. We just stopped for lunch. She laughs, and says, Enjoy. Tossing a brief wave out the window, she merges onto the highway. Munching our cheese and crackers, we can’t help but wonder what lies at the top of that mysterious, meandering drive.

After lunch, we drive on and soon reach Carmel-by-the-Sea, popularly known just as Carmel. After the rugged and challenging journey through the Big Sur coastline, it feels as if we’ve rediscovered civilization.

Established in 1904 by artists and writers in order to provide a secluded retreat where creativity could flourish, Carmel offers art galleries, antique shops, and boutiques galore in a pet-friendly atmosphere. Walking is the preferred mode of transportation, and we plan to park downtown and do just that. But first we stop at Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo, an old friend from a previous exploration, captured in our book Remembering the California Missions. Father Junípero Serra founded the mission in 1770, and his remains lie buried beneath the floor of the mission church, directly in front of the altar. Although Father Serra and his explorer counterpart, General Gaspár de Portolá, discovered the Monterey Bay area and recognized it as an ideal location for the establishment of a mission, they were not the first to perceive the beauty and potential of the area.

In 1542, Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo is reputed to have come within sight of the land, but was unable to navigate the fierce high seas and rugged coastline. Sixty years later, Sebastian Viscaino did explore the land, and named it for the Count of Monte Rey, the viceroy of Mexico. He is also credited with naming the valley for his patron saint, Our Lady of Carmel.

Master mason Manuel Ruiz was commissioned by Father Lasuen (the Franciscan padre who founded several California missions after Father Serra died) to build the church, which upon its completion notably reflected the influence of Moorish architecture in the two distinctive asymmetrical bell towers and the large, slightly off-center star-shaped window over the front doorway. Lush gardens filled with carefully groomed plants and flowers surround Moorish-styled fountains, and offer a respite from the bustle of the crowded streets.

Inside, a small chamber contains the books Father Serra brought from Spain, an enduring reminder of the first library in the New World. The large sarcophagus built to hold Father Serra’s remains is ornate and appears fitting for the larger-than-life missionary, but, in keeping with the simplicity of the Franciscan faith, his parishioners refused to have him buried in it. After viewing the primitive and unassuming cell where Father Serra lived, we are struck by the stark contrast between this ancient structure and the luxurious and expensive homes around us.

After visiting the mission, we move on into the village, down charming one-lane roads, with houses and cottages strategically placed on hillsides to overlook the beach and ocean below. The community of Carmel has worked hard to carefully preserve its village flavor: Street addresses are simply identified by intersections, and high-heeled shoes are banned (perhaps to encourage a more comfortable walking experience). Secluded courtyards shelter expensive trades as well as guard privacy, and the mix of architectural styles reflects the individuality of Carmel’s eclectic residents. Much is offered to