Along the Pacific Coast Highway

Of all the places I’ve seen, of all the mountains I’ve climbed or rivers I’ve crossed in rafters, there’s still one place that I would like to be gunning along when the sun is up and the sky is all bright but not hot, sunny but not scorching. Nope, not exactly on the beach, but somewhere along the stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway. Yep. I’d rather feel the wind on my skin while driving down this expanse of concrete than find myself sipping mai tais on some island shore. I’d just bore myself to death at the face of all that sand and in just under a minute. I was never one to take to stillness, anyway. I like to move around a lot, like to live from one place to another, soaking up the culture, the attitudes, the people. That’s half the fun of being a travel writer, I believe. It’s like living the existence of a modern-day gypsy. But unlike my counterparts in the past, I do my traveling with a car.

There’s just a lot to be said for traveling. The diverse places I get to see, the exotic food I get to subsist on. Though it’s not always likely that a trip is going to go smooth or without problems—since trips always come along with unexpected surprises—the hodge-podge element of the experience is something I’ve been used to.

It is this aspect that I like about the Pacific Coast Highway. Offering a means through which one can reach parts of Washington, Oregon and California, especially those areas that were inaccessible before the highway was built, the PCH is one long dream to cruise. The towns and villages as well as the glorious land and seascapes add a distinct charm to the prospect of traveling on the PCH. From mountains to cliffs, anyone who wants an exciting ride to recall for the rest of their lives won’t be disappointed with the PCH. It’s an exhilarating driving experience.

Driving Then and Now

There was a time when owning a car was a relatively new practice, when people routinely took their cars out for a leisurely turn around the park, going here and there simply for the sheer fun of the experience—riding along the streets and highways, cruising along slowly to take in the sights. These were the Sunday drivers whose automobiles were termed “pleasure cars.” For them, the point of the trips was not to reach any sort of place in particular but simply to take joy in the ride itself. During their time, being enticed into side trips and detours were common, even normal ways to pass the time, with the car braking to a stop in order to allow driver and passengers alike to admire the sight of dramatic cliffs or spectacular mountains.

Nowadays, you won’t find drivers like these any more. With the advent of technology, with society advancing forward in every conceivable field there is, people are turning more and more into urban creatures. Living in apartments furnished with glossy ergonomic furniture, hurrying along the sidewalks to their offices carrying their tumblers of caffeine to get them through the day, coming into the office to confront a deskful of work and stress and then rushing back to their apartments by end of shift just to repeat the same process all over again.

For people with this kind of lifestyle, the only thing driving will be good for is if it brings them from one place to another. Pleasure driving is now a mere memory. And whenever people take a trip, they remain oblivious to the wonderful sights, asking instead the question every traveler born of this generation now knows by heart “Are we there yet?”

Today, driving is no longer a pleasure—it has become a means to an end. A shame, to be certain.

Which must be why I'm still here, telling stories on how fun it is to be on the road.

Welcome to the New Year, everyone.