Seven hours. Seven hours we drove from the comforting buzz of suburbia up the California coast. Two hours of which were spent slogging through Los Angeles freeways in the thick of rush hour. It was night time before we were able to leave the city.
Chatting passed the time, as there was little to look at beyond headlights behind us and the whale-like semi-trucks we passed. Eventually we exit the highway, wandering into unknown territory. A narrow, two-lane road through what seemed like endless rows of an orchard. It was somewhat eerie, only making out the passing lines of trees that the headlights illuminated, but knowing the labyrinth that laid beyond. There would be no charity for hitchhikers here.
Finally, we reached the coast. Backs sore, Spotify-exhausted, and out of politics to discuss, we began the treacherous drive along PCH, just south of Big Sur.