Back around the time I was turning 40, Lisa and I were looking for a weekend get-away spot. I decided on Big Sur, never having been there and Lisa found a cool cliffside lodge. Having old, sh*tty cars, we rented a Mustang convertible and blew out of town on a Friday night.
We approached Big Sur under cover of fog illuminated by a full moon, the throaty rumble of our rented Mustang echoing in the stillness of a nearly deserted Highway 1.
I knew the ocean was to our right, but darkness and the concentration necessary to negotiate the corkscrew of scenic highway prevented me from seeing much more than an occasional lunar reflection on black water.
The rest of Part I of our weekend adventure is currently posted at UpTake.
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