We greeted Saturday morning at the crack of 9:30, washed up and made the short walk up to the Lucia Lodge restaurant, closed to all at this hour except lodge guests. We toasted some bagels, grabbed coffee and fruit salad and a couple of hard boiled eggs and went out on the deck that overlooks the lodge grounds and the ocean. Mornings are always chilly in Big Sur, but with sweatshirts we were quite comfortable in shorts. The sun was already breaking through as we perused one of the free Big Sur Guide newspapers and contemplated how to spend the day.
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.