jynxed's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Summer Vacation: Part 4 "Bean-O Couldn't Fix THIS Gas Problem..." So, So like I said, we headed north from Morro Bay on the Pacific Coast Highway, expecting to get to Big Sur an hour and a half later, at about 7:30. I've heard about Big Sur and pictured in my mind's eye a quaint little resort community, nestled on the coastline. Ha. From the map, you couldn't tell that the PCH skirts cliffs hundreds of feet high that plummet down to the rocky coast far below. From the map, you couldn't tell that the PCH has more kinks in it than a perverted dominatrix. From the map, you couldn't tell that although the speed limit was 50, these two factors result in an average speed of about 20. We twisted and turned and made our way up the rocky coast, which although forces you to go agonizingly slow, has got to be one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. Around 8, the sun was just kissing the sea and we pulled off the highway over a huge cliff to watch the sun set. During the next few minutes, our two lone cars were joined by about 20 others, all playing witness to a daily occurance that few stop to appreciate. The sunset was magnificent. Gorgeous. Spectacular. And we were still nowhere near Big Sur. Around 8:30, my gas light came on and I stopped in the booming town of Gorda. Now, Gorda was on our California map, so we assumed it had to be at least a TOWN. We were wrong. From all I could gather, Gorda consists of nothing more than a restaurant and a gas station. As I pulled into the gas station, a noticed a sign that read "FULL SERVICE ONLY." I snarled, but the next town on my map was Big Sur, and it was still a ways off. The door on the little kiosk opened, and John Denver's mutant evil twin brother with a rotted tooth growing out of his nose and crusty tufts of hair growing like weeds on his balding scalp. He should have been some mad scientist's evil lab assistant, not a lonely gas station attendant. "How much you want?" he asked, with a weasly little grin worthy of a weak little comic book villian who has everyone else do the dirty work for him. "How much is it?" "Three-ten a gallon." "Ho-lee freakin shit! You'd think at that price, you'd be making enough of a profit to get yourself a weave and fix that nasty tooth now wouldn't ya?" I wanted to say that. I really did. "Three-ten?!" "Yup." "And the next gas station..." "...is forty miles down the road." "Well shit," I sighed. "I can't make it that far. Put in ten gallons." I watched him go. "And while you're at it you freakish little bastard, shove that nozzle up your ass and fill yourself up. Then hey, just for kicks, shove a match up there and blow yourself into a billion little freakish pieces. Oh wait, that would be a bad idea because obviously you aren't human and those little pieces would most likely grow into full grown freakish bastards like you and next thing you know, I'm paying a buck ninety for a gumball, so better yet, how about you just go boil yourself in a vat of hot mud for a few days. It might help that pasty complexion you've got." I sighed while he pumped the gas in an almost symbolic buttrape of my pride. I handed him thirty-one bucks, he stood there for a moment, as if expecting a tip. "Here's a tip, goonboy: fix the tooth and stock up on the Rogaine." Damn bastard didn't even offer to check my oil. Of course, someone like that, you really don't want messing with your dipstick, if you know what I mean...you might catch something. Anyway, I pulled back onto the Pacific Coast Highway, leaving Igor to his own devices (which probably consisted of a farmhouse porn video and a pencil sharpener), all the while grumbling under my breath. I was getting cranky. We approached Big Sur a little after nine. We still hadn't eaten dinner, but we'd been snacking on some munchies we had thoughtfully brought along. To my surprise, Big Sur, at least at night, seemed more of a "mountain town" than a coastal resort community. There were lots of campgrounds, a few rustic restaurants, some hunting lodges that Gaston probably has dreams about, no view of the ocean that we could see (of course, it was dark by then), and about a million cars. What? Cars? You betcha. See, as we first rounded the bend into Big Sur, we saw a huge tent with some colored lights shining on it. Switch gears from Beauty and the Beast and now we're in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and although Judge Frollo wasn't there masturbating, I wouldn't have minded one bit meeting Esmerelda in some dark alley. :) Anyway, there were having some kind of huge festival called, or so the painted sign said, "The Tropic of Dreams," whatever the hell that is, although I suspect it's something hippies would dig. We couldn't see down into the valley, other than to catch glimpses between the trees of the brightly lit tent, but whatever was going on, everyone who smoked a roach in the 60's was there and the PCH was lined on both sides with more cars than the LA freeways. "I think it's a safe bet that whatever hotels this place has are booked for the night." Amanda mumbled a reply. We passed through Big Sur. The next civilization shown on the map was the Monterey Penninsula. Now, I had the wrong preconception of Big Sur, but I know the Monterey Penninsula is home to Carmel and Pebble Beach, so it's DEFINITELY a resort area. And most likely, a damned expensive one (although I found out later, it's really not that bad). So, although I'm not a total cheap ass, I wanted to save as much money as possible for San Francisco, so I made an executive decision. Just before Carmel, I took a cutoff, and headed into Salinas. According to our map, Salinas was the size of Santa Barbara, so it couldn't be TOO bad, now could it? [Note: I never got around to finishing this saga...Things came up an then, of course, we had to deal with September 11. Bah. Well, let's just say Salinas is where people go to kill their spouses and dump the body. We pulled into a motel parking lot, then pulled right out again when we saw a one-armed Mexican bandito guarding one of the rooms. Yipes. 'Cisco was fun, as was our return trip through Monterey Bay...Good times, just wish I would've gotten around to telling you about it... :P Ah well.] 11:54 a.m. - August 22, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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