Road Trip '08 Ch. 3: The Lost Boys

"One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach...All the damn vampires."
-Grandpa, The Lost Boys (1987)

Strange quote to start a road-trip blog, you say? Or maybe I'm refering to our knack for going exactly the wrong way? Well then, you don't know much about Central California landmarks or '80s film trivia. Pay attention and try to keep up.
The day began with a tug on my right foot as Damian was arousing me from my earplug aided slumber. He and the Ninja had gotten up hours earlier, during which time they poked around Half Moon Bay and spoken to our hotel manager, a fellow motorcyclist who recommended a couple rides we could take on our way down the coast. We thanked him for his help, then said "no thanks" to his suggestions as they'd take us away from the coast and the weather was absolutely spectacular.
Before we headed south, Damian, a surfer most his life, wanted to check out the legendary break Mavericks, which was familiar with thanks to the brilliant documentary RIDING GIANTS.

A short drive and a moderate hike later, we were at the end of a point which offered a view of several surfers braving the cold water and less than spectacular surf.




The beach leading to Mavericks featured three headstones, one of which featured something scrawled in Hawaiian to memorialize Mark Foo, whose death at Mavericks was detailed in RIDING GIANTS.

"See that," Damian said pointing to a view of the coast stretching as far as we could see to the south. "That's what we're riding today."

But we weren't riding anywhere until we filled both our bikes and our guts. We found a little cafe on the way back to PCH that looked like the kinda place that would have good coffee. Not only was the java good, but all three of us ordered a plate of righteous fish tacos that were made even better by some handcrafted chipotle salsa.

Finally, somewhere around 1:30, we hit the road and were greeted by glorious weather and very little traffic. Such a combination allowed me to get a slew of roadshots on the way to our next stop:





...and what a stop it was. Pescadero State Beach was the first of many, many sights that day that were simply breathtaking.





I used a break in the action created by a truck turning around in the middle of the road...

...to get some shots of my mates...


...before we pressed on to Santa Cruz.


Which brings us back to the title and quote that raised an eyebrow or two at the beginning of this whole mess. THE LOST BOYS is an important film to most of the MTV Generation, but it means even more to me, dammit. It was the summer of 1987, and my buddy Jeff and I rode our bikes to the Peppertree Theater to see a double bill of ROBOCOP and THE LOST BOYS eight freakin' times in two weeks. (Admission was $2 with membership. DAMN I miss the Peppertree. SUPPORT YOUR REP HOUSE!) So dare I say I was an even bigger fan than those screaming girls who pasted pictures of Corey and Corey on everything.
As any Doom-Generation film geek knows, the fictional town of Santa Carla was actually Santa Cruz; The Boardwalk was actually the Santa Cruz Boardwalk.
Damian and Ninja didn't have the luxury of sifting through my film geek rabble on their computer screens like you do, they got it loud and live in full force the night before in Half Moon Bay. So is it any wonder that they'd agree to stop by the boardwalk where one of my most beloved films was crafted just to shut me up?
Sadly, the grungy, gritty, graffiti-covered boardwalk that David and the gang swooped to feed upon unsuspecting beach trash has recieved a facelift in the 20 years since THE LOST BOYS reigned.





A discussion of deep-fried Twinkies/candy bars at the cafe we had fish tacos in earlier led to a pact to scarf one down at the Boardwalk. A precident for culinary adventures had been set in a mexican restaurant in Sonoma on last year's trip when I ordered an omelet with cactus in it. (It actually was a pretty good omelet.)
This year, however, I'm happy to report I dodged a bullet. The Twinkie guy failed to show up for work.

Next stop would be Carmel, where we hit something we hadn't counted on: Traffic.

Cars were stacked for miles at a pair of intersections within a mile of each other, but we were able to save ourselves valuable minutes that would have been spent sucking exhaust pipe by bisecting the two clogged lanes until things got moving again. Envy the motorcyclist, folks.
Besides, I was on a mission. Carmel is home to the greatest diner I've ever eaten at.

You haven't had breakfast until you've eaten the Black Bear's 7-grain, almond granola pancakes. And I should know, since I've also had them many times for lunch and dinner to boot. To top it off, the coffee is sublime.

We'd gotten off to a late start and spent a lot of time dawdling in Half Moon Bay and our various photo opportunities along the coast. It was going to take a bit of hustle to get down the coast before it got very dark and very cold, which was a bad combination on PCH's narrower, windy parts. We made one more stop shortly after leaving Carmel, where I saw a tree that I swear is a dead ringer for the Bansai that Mr. Miyagi's family used as the inspiration for their dojo's insignia.



What followed during the next couple hours and 130 miles until we landed in San Luis Obispo can only be described as 100-horsepower paradise. The ride was simply amazing. The Pacific's calm blue stretched as far as we could see to the west, seeming as if it went on forever. The landscape occasionally changed, but was always spectacular.
My words cant possibly do it justice, so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.








We did make one more stop so we could pay a visit to some vacationing elephant seals who come down to San Simeon every year to lounge on the beach and get their freak on.



And after yesterday's fiasco, I'm happy to report we didn't get lost...

...

...

...

...well, maybe a little once we hit SLO and didn't have the Pacific to keep us honest anymore. But that did give me an opportunity to snag a couple pics of a cool, very well lit theater they have down here.


SUPPORT YOUR REP HOUSE!
Tomorrow, we're coming home.

PLAYLIST (V-Rock Day)
A mix of a bunch of stuff, mostly old metal, glam, redneck rock and stuff my folks used to have on the radio in the car when I was a kid.
As a related aside, I listened to "Green Grass and High Tides" by The Outlaws a couple times today, and it's painfully obvious that it's a far superior song to Free Bird, which is considered a classic-rock staple along the lines of Stairway To Heaven. Yet no one under the age of 50 has ever heard "Green Grass..." Life just ain't fair.

...and don't even get me started on "Whipping Post", which is better than both "Free Bird" and "Stairway..." Especially that live version on At Fillmore East that used to take up the whole second side of the album back when there was such thing as albums.
I'm just sayin'.

DAY THREE STATISTICS
3: Number of idiots we lagged for miles but refused to pull over to allow us to pass.
2: Number of the aforementioned idiots sporting Nevada license plates. Starting to wonder about that state. And I thought Oregon drivers were freakin' useless.
4: Number of cups of Black Bear Diner coffee consumed within one hour. Needless to say, I was amped for the ride into SLO. You shoulda heard me singing Hair of the Dog by Nazareth inside of my helmet at an ear-shatter decibel level.