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Continuing our drive down Highway One was beautiful, yes, but also a bit torturous. Growing up surfing on the East Coast, we’re accustomed to paddling out if there is any kind of wave breaking over two feet, so seeing sprawled out swell lines for miles made it challenging to not pull over at every corner. We bit our tongues until we arrived in Santa Cruz, knowing Graham still needed to repair his scarred nose from the Bend river wave misfire. Sun-cure secured, we eyed up a drooling Pleasure Point where the locals were putting on a show. We watched in awe for maybe too long, realizing we’d already be chasing sunlight if we were to camp in Big Sur that night. Our hearts shattered, we made the choice to drive on after failing to secure a camp spot in the Santa Cruz area. Waves were in our future, and we had no idea what was in store for us about a hundred miles down the coast. 

We didn’t know much about camping in Big Sur. All we knew was that the roads were skinny and steep, and that finding primitive spots was all up to luck of the draw. With only a random point on our map to follow, we decided to enter from the inland side of the park to avoid the sketchy roads. The drive was beautiful and empty; sprawling, golden grass hills that beamed in the early evening sun. We were passing empty pull off spots, but the views kept us pushing further and higher into the mountains. We were low on gas and light, but our guts told us there was something special waiting around the bend. What we originally had thought was the ocean turned out to be an endless sea of clouds, blocking our view of the pacific and creating a dreamlike landscape. It was one of the most beautiful things we had ever seen. Pulling off the road was a no-brainer, camp spot secured or not. We threw up the drone, captured the scene, and then saved the last bit of light for ourselves to take in. It was an experience we’ll never forget. As the stars started to shine above us, we were able to find a small clearing off of an adjacent dirt road to set up camp for the night.

Waking up early, we waltzed down to the local dock where we found a spawning bass. This bass was our source of entertainment for the morning. After introducing the fish to all of the streamers in our fly box, we untied and set out to get a few wakeboard runs in behind Lou Lou’s boat. Graham invented a new trick, Joe tried to do a backflip, and we fueled all this fun with tacos on the water after. To Sam, Sharon, and Matt, we can’t thank y’all enough for being so hospitable towards us. We had an absolute blast, and look forward to seeing y’all again soon! Bellies full, legs sore from the wakeboard, we ripped east towards Malibu. Finally, a clean, wrapping, right-hand point break. We got our bearings up at Third Point, where we caught plenty of fun waves. We got closed out occasionally, but not before getting a turn or two in. As the sun set, and the crowd began to somewhat thin out, we paddled down to First Point. We managed to get a few long, right runners, before hearing a voice over a megaphone declaring to all the bobbing heads in the water that parking was closed for the night. We were having too much fun, and the wave was too good to leave, so we chalked up this declaration to be a bluff. Before we knew it, it was pitch black. We sat up on our boards to look at the parking lot, to find the only source of light being a tow truck’s orange lights flashing. We debated amongst each other for a minute or two whether or not it was even possible to tow the van. Realizing this was probably not the best gamble, we paddled in as fast as we could, and sprinted up the beach. We made it to the van with no time to spare, and the tow truck whizzed by yelling out his window to “Go! Go! Go!”. We left Malibu with the van still in our possession, and Joe still naked from not having time to change in the back of the van. We cruised down to LA and settled there for the night.

The wakeup the next morning was quite the slow one. Our heads hurt from the Irish liquid, and our voices were gone from overstaying our welcome at the karaoke bar. After finally summoning the strength to hit the road, we packed up the van with our sights set on San Diego. However, the van had other plans for us. Tsk tik tsk tik. Our van decided it was hungover as well. Being the average mechanics that we are, we did what any average mechanic would do, blame it on the battery. Thankfully, our diagnosis was correct, and we took Waymo to the local autozone. Once back at the van, we took our newly acquired jump box and fired up our wheels. We set a course south and eventually arrived in San Diego, jumping our van every time we turned it off along the way. We were welcomed by Joe’s friends he previously met in Australia, Quinn and Elena. They had graciously offered up their couch, and had already acquired the makings for burgers, corn, and fries. We grilled out, drank a few beers, and watched the sun set on Pacific Beach, before hitting the town. By no means are we pool sharks, and we made that known to the dive bar that night, losing every game we played (barely). We walked home trying to find where to pin the blame for our pool losses on the way.

It was a bittersweet day waking up on that tiny couch in Encinitas. We said our goodbyes to Cailyn, made a stop at the post office to mail some postcards, and then we were back on the road. It was the end of our second leg, and the beginning of the long haul east, a true cross-country trip. We arrived in Arizona in the early evening to a beautiful sunset. The scenery was much more eye-catching than anticipated; golden grass plains contrasted by tall red rock mountains where giant cacti stood high on the peaks. With little planned for the next couple of days, we have nothing but the ambitious 40-hour drive ahead, and that’s the fun part of this trip. Who knows what’s in store for us between here and the North East. Let’s find out.