It turns out you couldn't go back to Big Sur even if you wanted to. Everyone stopped dropping acid years ago. Don't ask.
We would often stop the car on the sand by the side when there was no-one around, just to take pictures of nothing but the road disappearing into the distance; once, there were two photographers on the other side setting up their tripods to take staid portraits of the bluff of the cliff, or the sun, or some other repetitive detail and they looked on, fascinated, as we photographed the straight road ahead.
Santa Monica is Hollywood's playground and a hostel for the homeless.
Leaving that behind the road carried along the plateau for a while and then started to climb upwards, towards the hills that marked the beginning of the coast. From here you couldn’t yet see the sea but every so often the breeze came through the sun-roof and it was salty, Bill smiled and said we’re going home and then the Pacific Ocean lay before us as we crested the rise and carried on down the other side and it really did feel like home.
Gordon Macrae has been a member since 28 May 2008 and goes by ddbanful.
Currently in london.