Palm Springs

I was feeling really ill, and I hoped the desert climate would do me some good. After a tiresome drive through
hideous San Bernardino,

one finds oneself in Palm Springs in no time.

It is an utterly bizarre place, both artificial

and ostentatious. I followed the GPS to this discreet, citron-colored doorway,

beyond which lay my hotel. Passing beneath this beautiful lemon tree, 

one finds the swimming pool and its well manicured gardens.

After checking in, I sought out this thermal pool.

Unfortunately, even a relaxing day at the baths was no help, and I returned to my room feeling feverish and weak.

Perhaps I'll feel better tomorrow...

Topanga Time

I'm feeling the tingle of a nasty microbe - contracted from the sewer, no doubt! Poor me! I have a soak, in the hope
that it might improve my state, but to no avail. Fortunately, a friend of ours from New York contacts the ever-
networked Lexi, and I'm sent off to Topanga for the cure. After a quick run up the coast, I end up here...

RedHanded, an artist collective and gallery, run by two redheads, the brilliant and elegant Anastasia,

and her partner, of whom I would hear much, but never meet. In addition to running RedHanded, Anastasia is also
a filmmaker, so we started chatting about Night of the Hunter and Robert Mitchum, and in no time at all, yet another
gorgeous redhead turned up. Something in the water, perhaps?

Listening to these two, as they hold court on Topanga Canyon Blvd., is an easy way to spend a day. Incredibly,
another of their friends, this gem of a blonde with a bottle of Jameson's in her handbag, turned up. Needless to say,
I loved her style. But, like the sign says...

Topanga Time.

I hated to go, so good was the company at RedHanded. But I was leaving LA early, and I knew it was now, or never.

Los Angeles, day 2

LA: 75 and sunny. Not that I'm complaining.

I spent much of the morning posting, then drove over to the Langham to spend the afternoon
by the pool. From the roof of the Langham, taking nothing for granted.

A kind hello from Alex.

A hummingbird appeared, and expressed an affection for Alex, who had built two feeders for him earlier in the day, and took this photo.

Is it better to post nothing? There is nothing interesting
about an indolent life, except to its participant.

San Simeon to Los Angeles

To quote a woman pushing past me to exit an especially execrable play, "I simply
cannot walk fast enough!" Such were my feelings toward San Simeon, and my dump
of a hotel. The plan was to get up early and reel off a sizable chunk of the 250 miles
to LA. At 5:30 am, I ran into this father and son, Indian tourists, from Singapore,
standing outside the hotel entrance. We had a nice chat whilst I kitted out beastie.
I wished them well on their travels, then headed south on the PCH.

Pismo Beach, where I stopped for gas, and a few photos...

of these handsome brown pelicans,

who had established a rookery at the base of a rocky promontory.

My next stop was here, just outside Santa Barbara.

After a rest in the sun, I hopped on the bike, and rejoined the PCH, and within minutes, I was pulled over by CHP
and ticketed for going 82 in a 65. The cop said he was a Harley rider, so I could only assume that he was green with
envy at the sight of lovely Brünhilde. My irritation was mitigated by the fact that this was the slowest I had travelled
all day long. I arrived in LA just in time for sunset.

After dropping my panniers, I rolled over to the Langham, where my dear friend Alex from NYC was shooting
for Fossil.

Unfortunately, this is not Alex, but the lovely and charming Alena.

Alena and Alex.

The pool at the Langham, an old Hollywood relic with much to recommend it...

such as its elegant signage,

and it's spacious terrace with panoramic views of the city.

Din, one of the models, a gentleman with much charm.

There are more difficult ways to make a living.

Looking northwest.

The shoot ended shortly after dark,

so some of us retired to the hotel terrace for a couple of bottles...

while this festive Hanukkah Parade passed by on Beverly Blvd.

Big Sur

In many ways, the Pacific Coast Highway along Big Sur is one of the worst places to ride a motorcycle. There are 

many reasons that this is true, but first and foremost is the jaw-dropping beauty of place. It is simply impossible not 

to gawk through every turn, and if you're looking at the scenery, you're not looking at the road. And what a road it is, 

with thousand foot sheer drops, fog, intermittent patches of wet and gravel, and a slew of equally distracted tourists.

Mistakes made here can easily turn fatal. Fortunately, there are many spectacular waysides...

...affording views like this one.

The coast itself is primarily rocky, but it is frequently interrupted...

...by gorgeous swathes of deserted beach.

Highway 1 hugs the coast for about 20 miles, before turning inland just north of Andrew Molera State Park. Here, 

the topography changes from treeless, windswept promontories, to lush forest. I carried on for another 10 miles 

before arriving at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. The lodge just inside the park entrance was nearly deserted, so I 

had my breakfast in front of the fire, then headed out to explore the park. The trail I chose began in a lush stand 

of California Redwood...

A park sign warns hikers of mountain lion in the park. Apparently, they have a taste for children.

In the presence of these towering giants, it's only natural to cast one's gaze continually upwards,

but the forest floor is of equal interest and beauty.

This fallen Redwood, covered in moss,

and these three, artfully positioned leaves,

was where I encountered this brilliant creature.

Gaining altitude, the trail climbs through a forest of oak, sycamore, cottonwood,

maple, alder, and willow.

After a while, I came across this stand of conifer, whose uppermost branches were untouched, but whose trunks...

...were entirely carbonized by forest fire. 

The blackened wood was shiny and reflective, as if it were made of metal.

I followed the path for a couple of miles, then had a short nap in the sun.

Refreshed, I returned to the lodge, collected Brünhilde, and continued south. After a few miles, the highway emerged 

from the forest and continued along the coast.

This stretch of the PCH has many lovely bridges.

Although it is less than a hundred miles from Monterey to San Simeon, with so much to see, the ride took all day. 

After several stops along the way, I arrived at the second "Pfieffer" park in Big Sur, Julia Pfieffer Burns State Park. 

It's famous waterfall, one of the few that drains directly into the Pacific Ocean, may be reached directly from the road, 

or by way of this tunnel...

...from which one emerges onto a dramatic, cliffside path, and is presented with this stunning view of the falls.

Following the path leads to a perfectly positioned bench...

...with spectacular views to the north...

...as well as the south.

For the lucky few who find it deserted, it is a very special perch.

By the time I left, the sun was sinking fast,

transforming the water into liquid gold.

Before long, the sun had set,

and the fog began to roll in...

as the last, sublime traces of Big Sur,

faded into the crepuscular light.