So we hang around in Carmel for a few hours. I was instantly captured by the trees on the along the rocky foreshore walk.
There is something so eerie about these trees. They look both alive and dead at the same time, the same way I was beginning to feel after driving all day, wandering, and riding the downward-sugar-spiral that came from all the sweet things we had shoveled down in town.
No matter how calm or peaceful a coastal town can be, the trees on the front line always give an inkling of the true weather patterns that hit the coast.
The coast is obviously dynamic... rebellious... just like the karate kid kicking for a photo, while the man on the danger sign awkwardly tries to hug a boulder.
We drive around a tourist loop, 17-mile-drive, which was beautiful, but by now I just wanted to get to San Francisco. The trees still grab me though. They are like old, arthritic fingers reaching out against the unseen ocean winds. Warped and weathered; writhing but still.
The sun sets on our Highway 1 road trip, as we embark on the final leg of the journey from San Francisco.
It probably wasn't the best decision to do this at night,as we were both tired to the point where coffee, red bull, nor loud rock music can keep me awake. But we power on through until the vast, vast grid of city streets that is San Francisco appeared over the horizon.
It is at this point where I realize that all I need is an ice cold beer.