February 18, 2009
San Luis Obispo—Saint Louis, the Bishop
On Tuesday morning I drove up the coast to the totally forgettable Leo Carillo State Park. The return of rain made me decide the walk under the highway to the beach wasn't worth the effort. A park with no hook-ups even the promised Wi-Fi was shut down with the camp store. The place was quiet save for the couple who snuck in under cover of darkness and left before dawn the next day and the rude, ugly looking cuss who walked right up to my smoked glass windows and attempted to peer in on me. I'd have loved to have had my panic button in hand.
On Wednesday I continued my drive up the coastline stopping in Lompoc to get funds at the local Bank of America. The route north skirted Vandenberg Air Force Base and led through crenulated rock faces turned on their sides by seismic forces. I stopped at a rest are in a canyon for lunch. California Welcome and Tourist Centres continue to be impossible to find unless one knows exactly where they are located and in that case one probably doesn't need one. That in Santa Barbara near the Harbour which had a kiosk charging for parking took the cake. I don't believe California wants to welcome tourists.
The most striking feature of the hillside community of Morro Bay is the 576-ft sentinel rock offshore. Or it would be had the Army Core of engineers not built a paved roadway right up to a peregrine falcon sanctuary. The sandbar that is backed up behind it guards a substantial harbour which supports a thriving fishing port and fresh seafood restaurants. Unfortunately the triple towers of the local power generating station loom over the downtown area as well. Why there's a four-way stop at the town's busiest intersection or why two sections of The Embarcardero are divided by a sandy creek bed are matters for local politicians. Both must be in sections of town they don't have to drive. That break in the road forces anyone staying at Morro Dunes Park to make a mile-long detour to access a major tourist area that is otherwise a short stroll away. On the plus side being on a dead-end street makes the campground quiet and walking to the beach across the road safe. Everywhere in the park the sound of booming surf is evident. Two lads riding up and down the beach strip on 3-wheelers tugged by paragliding chutes seemed to be having a whale of a time.
At night frogs called from every puddle and the breaking waves shown white by starlight. The sand dunes are covered by blooming sedums and the gulls endlessly patrol the air while shorebirds investigate the water's edge. This seemed an idyllic place to rest up and wait out the rains.
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