The Call Of The West: Oceanside, CA

He got the high sign, so he jumped a bus…

Around three hours into the Tour de SoCal, the sun was setting, my ailing back was aching, and it was time for me to take a break. Luckily for me, I found the perfect rest area, completely by accident.

All The Way: San Diego County, CA

But what does it MEAN???

I didn’t make this left turn. I wasn’t going to fall for this again.

The Suburbs: Murrieta, CA

“Sometimes, I can’t believe it…”

I have to admit – the next stop on the Tour de SoCal wasn’t planned at all. After my brief jaunt into Lake Elsinore, I needed out in the worst way. Unfortunately, about two minutes outside of town I realized that my Camry needed gas in the worst way. As chance would have it, Murrieta was there.

One More Thing…: Lake Elsinore, CA

Oh yeah, I guess there’s a lake here, too…

Stage One: Lake Elsinore, CA

If you REALLY squint, it kind of looks like the Champs Elysees…

In keeping with my unstated and unnecessary goal of avoiding every major city in Southern California, I traveled down PCH, past LAX, through the Beach Cities, out the 91 Freeway and down the 15 until I found the town of Lake Elsinore.

The Tour de SoCal: Malibu, CA

…and a fine starting point it is…

What do you do when you get cabin fever? What do you do when you feel like a hamster running on a wheel, day in and day out, following the same routine, without even a brief respite? Where’s your escape?

My answer to that question is fairly obvious.

(Bad) Luck Of The Irish: Greenfield, CA

You got bad, bad luck.

I have no words for this. This is completely disgusting. I can deal with a lot of harsh truths – believe me, I can – but THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.

Routine: Santa Cruz, CA

Conventional, regular, typical, everyday.

It used to be that I traveled a fair amount, if even just traveling up and down Highway 101 or Interstate 5 to get from Los Angeles to the Monterey Bay. Now that I’m an “actual” adult, with a job to work and a boss to answer to, I have to operate within the constraints of that job. This means that the freedom of travel is a freedom that I can only exercise over 13 vacation days every year. I thought about it today on my way home, while driving my evening commute up Santa Monica Boulevard, just like I have most weekdays for over two years now. This is my adult life; here it is. When I lived in Santa Cruz, I didn’t have these constraints. Now that I’ve had a few hours to think about it some more, I realized a stark truth: There is a clear dividing line between my current, “adult” life and the life that I left behind in Santa Cruz. I have never spent a single serious day of my adult life outside of Los Angeles. This is a sobering thought.

Clueless: Avila Beach, CA

Stop. Rest.

Before December 26, I thought I knew all of the awesome surf spots between San Francisco and San Luis Obispo.

Before December 26, I thought I knew the best beaches on the Central Coast.

Before December 26, I thought I knew that the best little beach town that few people knew about was Pismo Beach.

Before December 26, I thought I knew that there was nothing to see between Pismo Beach and Morro Bay.

On December 26, I found out that everything I thought I knew was wrong.

The Revolution Starts Now: Salinas, CA

The Revolution will NOT be televised.

In Los Angeles, one has endless options for entertainment. Music, movies, theatre – it’s all here. For example, you can turn on the radio and find little dead-air as you can find just about anything on the dial. On my recent trip back home to the Central Coast, I was reminded that what works in L.A. doesn’t necessarily work elsewhere, as I tried in vain to find a radio station that plays to MY specific needs – namely, rock music created after 1990. I then remembered that my hometown media market doesn’t have a rock station, and hasn’t since about 2007. They haven’t had one since the one I interned for went belly-up.