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SoCal: Back to the Pacific Coast

Deep down everyone has a special connection with a place. It may not be a specific place, but rather a certain environment, that makes a person feel completely at home. Relaxed, rejuvenated and in complete serenity.


For many this place is their home. Home is a place where they may have grown up or graduated high school. Wherever they may have happened to spend the majority of their life, or where the most influential time of a person’s life took place. The problem with this theory is when people ask me what my hometown is I hesitate. I certainly graduated in a specific city, I lived in many, but all in the midwest. I was born in California.  I spend a short time in Arizona. In theory, all these places could be considered my home, but my answer is never direct.

The truth is, I consider home a place that makes me feel like all is right in the world. This place for me is the pacific coast. Not necessarily my birthplace, or where I lived, or anywhere specific. Where I can sit on the beach without a care in the world, soaking up the seaside air, listening to the waves crash against the sand and rocks, and watching the sun the instant it disappears below the Ocean.

Today, I was home. Probably the best present I could ever give myself.

After sneaking Ellie out of the hotel, as I was trying to avoid the pet cleaning fee of $50. Either I was so tired I wasn’t hungry, or I was too excited to see the coast, I am not sure which. Perhaps a combination of both. Whatever the reason, I managed to inhale part of a waffle (my favorite hotel breakfast food),  jumped in my car, and without even bothering to wait for my borrowed, aged GPS to find signal, I began to drive west.

I didn’t care where it was, I needed to see the ocean.

I arrived at the Oceanside Pier & Beach, dropped some dimes and nickels into the parking meter, scooped up little Ellie the puppy, and went straight for the water.

The sun had just risen about half an hour ago and it still sat low in the sky behind me. The waves were pretty good and about a dozen surfers were already in the water taking advantage of it. The palm trees lined the strand, the smell of the salty air hit my face and at once everything was right with the world. I spent a few minutes there just soaking in the view, then walked towards the edge of the ocean so that little Ellie could experience the sea for the first time.

I got really close to where the waves were coming up when suddenly a big wave came up and caught us by surprise. Ellie took a dunk in the water up to her ears, I had shoes that were now full of sea water and sand, and the bottoms of my jeans weighed down. I laughed at myself, and even the cold water didn’t bother me: I was too excited to be on the ocean shores to care.

After changing into a dry pair of jeans I headed North in the direction of my brother’s place. It would be a couple hours drive, at least. I wanted to get up there as soon as I could so I could find a beach to relax at until my friend could meet me. It was there I would have to say my farewells to my little, fuzzy traveling companion.

I was cruising up the coastal highway when I decided to stop for gas. I noticed a station that offered car washing. If you purchased a wash you received a discount on the gas. Relieved at the thought of  my car finally being shiny and clean (and not having to endure the strange looks and questions I was getting about the salty grime that covered my car from my snowy trek back in the Midwest) I pulled up to the pump and a man came out to greet me.

“Would you like a car wash? I‘ll give you a good price”

I nodded and pointed to the sign that notated the different washing services they offered, ranging in price from $16 for a basic wash, wax, window clean and vacuum to a full out detail for $60.

“The $16 wash will be fine” I said.

“Ohh No…your car is much too dirty for basic wash” He stated, running his finger across the side of my car to show how much dirt, salt and grime had accumulated on my car. “We can wash your car for $25”.

I hesitated internally. $25 for a car wash was ridiculous. My logical side told me to decline and find a self-serve car wash where I could rinse off the grime for a couple bucks. My exhausted side told me I didn’t want to waste any more time searching for something with the GPS that took forever to work, and would loose the information if touched the wrong way. All I wanted to do was get to the beach and relax. No more detours, no more disasters.

My lazy, exhausted side won.

I felt a little cheated paying $25 for a car wash as I once again became the bag lady as I sat on the curb awaiting my car to be cleaned, waxed and shined.

When they were finished I felt a little better about the ridiculous amount I had paid for the service. My car was probably cleaner than I had ever seen it. They even cleaned the inside of my windows, which tend to get a film buildup on them rather quickly because of the inclination of the windshield and the hatchback window. The tires shined a glossy black, my Dodge Stealth’s paint shined a beautiful red with a deep, crystal-like shine.

I was no longer ashamed of my dirty car as I sped up the I-5. Traffic in L.A. was, as usual, slow and meticulous. It would take 15 minutes or more to travel a mile or two. I was ok with this for the moment, it allowed me time to take a few pictures of the signs and the buildings, and listen to the radio.

I arrived at my brother’s apartment where he helped me bring all my luggage up to his 3rd floor apartment, and we stood around and chatted. Ellie’s new owner had sent me a message that it would be a couple hours before she was near out meeting place: Santa Monica Pier & Beach. After some amusement at the puppy’s fascination with vertical blinds, I headed towards Santa Monica. A name that was familiar to my mind as a child, but I had lost any picturesque memories from that young age.

The drive was quite scenic, winding through the mountainous terrain that was green and beautiful from the winter rains they had received. Every now and then I could get a glimpse of the ocean through the vegetated, hilly terrain.

Arriving at Santa Monica Pier I parked and paid the $7 for all-day parking. I scooped up Ellie and carried her down the sidewalk to the ocean. Along the way she peed on my new Carlsbad t-shirt, a shirt I was now wearing for the second day straight because I was too tired last night to bring my luggage up to my room. I didn’t really care anymore. I wasn’t going for glamorous or anything, I was just here to relax, alone, and enjoy all six senses as they swirled in bliss at the environment.

I walked down the pier, watching the Pacific Ocean lap against the sandy beach, and the smell of food hit my nose reminding me how hungry I actually was. Then I saw them: CHURROS!

I have this small obsession with churros.

I bought myself a Churro and ate it in what seemed like record time. Oh, how I love those cinnamon-sugary coated pastry sticks of joy! You look for them in the Midwest and everyone looks at you with that confused expression and asks “What is a Chur-O?”.

Mmmm. Birthday Churro.  Somehow this is one of my best birthdays ever. Covered in puppy pee and all.

I laid on the beach while Ellie discovered the wonders of digging in the sand, sending fountains of sand all over my jeans and shirt. It was actually quite amusing. I sat and watched the ocean and the sun as it was slowly getting to late afternoon. There were plenty of people there, but the beach was much less populated than what it is during the summer. Behind me children played on top of the “Walk on L.A.” sand mold, a round, tubular concrete stamp of an aerial of LA that was designed by Carl Cheng in 1988. Basically, the contraption is pulled behind a tractor and it leaves imprints in the sand so you can “Walk” on L.A.

It wasn’t long before my friend picked up Ellie, and after we visited for a while and they departed, I walked straight back to the pier. The sun was now prepar

ing to set and the wind was chilly. I should have had a sweater with me, but I decided that it was an opportunity to get myself a souvenir. I purchased a pretty, light blue hoodie that said “Santa Monica” across the front. It was warm, and incredibly soft on the inside. I think I have a new favorite sweatshirt.

I then purchased another Churro- Hey, don’t judge me, I only get them when I travel westward, I needed to enjoy them while I could-and headed straight to the beach to watch the sun set. I took over 100 pictures of the sun setting and paused to watch the sun disappear in those few, breath-taking seconds it took. The sun spends all day slowly moving it’s way across the sky, but watching the sun disappear is something that seems to happen in an instant. Like it sped up so that you could appreciate the beauty even more.

I can’t describe the beautiful colors of the sunset, or the serene calmness it seems to cause in everyone that still stands on the beach. I think you will have to see my pictures for that.

Another wonderful day in the life of Nicole.

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The “Treacherous” Drive Along the Border- Carlsbad, NM to San Diego, CA

The adventurous spirit in all of us lives. We can try to plan adventures, to organize a series of events that will complete your experience, but the truth is you can’t plan a true experience. Oh, you can make plans that allow you to be in a place and time, but it’s usually unexpected events that make your journey all that more memorable. Whether it be a pleasant surprise or a near disaster, a good story to tell doesn’t come from a schedule.

Today was one of those memorable days, and a story I will be able to tell for a lifetime.

I woke up half an hour earlier than I had set my alarm clock to Ellie starting to whimper. Luckily she slept much better last night, probably because I had tired her out on the trail and the runs we went on. It was 445am CST, as I had left my clocks in central standard time zone so that I wouldn’t have problems calculating time versus distance. I wanted to take the chance to get some free breakfast from the hotel before I left. They had said that breakfast starts at 530, so when I was all ready at 540 I headed to the lobby to check out and get breakfast.

I got to the lobby and the breakfast doors were closed and no one was in sight. I rang the bell on the desk once, no answer and complete silence. I waited a minute and tried again, no answer. I hit the bell again. Silence.

I decided the best way to get a hold of someone would be to call the hotel. Calling the hotel, the phone that sat a mere 5 feet in front of me began to ring. The phone rang 3 times and finally I heard some movement from the back office. A middle-aged Hispanic woman tumbled out of the office, disoriented from just waking up. As I was checking out it finally occurred to me they that while it was 530am in the midwest, it was only 430 am in where I was currently located. I laughed, but there was no way I could wait an hour for breakfast…I needed to get back on the road.

I guess it was a granola bar for breakfast today.


The sun began to rise as I wound through the Guadalupe Mountain range. The horizon slowly changed from a deep blue, to shades of purple, to pinkish reds. I stopped at an old abandoned café/general store and took some pictures. It was going to be yet another breath-taking day.

I had crossed back into Texas and was driving through a small town when I saw a car wash. My car was absolutely FILTHY with salt and most of the locals were not familiar with the treatment of roads after snowstorms and I was asked several times: “What is that all over your car?”.  I decided to pull over and give my car a quick hose down. It would be good for my paint, anyways.

I didn’t have any quarters so I took a couple dollar bills up to the machine on the front of the building. It wasn’t working. This SHOULD have been my first sign that at this point that cleanliness was a lost cause. Frustrated, I get back in my car that was sitting in the bay, sigh, and pull through the back and see that there is another machine on the back side. I stop my car and almost slip on a sheet of ice as I step out to get the quarters. This SHOULD have been my second sign. The machine works, and I get some quarters and back my car into the bay. I put in the quarters, the timer starts, and I get nothing. No water. The hose was frozen. $1.50 for a dirty car. I throw the sprayer back into it’s aluminum holster and get back into my car. I’d have to put up with the questions about my car’s “salt grime” for a while longer.

I am driving through the middle of El Paso, Texas next to a white GMC Jimmy with some unique, blue, geometric design on the sides. I top a hill and an urban scenery sprawls in front of me. I can literally see Mexico from my vantage point. Suddenly the big white and blue SUV swerves into my lane, so I scoot over to avoid bumping into him and *BANG*

I hit the curb. Hard.

I can immediately tell something terrible is wrong. I pull over into the nearest parking lot to see that my front passenger-side tire has a huge, gaping hole in the sidewall and the wheel is bent. The back passenger-side tire has a big bubble on the sidewall, and the rim is also slightly bent.

Not good. Not good at all.

I pull my jack and tools out from under my luggage and start to jack up my car manually, slowly twisting the jack around with the lug wrench that transforms into a lever for this exact purpose. I almost had my car jacked up when the jack started going sideways on me. Stupid, cheap piece of…

I had released the jack to try again when a black suv pulls up and out jumps a man who immediately goes to the back of his vehicle and pulls out a hydraulic jack and a lug wrench. He asks if he can help me as he starts going to work on my car, getting the tire changed. The spare, it turns out, is also extremely low on air. I thank him profusely, and he gives me directions to the nearest tire places that can give me a good price: Wal-Mart and Discount Tire.

Wal-Mart was closer, and despite my dislike of Wal-Mart auto centers because of a previous mistake they had made with my tires I decided my situation warranted the need. Like the man who so graciously changed my tire for me and wished me a Merry Christmas had said: “at least they are everywhere, and if something else goes wrong they fix it for free with the $7 hazard warranty.”

I make my way to Wal-Mart cautiously, feeling the strain my car has on it’s passenger side with a damaged rear tire and a nearing-flat donut on the front. I get to Wal-Mart and he tell me how much the tires will cost.

I may have almost cried of happiness in Carlsbad Caverns just yesterday, but this time I was actually crying. Out of despair. I really didn’t want to spend that much money, it was FAR out of my budget for this trip, but I didn’t really have a choice so I agreed and handed him the key. Although the price was high, I knew they wouldn’t get much cheaper anywhere else. The size of my tires makes them a little pricey.

I sat in the waiting room with Ellie in the carrier, bags slung over my shoulders, feeling a little like a homeless bum. The tears were rolling down my face, my mascara running down my face to further my impression of the homeless. I’ve been through much worse, and it could have been worse, I told myself. Stop crying.

About 30 minutes later the technician comes back into the waiting room and explains he got the new tire on the back wheel, but the front wheel was too damaged to mount a tire on.

Of course, this caused a whole new string of tears. Feeling some compassion for me (or perhaps because I looked so pitiful) he drew me a map to get to a shop that sold used wheels. I thank him, go up to pay for the tire, crying, and the lady behind the counter asks if I have a radio in my car. I tell her yes and she writes down a radio station to listen to. She says it helps her out when she is having a bad day. I force a smile and thank her, and she reminds me that everything always gets better.

I get into the car, armed with a fresh, hand-drawn map and a radio station number. I tune my radio to the station and, of course, it is a Christian station. I laugh, but leave it on the station in respect for the good-natured advice that the lady had given me, and in respect to everyone else that had helped me on this journey thus far.

I manage to find Tops Wheel & Tire by use of the map and explain to them I need a new wheel, and another tire, but need them as cheap as possible. Unfortunately, my car’s wheels are unique in the way the lug nuts are long and require a deep-set in the wheel. After 30 minutes of searching his lot, he managed to find a used Mitsubishi wheel for $75 and put my car in line to get the new wheel and tire. The tires here were a full $40 cheaper than Wal-Mart. I should have come here first…

Hungry (my last meal was that granola bar) I ask the cashier where I could get some food. She says there is a Blimpies two blocks up if I turn right, and a Mexican restaurant two blocks if I turn left. I go for the Mexican restaurant since Taco Bell the day before had failed to fill that void. How about that for the bright side: I’m on the border of Mexico and I’m finally getting some authentic Mexican food.

This area of town wasn’t the classiest. As I walked the two blocks to the restaurant I saw bullet holes in empty store front’s windows. The buildings were mostly old and run down. I was right next to the Mexican border. Somehow, I managed to blend in with the buildings and everyone ignored me. I looked much like the bag lady, traveling down the street on foot, bags slung over my shoulder, carrying a dirty, old pet carrier with a puppy, wearing a white hoodie that had dirt and grease on the sleeves from trying to change my tire earlier. Yep, I looked much like that homeless person that lived under the overpass half a mile down the road.

I get to the restaurant and there is not a word of English anywhere, written or spoken. I ordered something easy, a quesadilla. There was a little confusion over whether I wanted bottled water, “agua”, or tap water, but my high school Spanish managed to get some food ordered. I was afraid to come into the restaurant because I had a dog with me, but they seemed interested in seeing the puppy. I struggled with answering questions about the puppy’s age and name, and understood nothing of what was said afterward.  All I knew is they thought she was adorable, they cooed and made faces in her direction like she was an infant.

I made my way back to Tops, the tire shop, with an additional bag in tow that was full of Mexican food, chips and salsa. I sat down and ate my food quietly by myself. The gentleman who worked on my car told me he was finished and I walked out with him to my car after paying. He told me that the rear wheel will hold, but I should get a new wheel sometime soon because it was definitely bent and could pose problems in the future. I had the new mismatched wheel on the front, and two new tires. He asked what the white, powdery residue was all over my car. I laughed inside at the car washing incident and explained about the snow through MO and OK. He told me to drive carefully, and I was back on the road over 3 hours after I first arrived in El Paso.

I traveled along the highway that follows the Mexican border, listening to the radio because my Mp3 player had lost it’s charge. Most of the music was in Spanish, but I managed to enjoy it. I finally made it to Tucson, AZ right around dinner time where I met up with my cousin at a coffee house. She bought me coffee, and sushi for dinner, as a birthday present. I thanked her, and enjoyed some conversation over the sushi. We went back to my car for a while and played with the puppy until it was time for me to get back on the road.

Off I went, on my way to San Diego, where my hotel waited for me.

Driving through southern California was interesting. I went thorough two border check points where they asked my citizenship. The drug dog would get excited about the puppy in the back seat and start barking, but once they realized I had a puppy in the backseat they would excuse me from a tenuous car search. Along one stretch of mountainous road I watched a border patrol helicopter descend upon some people in the desert.

By the time I got to my hotel in Oceanside, CA,  I was exhausted. It was after 2am CST. I was so tired I didn’t even bother to bring up my suitcases. I took up my adventure bad, basic toiletries, and Ellie the puppy in the carrier. I let Ellie get some energy out, then passed out for some much needed sleep.

Just another adventurous day in the life of Nicole.