Quote of the day:

 "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. So we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others".

 --Nelson Mandela in his inauguration speech
 

9:53 AM Thursday, June 27

 Heading North on 5 from San Diego

 Kicker of a bike ride on some trails up in the mountains in Julian. Heading north, probably try to pick up Route One at Morro Bay and then follow it up to SF from there. Looking forward to Big Sur, so in honor of its anticipation I'd like to truck out a little Big Sur story:

 Can’t forget Big Sur and Dewey T. Illitsdun--Dewey's name isn't really Dewey; Dewey T. Illitsdun was scrawled on a piece of paper suspended from his rearview mirror expressing where good ole Dewey was at in his life, man, you know, DO IT TIL IT'S DONE!--the dope salesman in the old Volvo (or was it a Saab?) traveling around the good ole West Coast, receiving shipments of weed in mason jars from compadres back in Jersey(?) to support himself, and just our luck, guess who had just smoked it all the previous night partying with some guy from Big Sur? (yep, Dewey) who laid some pretty cool acid on him, which (coincidence?) jibed perfectly with Jon's dream of the previous night of us tripping at Big Sur, and us trying to track the acidman down, and asking a guy working in the camp convenience store if he knew him such a bloke (not mentioning the acid of course but his name which escapes me now)and the guy saying that he wasn’t sure if he knew him but if he did he thought that he was out working on the campground and he might not be back ‘til the next day, and it ended up that he was the guy we were looking for (what was his name?) paranoid bastard, probably thinking that everyone was out to get him or something, obviously not realizing that they’re all after me.

 How about that freakin’ unbelievable sunset disappearing into the Pacific viewed from up on high, a narrow road curving around a tall bluff (I'll call your bluff and raise you two rocky ridges) on Coastal Route One, and everyone slowing down to a crawl and even some pulling over so that they didn’t miss one of the best show's Mother Nature puts on--it's got to be top-shelf 'cause even in-a hurry-to-get-everywhere Americans are slowing down on their road to nowhere to take a look--and look there’s a guy in a brand new red Camero pulled over so he can get a picture ... of ... his fucking car!

 How about that grapefruit that good ole Dewey gave us when he dropped us off in Big Sur. Big hearted Dewey!

 "No dope, but I’ve got some nice rotten fruit that you might like."

 "Sure," says Jon and then we proceed to play catch with the oozing grapefruit across the busy, narrow, balanced precariously on a cliff, way-high-way, until nice guy me whips it at you with much velocity at point blank range and it explodes with a semi-fermented citric splash all over you, and, what else, of course, we get a ride at just that moment when we really weren't even hitchin’ and we pile into the car laughing our asses of and you smelling like a freakin' citrus boutique so much so that the good Samaritans who pull over to give us a ride almost give us the boot, but somehow we manage to pull ourselves together enough and further down the road we speed.

 'Member breakfast in Big Sur. Car full of people pull up to us on the other side of the highway while we're hitchin’', us just having finished the best fucking breakfast of our lives, part fresh oranges stolen right off the tree, the other in a yummy granola health food cafe (flashpresent: whose name I'll hopefully be able to provide shortly) with the sprawling splendor of Big Sur everywhere you turn, to ask:

 "Excuse me. But where’s Big Sur?" Jon and Mac exchange what’s the trick glances before Jon replies:

 "You’re right in the middle of it." Incredulity cubed. Incredulity personified. Incredulity . . . you know what mean, they were fucking surprised, all right?

 "But isn’t there a sign or something?" with nary a sign of self-irony. Reminds me of my first visit to Niagara Falls:

 I’m unable to get out of the car for a few moments because first I’m blown away by the sheer size of the Falls and second by its effervescent beauty, and when I do finally manage to get out of the car, it’s in slow-motion because the sound of the falls is even more overwhelming than even their sight. I look back to my traveling compadre Mark and he agrees with everything I don’t say with one look. A car pulls up quickly to the curb behind us and I turn my attention to the disembarkants anticipating that they too will be likewise overwhelmed: Two Japanese couples hop out of the car quickly and take turns photographing each other in front of--get this--not the magnificent Falls, but a sculpted rhododendron wrapped around a 19th century British lamppost (right out of Mary-Fucking-Poppins) above which the sign Niagara Falls, in flowery cursive, is written. If not for that sign we (Mark and me) probably would’ve had to answer the Big Sur question. With nary a glance, the Japanese couples pile back into the car and drive away.

 Flashforward: 10:30 AM.

We're only a couple of miles outside of Nixon-country, San Clemente. Wasn't San Clemente also the name of an infamous prison. I don't see any irony there, do you? Nope, no irony here. Just passed one of those "universal" signs that dot Southern California's "Free"ways, that warn motorists to be cautious of families crossing the street. But unlike all other universal signs the edges of the people are raggedly defined and non-universal in the sense that they resemble a stereotypic Mexican family.

 Humorous (?) interchange between Jon and Mac as a new song comes on over the radio and Mac changes the channel:

 "I can't listen to those guys."

 "What guys?"

 "Those guys."

 "You mean Jane's Addiction?"

 "No, The Cure."

 "Was that Jane's Addiction?"

 "No, that was The Cure."

 "I can't stand Jane's Addiction but I like The Cure."

 Just another day in paradise,

 Mac Pilsner