We approached Big Sur under cover of fog illuminated by a full moon, the throaty rumble of our rented 2005 Mustang echoing in the stillness of a nearly deserted Hwy 1. I knew the ocean was to our right but darkness and the concentration necessary to negotiate the corkscrew of scenic highway prevented me from seeing much more than the occasional lunar reflection of black water.

Our destination, Lucia Lodge, about twenty five miles south of the more populated areas of Big Sur, advertised its “unique cliff-side location” offering “unparalleled and commanding views” of the Big Sur coast and Santa Lucia mountains. As we were to discover, Lucia Lodge is basically all there is to Lucia with twenty five miles of desolation north on Hwy 1 and about fifteen miles of the same to the south.  We were unaware of this geographical fact when, though famished, we decided to skip the Big Sur Roadhouse in favor of locating the lodge. Twenty-five miles after bypassing the last of civilization to the north, we arrived at 10 PM to a locked and darkened lodge and restaurant.

In the lobby of the restaurant (discovered the next day after the complimentary breakfast of pastries, muffins, bagels, fruit salad, and bowls of hard-boiled eggs) hangs a framed 1984 San Francisco Examiner article which beings, and I quote:

“You’d swear you’ve seen the setting in some brooding film noir classic, maybe a 1940’s dark Howard Hawks thriller: a small coastal roadside gas station-restaurant-store with a few cabins off to the side overlooking a steep cliff.”

This description, sans the gas station which apparently was removed between 1984 and 2005, could not be more accurate and I experienced a very film noir feel as we doubled back about twenty yards to the steep, obscured little road that leads down to ten little cabins over-looking that steep cliff.

Finding the key under the mat as promised we proceeded to drag our luggage into cabin #7, a little A-frame with a high, full-size bed at one end and gas fireplace at the other. No phone, no TV, no radio. Oh and no cell phone reception. Isolation at its finest. Make a note to bring good books and wine.

Our load considerably lightened we hopped back in the Mustang and roared south on Hwy 1 in search of sustenance, coming up on the Whale Watcher Café some fifteen miles down the road in the town of Gorda Springs. Thankfully, though the kitchen was closed, the gentleman said the clam chowder was still available so we ordered two bowls and a couple of drinks.  My wife tried the Merlot but knowing I had a fifteen mile slalom drive back I opted for Sprite, which I find really brings out the flavor in clam chowder.

So the chowder was great, really hit the spot, very generous amount of clams and a good consistency, but when I discovered that we were charged $10.50 per bowl I suddenly wanted to give it back. Had the kitchen been open we could have ordered burgers for ONLY $16.00 a pop. Needless to say we declined the gentleman’s offer to return for breakfast the following morning.

We greeted Saturday morning at the crack of 9:30, washed up and made the short walk up Hwy 1 to the Lucia Lodge restaurant, toasted some bagels, grabbed coffee, fruit and a couple of hard boiled eggs and sat on the deck that overlooks the lodge grounds and the ocean. After perusing one of the free Big Sur Guide newspapers we decided on Pfeiffer Beach for it’s “breathtaking stretch of sand” and “large arch-shaped rock formations” and picked up a couple of sandwiches at the Big Sur Center Deli some 20 miles north on Hwy 1 (did I mention the Lucia Lodge is pretty isolated?)

Pfeiffer Beach is as promised; long stretches of beach, breathtaking arch shaped rock formations and towering cliffs. What the paper failed to mention was that it can

also be like visiting a sandy wind tunnel. The wind coming off the ocean whips around those arch shaped rock formations and right down that sandy stretch of beach. We found shelter on a large rock about 200 yards down the beach and endured the discomfort of our

craggy seat long enough to eat lunch before allowing the winds to carry us back to our car.

“Exile on Main Street” pounding from the speakers, bright sun and blue skies flecked with white clouds and a brand new Mustang convertible, top down, roaring up Hwy 1. It doesn’t get much better. Hwy 1, and Big Sur in particular, offers some fantastic photo ops and the amateur shutterbug I call my wife was anxious to try and capture some of its beauty. Fortunately the sun was on our side and my wife happily snapped off dozens of shots, some even with me in them.

Andrew Molera State Park has what the guide paper described as “a sandy beach…sheltered from the wind by a large bluff…”.  We were still in a beach mood and shelter from the wind sounded great so we pulled off to check it out. At the ranger kiosk the young man informed me of the $8.00 entry fee. I had expected this but having just paid $5.00 for a 45 minute visit at Pfeiffer Beach I wasn’t very willing to part with more of my dwindling cash supply. I pointed out the ticket we received at Pfeiffer still taped to our windshield, hoping the fact that we’d already paid one beach entry fee might gain us access to another. Apparently Pfeiffer is federally owned by the U.S. Forest Service while Andrew Molera is a state owned park. As such, each are entitled to charge an entry fee. Annoyed by this display of governmental gouging we decided to begin the long trek back to Lucia and make dinner plans.

That morning a fellow lodge guest had told us about a restaurant called Nepenthe, which is about (yes), twenty miles north on Hwy 1. We were informed that while the food was just “OK”, a better spot to sight whales and watch the sunset could not be found. We simply “must go”.  In fact, all of her friends in LA had told her that she simply “must go”. To ignore such resolute counsel would have been misguided, boarding on reckless, so go we did.

In the future I must remember to lead a more reckless, misguided life. OK I’m kidding. Our fellow lodger was correct in that the food was OK. I had the Ambrosiaburger (my eyes were instinctively drawn to it having been denied one the night before at Whale Watcher Café and the fact that at $13.00 it was the cheapest thing on the menu) My wife, already having decided to lead a more reckless life, opted for the grilled scallops wrapped in prosciutto ($32.00) followed by the Four Layer Chocolate Fudge Cake. Obviously  what you’re really paying for at Nepenthe is the view and by the time the bill arrived we were treated to a bright red sun melting into a thick blanket of hot pink clouds spreading slowly like whipped marshmallow across the darkening Pacific.

Back at Lucia Lodge we occupied one of the benches at the edge of the cliff near our cabin and enjoyed the cool winds coming off of the ocean and the sound of waves crashing at the base of the cliff below us. Back in our cabin we enjoyed some wine and those good books and slept well. Sunday arrived far to quickly but the 11:00 AM check out time allowed us to linger over our coffee on the lodge deck, watching the fog roll silently over the grounds, obscuring the foot path back to the cabin and our waiting Mustang, sitting patiently in anticipation of her final run up Hwy 1.