Today was a special day. We hired a convertible Ford Mustang in preparation for our journey down the Pacific coast highway. Now I don’t want to brag about this too much but; we hired a convertible Ford Mustang to drive down the Pacific coast highway. Yes, you read that right. A convert…I’ll stop now I’m sickening myself.
Driving round San Francisco and then across The Golden Gate Bridge was the stuff dreams are made of. It just felt epic. I could easily have shed a tear such was the power of how it made me feel. The area is so beautiful and the view from one of the many vantage points is breathtaking. One of life’s little ambitions ticked off…again!
We headed down the coast and stopped at a little hostel and light house called Pigeon Point. It was dark as we arrived, and it felt very lonely and atmospheric. The man behind the counter was very chilled and slow of speech, listening to some lazy 60’s numbers on his radio, moving deliberately and lazily. A total space cadet. I’m lying wide awake in a comfortable bunk imagining him with an axe in his hands and a back packer mass grave down the cliff face. Somewhere in the hostel there is a room filled with other people’s stuff he’s collecting. Maybe he has a business on the side providing naive travelers to the sex trade. Maybe I should stop ripping off every horror movie cliché and get some sleep.
Golden
Today was a special day. We hired a convertible Ford Mustang in preparation for our journey down the Pacific coast highway. Now I don’t want to brag about this too much but; we hired a convertible Ford Mustang to drive down the Pacific coast highway. Yes, you read that right. A convert…I’ll stop now I’m sickening myself.
Driving round San Francisco and then across The Golden Gate Bridge was the stuff dreams are made of. It just felt epic. I could easily have shed a tear such was the power of how it made me feel. The area is so beautiful and the view from one of the many vantage points is breathtaking. One of life’s little ambitions ticked off…again!
We headed down the coast and stopped at a little hostel and light house called Pigeon Point. It was dark as we arrived, and it felt very lonely and atmospheric. The man behind the counter was very chilled and slow of speech, listening to some lazy 60’s numbers on his radio, moving deliberately and lazily. A total space cadet. I’m lying wide awake in a comfortable bunk imagining him with an axe in his hands and a back packer mass grave down the cliff face. Somewhere in the hostel there is a room filled with other people’s stuff he’s collecting. Maybe he has a business on the side providing naive travelers to the sex trade. Maybe I should stop ripping off every horror movie cliché and get some sleep.