The Pacific

Do you know what happens when you first see the Pacific after crawling through 2500 miles of sub-standard roads, desert, biting cold and crappy motels in sleepy towns? It hits you from the pit of your stomach. The vast, endless expanse of water, the salty tang of the ocean breeze, the buzz of a thriving community - That's what awaits you at the Santa Monica Pier.

I got out of Victorville before dawn, partly because I wanted to be there at the Western end of Route 66 at sunrise, but mainly because I had to be back on the East Coast the next day. I drove slowly, taking in all the city lights and the attractions in Los Angeles. Figueroa St to Sunset Blvd to Santa Monica Blvd, passing Hollywood, West Hollywood, Beverly Hills and finally on to Palisades Park and the Pier. End of the earth, far as I'm concerned. No more lands to conquer.

Didn't have much time leftover anyway for checking out any possible classic Route 66 motels in Los Angeles, so I just spent some time by the pier until Snta Monica woke up. Ended up at a Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., which was the first place I found open on the pier on a Sunday. I couldn't believe I was sitting around eating a breakfast of cream-cheese stuffed French toast inside a restaurant themed around a Tom Hanks movie. But the last couple of days had been surreal, and so I just went with the flow. Besides, the coffee was strong and good.

Gave me some time to reflect on my journey from Chicago to Los Angeles, and what I had learned on the Mother Road. Most of it is intangible, but the memories of places, and people I met on the way are precious enough.