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Journal Three: Diary of the Open Road

Diary of the Open Road

Diary of the Open Road: Day Twenty-Eight

We left Laguna and the sweet friends we had made there and headed up the Pacific Coast Highway, every turn in the road revealing a painting of a landscape more beautiful than the last. We drove from sun to fog and rain, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad for it. 

All was going smoothly until our excitement for the best of our common sense. We both spotted the prettiest coastal view, and in our hastiness to get out of the van and photograph it, we pulled over right into a blanket of deep sand. 

Smart, I know. 

With the fresh aroma of burning rubber and a very stuck Vince, we began digging. And digging and digging and digging. Shovels, friends. Beautiful invention. Wish we had one. But the only tools available were the birkenstocks on my feet (actually very handy in this situation). When we felt like we had cleared out enough sand, Morgan took the wheel and I pushed from the back. Feet digging deep into the sand, I'm not sure if I have ever exercised my muscles to that level because when Vince finally was released at a surprising`force, I face planted in the sand. On the side of the highway. Classic, Sarah. 

Covered in black soot, I ran across the highway and jumped in the ocean before I could think about how cold it would be. Freezing. But so dang refreshing. 

Following the few minutes spent walking the shoreline, we hit the road again, set up camp by the ocean, made a hot bowl of soup and let Ben Howard and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks sing us to sleep. 

Something about this day left my heart so full and light, and I can't wait to see what these next weeks bring. 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
sarah kierstead