83 Mile Tacos

The Monster on the PCH

Shards of golden red light are spreading across the sky as a perfectly turquoise edge of an ocean barks with life. The waves crashing with such force it almost feels like there’s an earthquake looping on the house audio system.

But there isn’t.

Looking around, oddly I’m the only person who seems even remotely disturbed by this phenomenon… The others – the locals – they just go about their business… As if it’s all naturally normal (which it is) and should they miss it today, they nonchalantly seem to intuitively know they can just catch it tomorrow (which of course they can)…

Ahhh beach culture…

A slow, slow evolving style of life if ever there was one…

The view and the thought are interrupted when the waiter swings a steaming hot plate of spicy tacos down in front of me, fresh off a grill in a taco joint that’s just six blocks away — and yet it took me 83 miles to find.

Looking at the map spread across the empty edge of the table, I shake my head.

Funny how sometimes the long way turns out to be the best way to go a short distance.

Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever gone as far as I did today to end up so close by…

I thank the man and start to dig in. But he cocks his head, looks at the helmet and jacket and asks, “where you from?”

“Just moved here actually,” I tell him.

His lips rise as he smiles and reveals a missing tooth, “This is special place… Where’d you come from?”

I say LA.

His smile shrinks, “To much anger there, people happy here… N’joy!”

And with that he’s gone…

And all that reminds is the view…

Whether that’s true or not, I do not know… What I do know however is that an 83 mile six-block ride never seemed so strange or so beautiful…