Sunday, January 24, 2010

Cloud Road to Cachuma.

It was still raining in the morning. I was disappointed. The mist from passing tires sprayed in the air and everything was wet. Puddles were unavoidable and we gathered our things and trekked across the lawn to check out of the hotel. It wasn't raining hard but it seemed like whatever water was in the air couldn't find a place to land so it just hung there, grabbing onto whatever was near like a spider's web. By the time we reached the lobby water was running down my face to my neck. The air was muggy and I was sweating in my jeans already. I headed towards the bathroom to change. My raincoat was too hot but I couldn't take it off. Dreary, dismal, dead. I walked into the lobby and Domenic was checking out. Brandon was trying to look up the weather on his laptop sitting on a vinyl couch that was squeaking when he took a breath. I walked to the coffee machine and put a cup under the brew. It spit out discolored water and some loose coffee grinds and then it was finished. Disappointed I sipped what had leaked into my cup and my face twisted at the tartness but it was a little caffeine so I forced it down my throat.

"It is going to rain all day here but just to the north it is already clear I think. Right around Lake Cachuma. Didn't Hanna tell us about that area?"

"Yeas. She did. I think we should camp there if it isn't raining."

"At least stop and check it out. I'm not ready to finish this road trip. Let's make Cali last like two weeks."

"I'm fine with that."

We stopped at a Starbucks on the drive out of L.A. There were thirty or forty men sitting around the parking lot waiting to be picked up by whoever needed some day labor and they were soaking wet but looked content. A few of them approached my car when I pulled in but I looked at them and shrugged my shoulders and they knew I was as employed as they were. The line for Starbucks was long and the rainy weather made a heavy fog inside and it was uncomfortable. We bought our coffees and left Los Angeles as quickly as we could.

On the highway we took a wrong turn and found ourselves somewhere near Beverly Hills. It was too foggy to see the Hollywood sign and the only relatively amusing moment was when Domenic stopped short as a man smoking a joint cut him off on a bicycle. I do not miss Los Angeles.

Finally we escaped the grip of the city and were driving through the California hills. It was still cloudy and although it wasn't raining the visibility was low and we were straining to catch a glimpse of something grand.

The ocean was crashing against the beach and my window was open and the salt air flooded the car and sparked something simple inside me which brought a smile to my face - to all of our faces. It was intimidating driving along the highway because we could see in some areas where the rain had eroded some of the cliff and I could visualize our car being crushed turning around a corner by falling rock. I tried not to think about it.

It was cloudy the entire drive that day. Domenic saw a sign for Cachuma at the last minute and took a right turn inland and up a mountain road. The fog settled as a heavy white. It wasn't fog anymore. It was more like a cumulus nimbus. Domenic was following closely the tail lights of a van which was driving under twenty miles an hour. Frustrated with the speed Domenic passed the van and nearly immediately jolted his brakes and pulled off the side of the road. It was impossible to see anything except the tail lights of the van. When we reached the crest the clouds were thick like cream. We were all pressed forward staring into the white as if our eyes would eventually adjust like they can in the dark. It was too heavy. Rather than an absence it was more like an explosion. In the dark the nothing creeps on you like emptiness. Everything is there but vanishing. As you sit patiently what little light penetrates begins to slip and spring around the dark. As if a lack of light is intimidating - as if a lack of anything is. In this cloud we were overwhelmed - flooded with a rush of something that matters until we couldn't comprehend it or see anything at all regardless of how hard we strained. It was as if we were staring at the sea to find out what was hiding in the deep. It felt as if it would never clear until suddenly blue skies fell down upon us. We were a few thousand feet above the lake and it was beautiful and eighty degrees. I realized my heart had been pounding against my ribs and as we descended it relaxed until the sweat felt cold on my face and I wiped it with my shirt. We pulled up to the kiosk and payed a small fee to get into the park and when we stopped we knew we were in the right place and thankful to be out of the dampness of the storm. Brandon parked and we all laughed for a while in the sun and above the weight of our worries. The driving was done for a while. We set up camp but the day was not done, not even close.

We had parked on a small cliff above the lake. We set up our tent and built a fire pit with some rocks we saw laying around. We had a few bundles of wood in the car but it wouldn't be enough to last the evening. We wandered off to the trees to find some dead wood and we found some, actually an endless amount, and we were happy. After we had settled we doused ourselves in bug spray and found a path down the cliff to the lake. We brought a few beers and our fishing rods and cast out into the lake for a few hours until the sun was gone and the temperature had dropped dramatically. It was quiet by the lake, a peaceful weight to the air and we watched the light fade into brilliant colors and then dark. We didn't catch anything that first night because we were using sinkers which were getting caught on the very rocky bottom of the lake. It was perfect, though.

We sparked a fire back near the tent and cooked some chili over the flame. Fish would have been nice. We laughed and joked in the silence and we could hear crickets and critters stirring in the woods all around us. We played guitar and planned out the next day and figured we would take a hike around the lake with our fishing rods. I fell asleep in the night under an umbrella of burning stars.

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