California Dreamin' - Finale

Sunday (11/8)

Our last full day on the California coast. Decide to take another road trip. This time we head north to Santa Barbara. 405 to the 101 and within the next hour we are driving along the coast. The mountains take up most of our Eastern view. They rise and fall like a kiddie coaster. We exit and head towards State Street. The buildings have a Spanish feel to them. Even the movie theater blends in; unlike East coast movie theaters that stand alone like stadiums. We eat, and walk, sometimes through clouds of weed smoke. Did you know nearly anyone can legally obtain pot in California as long as your doctor gives you a medical needs card? I know, to us East Coasters it sounds as real as Monopoly money, but in California it’s legit. Blew my mind. We visit the Mission; a large Franciscan church founded in 1786. Creepy and amazing to walk through such an old piece of architecture. We rush because it’s nearly 230pm and we have one last place to visit: The Circle Bar B Ranch.

Like every other little girl in all of America, I grew up loving horses. I’m not sure why, I mean, I grew up in Brooklyn where you only see horses with police on their backs during parades. Must have been something that was whispered into my ear when I was a newborn. Anyway. I’ve rode horses several times in my life, was even thrown off one once. But what honestly brought me to the ranch was the fact that it was listed as one of the top ten things to do while in the Santa Barbara area. Simple as that. Jaime agreed because he loves me. And because he doesn’t pay attention to my itineraries. In this scenario, the latter was clearly the case. As we pulled up he asked me, “So this is a spa thing right?” Obviously, when we moseyed on up to the group of cowboys and a line of stables he did a double take. I explained to one of the horse handlers that I’m a somewhat experienced rider. Jaime offered up that he had ridden a horse once. Slowly. No surprise then that my horse was a young stallion named Rocket and Jaime’s was a gargantuan mare named Dolly. Our leader, and full blown cowboy, was named Clay and, by the lucky of the horses, we were going on a solo ride (in other words they were nice enough to separate us from the family with three whiny kids.) For the next hour we were led through the mountains with Clay telling stories about where he was from (Iowa?) and asking me about Brooklyn because his brother manages a bar there (of course!) And Jaime? Well, think about the combination here: slow horse and a guy who wouldn’t disturb a fly even if it were buzzing around his head shamelessly. Clay had shown us how to kick the horses in a way that conveyed the need for speed. Jaime would give small kicks and then, when our leader would turn away, he’d lean forward (the sweet man he is) and try to convince the horse to move faster by pleading to her. Needless to say, when my horse decided to leap over a small creek (just because) Jaime missed it because he was 100 feet behind. Regardless, we all caught up at the crest of a mountain where Clay parked our horses and told us to chill out. Breathtaking isn’t strong enough of a word to portray just what it was we saw. Green mountains rose and fell, the sun was beginning to blaze pink, and the ocean was just beyond the farthest crest. I didn’t want to leave. But we were warned the cold would come as the sun set further. Picture opp! And then we were off, back down the mountain. I recognized the final trail as we approached it and frowned knowing the end of the ride was around the corner. *Sigh?* A nature girl? Me? Who woulda thunk it? (Especially after that camping debacle. Shiver.) We were helped off our horses and became immediately aware of how much sitting in that position for an hour and a half was going to hurt in just a few hours. Again, totally worth it.

One last stop to make on this trip. We wanted to get together with Jaime’s friend Mitch, who now resides in San Diego. No, no, no. We didn’t drive down to San Diego. I’m not that crazy. We just drove to Anaheim. I was told this was about 30 minutes South of Santa Monica. What’s 30 minutes more? I said. Then I saw the red lights. The break lights. The traffic lights. And then I realized it was 30 minutes without traffic. And, considering there is rarely NOT traffic around LA, this time assumption was completely false. So we sat in traffic for over an hour instead. I thought I might die. Until we finally reached a random mini-mall in Anaheim where we met Mitch for BBQ. Food. Stress reliever. What traffic? We munched on ribs as Mitch told us about his gig as a high school teacher. An hour later we were laughed out with our bellies full. We promised to visit San Diego on our next West coast trip. I guess that’s when we first realized we’d want to return sooner than later. This trip had not rid us of the bug to discover what else this state had to offer. Before we could even give that more thought, we had to head out. Lucky for us, our return trip happened outside of rush hour so it really did only take us about 30 minutes to reach our hotel. Ah, sleep. I dreamt of horses and Dolly Parton. Weird.

Monday (11/9)

Up before the alarm clock. Gather. Pack. Go. Stop at IHop. Eat my usual breakfast. The one thing you can count on to be the same no matter where you go: chain restaurants. Return rental car. Jump the shuttle bus. There’s a funny feeling in my stomach. Ah, it’s sadness. We check in. We’re early. Why do I always book late flights? Sit around in the terminal, get some work done. Look over the pictures we’ve taken. California’s beautiful. It’s not home. May never feel that way, but beautiful nonetheless. Board the plane. Purple lights. Pussycat Dolls music surrounds us. Comedic flight attendants. Déjà vu. Not really. Just amazed at how fast six days went. Take off. California disappears below us. Four and a half hours later. City lights. A different kind of beauty. There’s a funny feeling in my stomach. Ah, it’s the feeling of familiarity. The beaches may not be nearly as pretty, the sunsets not as magnificent but we have real NY pizza, real NY bagels, real NY skyscrapers, real NY attitudes, real NY stride. I missed this. I’m home.