Day 16 – Cambria to Carmel, CA (San Simeon and the road)

Thursday morning – it’s now past midnight Thursday night, so it’s actually Friday already – I was woken up by a 7 am phone call from a telemarketer on East Coast time. (I thought of Henry II’s cry that led to Beckett's death in Canterbury Cathedral: “Will no one rid me of this man?” as I wished murder on him.) Unable to fall asleep again, I uploaded a couple of more photos to earlier postings. (I know the photos require scrolling, vertical and horizontal, to see fully. I can’t find a “sized to fit screen” feature….sorry!)

The morning was still gray, cool, and cloudy when I checked out at 10:30 am. to tour Hearst Castle, which, being high on a hill overlooking San Simeon, was enshrouded in wispy fog that obscured the towers of the main building. I signed up for tour #1 encompassing the major public rooms of the “Casa Grande”, the two pools – one indoors, one outdoors – and one of the guest-houses on the grounds. Our group was large, filling one big bus, and shepherded by two guides, one acting as a rear-guard and security monitor (to prevent light fingers).

Hearst Castle, at 115 rooms, is the second largest private house in the country. (Biltmore, in Ashville, NC, the largest at 255 rooms, was my second stop of this trip. Given that the two houses are at almost opposite ends of the country, they aren't competing attractions, like having to choose between The Metropolitan or MOMA when in New York City.) Of the two, Hearst Castle is, far and away, the more interestingly furnished property: William Randolph Hearst was much more eclectic in his tastes and acquired boat-loads of antiques ranging from Dynastic Egypt sculptures from Luxor to 17th century Flemish tapestries. Vanderbilt, on the contrary, focused more on French Period-furniture (the ornate and gilded “Louis numeral” variety). Interestingly, while both were at their height of wealth when Impressionist art was cheap and available, neither seemed to have had a real eye (or prescience) for it. (Biltmore does have a few paintings by Cassatt and Sargent, if memory serves, but very few.) Contrast them with Dr. Barnes, who was not in the same league in wealth as either Hearst or Vanderbilt, yet amassed the collection of world-class Impressionist work that became the Barnes Foundation.

Sexism advisory: women and others likely to roll their eyes when cars are called "she" can skip forward because it's going to get worse before it returns to normal. Men will appreciate and understand. So, vive la diference!)

The drive from Hearst Castle to Carmel was Baby's opportunity to strut her stuff. While parts of the drive through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona showed her speed, I had looked forward to the Pacific Coast Highway as the test of her other qualities, chiefly her handling and responsiveness to a challenging course.

The ninety-four miles to Carmel from San Simeon had the same elements and similar terrain as parts of the drive from LA to Cambria/San Simeon, but the difference was in the quantity (and quality) of the hair-pin turns and descents and ascents as it followed the rugged coastline. If the LA-Cambria stretch was a Hershey bar, the section to Carmel was the hand-made, 90% cocoa content, dark chocolate from Mary’s Chocolatier in Brussels. Both are “chocolate”, but where one is serviceable, the other is sublime, the sine qua non of the genre, with Baby the chocaholic. Her engine purred or growled, as appropriate and on demand, and she slalomed curves with the precision and speed of an Olympic skier. I had only to think a motion, a lean, a gear, and she had responded already. When she passed other cars – she was not passed once – it was with ease and assurance: more often, slower brethren, sensing her need to express, pulled to the side to let her through. It was an exhilarating hundred minutes and, contrary to how it might sound by my description, the safest I have ever felt driving under those conditions. In summary, I didn’t push her as a car: she pushed me as a driver. I can’t wait for the Northern California section to the redwoods! (Ok, I’m back to normal now, the exorcism worked. But, again, too late – it’s 2:30 am – to continue the Henry story. Tomorrow. Promise.)