Big Sur Prize

Between San Simeon and Big Sur, headland after headland juts out into the sea. There's a road that's carved into the cliff edge. It rises and rises as you alternate between heading out to sea and back into land. It falls, very occasionally. As you round each headland, breathless from the effort (that's me, Precious' gearing makes it as easy as possible), Nature plays a nasty trick. She presents you with a vista that takes what's left of your breath away, compelling you to stop and admire the unparalleled views. With the sun on your back you cannot help yourself. Soon, as the stops rob you of your hours, you'll have no choice but to climb and climb without the pleasure of the rests. Then with your legs still surprisingly fresh after their exertions, again oh the gearing, but your mind now reeling from the incessant glory of the Big Sur coast, you will reach your final climb of the day. It leads into the village? of Big Sur. Ahead lies a 30 mile ride into the Monterey peninsula, or you can stop and smell the pines. My advice is to stop. The Fernwood resort got my vote. Hey, it had a room. Here, you will quickly regain your faculties as you find yourself in a motel room, perhaps the only one in the United States without a television. You will go to the bar. In the bar, you will find beer. Girls will walk in and drink Absinthe. There's a juke box which can play, so far as I could tell, anything you want it to. Conversations will take place. And the staff will tell you, without the slightest trace of smugness, that they've won first prize in life. It will be hard to argue.