Living in San Francisco. I can explore and explore and explore and never run out of places to see or grub to eat or coffee to drink or people to meet or things to do. Still though, from time to time I really miss the road. Driving 8 hours through bumfuck nowhere, blasting mix-CDs with the windows down, with no clue what is really in store in the next city or state you encounter. Those were nice times.

Great short-term solution = weekend road trip!

My adventure cohorts, Dakota and Tara, and I had a loosely assembled agenda: go see David Bazan in some random city that starts with a V, then continue driving southward to Hermosa Beach to stay with Dakota’s friend Brian.

That’s about it. So we packed ourselves into a rental car and headed southward.

First stop: Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Dakota and Tara wanted to ride rollercoasters and eat ice cream.

I happened to be battling one of the more intense hangovers of my lifetime, so I wasn’t particularly interested in either. I bought a hot dog (it’s what my hangover wanted at the time), took a seat at the sidelines and silently observed the chaos.

We wandered around for a bit, snapped some shots on the beach, & prepared to head on our way.

We arrived in the small city that starts with a V by nightfall. The venue was a lovely place. A lovely empty place. We were wondering if we were going to be the only ones here.

Sure enough, it filled out, but we easily weasled our way to the very front to watch David Bazan, one of my favorite songwriters of all time, serenade us from three feet away. One of the better moments of my life.

Being in the front row with a fixed 85 mm lens, I could basically take photos that framed his forehead only. I could have backed a few feet up into the crowd to get some better shots. It was definitely one of those moments where you decide whether you would rather have the better experience or a better documentation of your experience. For once, I chose the former.

So then we drove to Hermosa Beach. It was another 4 hours or so to drive. It was also midnight. But we wanted to do it anyway. So off we went.

We arrived in Hermosa at approx. 4 am. We tried to contact our host, as he told us to call him when we arrived. No response. Dakota proposes we sleep in the car.

Nope. Didn’t come all the way to SoCal to sleep in a damn car. So we decide to go find the apartment he described for us. We find said apartment. We knock. No answer. So… we try the door. It is open. We sneak inside.

We are not entirely certain that this is the right apartment. We could possibly be breaking into a strangers home. We check a utility bill on the counter. Not in her friend’s name. Fantastic.

The bedroom doors are open. Dakota peers in bedroom one to see if her friend happens to be sleeping in it. Definitely not her friend. Even better. I convince the girls to hold on and at least let me charge my phone before we have to run away.

Fortunately, in the second bedroom we found our friend Brian. I had already set up my bedpallate on the floor. I didn’t care whose apartment we had invaded, I was going to sleep in it.

And so we did.

We all woke up late. Brian conveniently lives a block from the ocean, so we took a quick walk down the beach, ate some brunch, then headed back to prepare for our trek home.

Only a quick 9-hour trek home. This may be a chore to some, but I absolutely love the road, so I was elated. Not to mention… we’re driving up the coast of California. There could be worse ways to spend your day.

Hooray roadtrips!