Highway1 Status as of 6/28/17: IS CLOSED FROM 4.6 MI NORTHOF RAGGED POINT TO GORDA (MONTEREY CO) – DUE TO MUDSLIDE REMOVAL – MOTORISTS ARE ADVISED TO USE AN ALTERNATE ROUTE – MOTORISTS CAN ACCESS SR 1 FROM GORDA TO LIMEKILN STATE PARK BY USING NACIMIENTO-FERGUSON RD.
About Nacimiento-Fergusson Rd:
”This is not a drive for the faint of heart. The paved road is barely two lanes wide (no center strip) with step banks on both sides. There are no guardrails and veering off the road would be disastrous,” warns one of the many websites that mention this road — the only road open now to get one into a small portion of the Big Sur. It’s a white-knuckle ride.
And so begins the EuroVan adventure part of my life.
“Are we dead?” I asked Spouse.
Maybe the EuroVan, the newest family member, missed one of the treacherous curves on Nacimiento-Fergusson Road and plunged a thousand feet or more into eternity.
My query wasn’t meant in a morose way. If heaven is all that the soothsayers have written, then my question was spot on.
Perched on a flat rock over looking the teal and blue sea with opalescent pearl waves gently colliding into the magnificent Big Sur coastline, and with absolutely no people or cars around, then, I had either just transitioned or a spectacular gift was mine to behold.
Not a vehicle motored north or south on one of America’s most scenic highways on a perfect weather day in late June. That is completely unusual. No roaring motorcycles. Not a full sized motorhome to be seen. Not even bicyclists.
Big Sur is cutoff from the usual three to four million annual visitors. The damage to the community and business is a nightmare. But at this one moment in time, I dwelled in a heavenly dream of what it must’ve been like before the highway drew the world inside California’s crown jewel. Just a few campgrounds are accessible. The single road in is neither motorhome nor 5th wheel friendly. The time was here to pack the EuroVan with camp gear and savor Big Sur’s bold nature display.
Obviously, I was still alive. Sweat from hiking beneath late June’s sun along vehicle-free Cabrillo Highway (Highway 1) beaded on my forehead, and that annoying callus on my right foot grumbled its usual complaint. But the silence in the air was so holy that I could summon the ghosts of Henry Miller, John Steinbeck, and Jack Kerouac. To allow myself complete abandonment from modern day intrusions while taking in the sea’s song in harmony with fluttering birds warbling in the redwoods, pines and sycamores, all while the earth’s essence flowed upward through my feet, was magic. It’s that connection that keeps us whole and called “earthing.”
It’s a contrary world outside of this sacred space. The call to depart the diabolical and daily absurdities of power and greed screams with the shrill of a wild fox gone mad. The unfortunate, but completely expected collapse of entry into Big Sur’s majesty is fortunate for the return to silence and a human-break for nature.