Day Seven: Boxing Day, or Festivus (for the rest of us)

It was easier to leave Morro Bay knowing our new friends were also on their way out. While we packed up, the pack of wild children roamed the campground on bike, scooter and foot (Sawyer got separated due to lack of speed and we had to search for him for a good three or four nervous minutes). We finally departed at 9:45 and checked the surf at the rock – no good despite a booming surge at the south jetty – incredibly tempting but with a 45 minute traverse time and a long distance south to go, Tom opted for a search down the coast instead. It was one of those days of being torn – we passed by plenty of surf spots, some of legend and some that simply looked good from the road. It was a gorgeous day, sunshine in abundance but still some wind and definitely with a bite of cold in the air. Which made it al the more difficult to pass the many surf spots. We stopped at another pier, a state park a couple of hours down the coast, but not quite enough was happening to get Tom motivated. Places where it would have been convenient and easy to park and surf, there was a twist to the coastline that protected it from the great swells. Places where the surf looked the best seemed least accessible from the road.

After seeing at least ten or twenty miles of northbound traffic backed up on the 101, we were nervous about our rush hour prospects going through LA. We took a deep breath in Ventura and headed south on the 1 rather than going down the 101. After an initial fifteen minutes of endless traffic lights, the freeway opened up onto empty coastal vistas, beautiful the whole coast down through Malibu’s twenty miles of coastline and into Santa Monica. We stopped in Malibu and I got a great beach run in, marveling at the way the public beaches were pristinely combed, the restrooms cared for by a uniformed worker on Boxing Day.
Still, the line between the haves and the have-lesses was clear: signs posted along a football field length stretch of beach advised that the sand to HERE was public, but past that was to be used by members of the Malibu Bay Club Members ONLY. The tempting playground wasn’t for our use, although I did deign to deposit the Austin pooper scooper bags in their trash cans rather than carry them with me to the public ones. One length of buildings looked like fifteen or so clothes closets for rent, until I saw the doors open on one: inside was a small wet bar, a man behind it served drinks to three others on chairs half in and out of the closet sized space and I laughed in wonderment that people would pay no doubt great sums for the privilege of drinking from their own small piece of real estate on Malibu’s famed shores. The kids and Tom had invented a game of going for a “walk” over a ledge of sand and toppling down the 3 ft tall drop into the sand below. They were, of course, covered in sand and jumped, slid and rolled over and over. We all did it together and it was of course wonderful fun (until walking to the car Jordan realized her undies were filled with sand).

We had about an hour’s drive to the Nakamuras in Cerritos, and it was the clearest driving we’ve ever done on any of our trips down to LA. Jordan and her cousin Sammy and her cousin Laney played better together than they ever have, time erasing past petty concerns and more toddlerish fussing and pouting. Sawyer and Jack who look strangely similar despite clear differences in specific facial features also played well both together and independently, and it was fun to sit to a meal all together and to chat and laugh afterwards. It’s always a welcoming atmosphere and everyone’s become more settled in their roles and identities as parents and so it’s a fun environment to be in.

We left too late, of course, for the kids – it was 8:30 by the time we buckled in. After the last half hour of Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Story, Sawyer was beside himself with exhaustion and his usually even keel was wildly off center; everything made him cry. He of course was unconscious when we pulled into our campground dead in the middle of a busting LA seaside town. There’s a rather posh Hilton that towers over city facing campground border (it’s wireless signal just slightly too faint to pirate), a constant drone of highway, and an occasional train whistle. It won’t be the casual ride your bike campground as it’s much busier and more compressed than our last two campgrounds, but the beach is yards away, and the sign promised an aquarium. We may try to get to Catalina Island tomorrow as the cousins are engaged in picture taking and dinner reservations. At some point we’ll have to wash not only ourselves and our children, but the pile of laundry has now outgrown it’s hiding place in the bathroom.

Sawyer gave his scooter to the 2 ½ year old girl at the last campground as he’s clearly ready for a two wheeler that moves a little more quickly – and the balancing should help him transition to the removal of his training wheels he claims readiness for.

I think it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt LA get, but the clarity and sunshine are worth it. The rain was great, too – especially knowing in Lotus it was raining and up in the high Sierra our stores of groundwater and snow were improving. The kiddos are snugged into their bunks sated from so much play with kids, so much fun for days now. It’s fun to drive into a campground in the dark, and to wake and discover what you’ve been sleeping in the middle of. Tonight it sounds like we’re in the middle of a concrete jungle, but I know in the morning it’s the whole Pacific we’ll see, more adventure to have and exploring to be done.