Following The Rain

Heading Home, Tired From The Drive + Some Photos

It seemed that everywhere I went on the way up it was raining. Meandering through 101 beside the coastline and into the small coastal mountain ranges surrounding Santa Barbara, all the sun I’d seen the whole way down had turned into a light gray, and the air was cold. The rain would come, then stop for a moment only to start up again over another ridge. Maybe it was all this weather, cold for southern California, but by the time I reached Carpinteria, I was ready to be back.

After the first day driving to Rincon, attempting and failing to surf in the windy chop that was out there, I stayed in a campsite on Carpinteria State Beach. The beach was small and full of snow plover fences covered with people’s footprints, fences meant to keep people away so the small and threatened birds could make their homes safely away from our presence. The waves looked soft and fun and the thought of surfing in the morning before making my way to the Carrizo plains was exciting. The campsites were really just small patches of grass in a concrete covered parking lot. I made some dinner and slipped into the back of my truck to go to sleep, just as the rain was beginning to fall again.

As I fell asleep, I could hear the large party of some dozen people laughing as they tried to figure out how they would all fit in the giant tent. 

The next morning I woke up to the sounds of those campers talking about the pools of water underneath the tent, all the excitement and the exhaustion that the rains had made of their night. The sky was so bright and even from the tinted windows of my truck’s shell I could see there were reflections everywhere. I slid into my clothes and opened the truck. Looking down I saw my reflection and I started to laugh. I was completely surrounded by a few inches deep pool of water around my truck. To my left I saw one of the people talking about the rains, brushing his teeth.

“You good in there?” he asked. 

I told him I was fine, that the truck is miraculously dry all the time. He asked if I wanted a photo of the pool and I said yes. Taking off his shoes he walked into the puddle and took my camera, smiling as he snapped the photo. 

I took off my shoes and started to walk around the campsite and parking lot. Everything was covered in a thin layer of water, reflecting the world back to itself. The bright blue sky made it seem as if we weren’t in California but on some strange tropical island. Eventually making it to the beach, the water was the color of manzanita bark, a red dirt that didn’t really entice me to surf as it did yesterday. I packed up my things and started driving up the coast again. 

As I headed onto the highway, the clouds returned and the endlessness of the intermittent rains began again. 

The driving, finally, was feeling like a slog. At this point I wanted to just head home, to be in my bed. I wanted to tidy the small messes in my apartment and start all the little tedious tasks I’d left behind during this trip. But I was still out, and it was late March. The Carrizo Plains weren’t that big of a detour and it seemed like a bad idea to miss out on viewing a peaking superbloom, which I’d never seen before.

So, driving the meandering road that is highway 58, passing through ranch and crop lands of open green grass splotched with small pools of yellow flowers surrounded by live oaks, I made it to the rough road into the Carrizo Plain and Soda Lake. The rains followed me here, even, and once I stepped out of the car, the frigid air shocked me. And as there was only just a short break in the rain, I quickly made some mac and cheese, then slipped back into my car to read, watching the sun fade, and then back into the truck and a restful sleep. 

The next day I woke up early in the cold high plain air just as the sun was showing on the eastern side of the valley. I saw that a few of the campers had already left for the morning, probably photographers attempting to catch the early light and the flowers now that the rain clouds were gone. I followed their lead. But I’d never been here before and I wasn’t really sure where to go, so I went back, slowly going through the pothole-filled road, pulling over to take photos of the bright yellow lakes of flowers. It was magical to see what looks to be a valley often dry, full of so much brightness, so much alarm call colors of spring. It was here. And it was beautiful. I only wish I knew better the places I could safely walk, along with the flowers’ names only to know them better.

But after an hour or so, it was back to the road, back through the sunshine and the ranch lands, out past San Louis Obispo, and onto the 101. It was time for home. Time for a short break. The traveling was getting to me and a short slow down was more than welcome. I had so much to write—so many new stories, so many people to talk with, so much to take in. So I needed a short break before heading into Oregon and my next trip. I was glad I was going home. Even if just for a moment.