Pebble Beach

Paul's immaculate plan had a critical flaw in that it hadn't counted on me losing interest in the coastal road so quickly. Instead of stopping over at a leisurely speed in places like Cambria and Big Sur, I floored it straight to Carmel. There were just 80-100 miles to go till San Francisco but 5 days still remaining on the car contract so I spent the night considering a number of options.

San Diego to Carmel in two days.

As far as I could see, the options were:
 a) Go all the way to San Francisco: Didn't like it because my friend Shannon wasn't going to be there till a week later. Also, not the best use of a Jeep.
b) Drive around nearby Moneterey: Negative. Vineyards and expensive restaurants (even if frequented by Clint Eastwood) did not interest me. For any solo traveller, dinner is by far the most terrifying time of the day, and these are the worst places to walk in asking for a 'table for one, please.'
c) Up north to Napa Valley: Ditto.

The overnight sleep brought no further wisdom, but since it was a beautiful morning, I drove up the road to Pebble Beach where I could procrastinate some more in front of the waves, see the famous golf course, and admire the view of some of America's most expensive real estate.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what holidaying in USA is like. You'd better bring a family, a frisbee and a tent. Otherwise, you're shafted. Exasperated, I drove a little further north again to the town of Monetery where I lunched at the first restaurant I could find that had wifi. Denny's. From there, I made the split second decision to get out of dodge, drive a couple of hundred miles east, just for the hell of it in the hope that something, anything, would get me out of this cellophane-wrapped coma.