Previously on Smoke, Oak, and the Open Road, our plucky heroes were at their lowest ebb. The plan lay in tatters at their feet. What would they do now?
One of my dad’s favorite words at times like this was pivot.
Well, it was definitely time to pivot.
We looked at each other—worn out, deflated—and came to the same conclusion.
Lunch.
A few miles down the road, we found a little Mexican restaurant tucked into a strip mall. The food was excellent: warm, flavorful, and oddly therapeutic. It refreshed the body and helped restore our spirits.
As the waiter dropped off the check, the topic turned back to what to do next.
I turned to my wife and said, “Pick something off your list. Anywhere.”
She scanned her phone, then looked back with a half-smile.
“I want to see La Jolla Cove,” she said. “But it’s too far, isn’t it?”
Another one of Dad’s go-to phrases came to mind: SNAFU.
Yeah—that certainly fit.
But just as often as he used it, he followed it up with his favorite fix:
You drive through it.
He usually meant that metaphorically.
This time, it was literal.
So I punched the location into Google Maps.
Estimated travel time: two hours and ten minutes.
I blinked. That couldn’t be right.
It should’ve been an hour.
Then I looked closer—the route wasn’t the usual calming blue.
It was fire-engine red from start to finish.
Great. More traffic.
“I told you it was too far,” came the soft, ominous voice from the passenger seat.
“We’re going,” I replied, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt.
Two hours winding down I-5, staring at a ribbon of taillights moving 10 miles per hour, gave us plenty of time to admire the countryside.
On the left, beautiful homes dotted the hillsides—sun-drenched stucco and tile roofs clinging to the slopes like well-funded barnacles.
On the right, we passed a series of yellow caution signs warning about falling rocks.
Which got me thinking: if your dream home is built at the bottom of that hill…
shouldn’t the sign read “Caution: Falling Homes”?
We exited the highway and fought (you guessed it) even more traffic through the outskirts of San Diego. Tensions were rising again as we crept closer to the park, wondering if we’d come all this way just to circle endlessly for parking.
And then—miracle of miracles—a car was backing out.
I stopped, giving them plenty of room to maneuver. They pulled out…
and whipped around the car in front of me.
Then I saw it—
backup lights.
Coming right back into the space I’d been waiting for.
If you’ve ever seen Fried Green Tomatoes, you’ll understand what happened next.
“Tawanda,” I muttered under my breath, pulling into the spot, fully prepared for confrontation.
It didn’t come.
Turns out the car was just making space for another one to back out.
Whew.
We made it.
The view was stupendous—sapphire-blue water, orange-tinged rocks dotting the brown sand, and basking on that sand, a massive tangle of seals and sea lions.
The cries of seagulls echoed across the waves, dancing on the breeze.
And the air… well, we expected crisp salt spray.
What we got was an acrid wall of stench.
Apparently, all seals and sea lions do when resting is bark at each other and fart.
We made it.
And you know what? It was awesome.
There were no fences. No barriers. Just people and pinnipeds sharing the shoreline.
The photo above was taken about two feet from a dozing sea lion.
They didn’t care.
They owned the beach—and they knew it.
Definitely the highlight of the day.
Now it was time to return to the hotel I’d booked for the night.
I had selected an extended-stay option—usually not fancy, but serviceable.
The drive back was uneventful and mercifully quick, just under an hour.
We arrived at the hotel and I checked us in.
When we reached the door, we found a note taped to it about a company repairing the door lock. It looked like they had screwed the door shut, but somehow, we got it open.
And that’s when my wife had her Luke Skywalker sees the Millennium Falcon moment.
“What a dump,” she said, deadpan.
There was a hole in the wall where the Wi-Fi extender dangled, half-attached.
The fridge looked like it had been shot with rock salt and left out in the rain.
But we were so exhausted… it didn’t matter.
There’s a magnet on our fridge at home that says:
“If it doesn’t work, try it your wife’s way.”
Well—except for the sea lions—today certainly did not work.
So I turned to her and said,
“I’ll drive wherever you want. But the bridge is yours.”
And that, my friends, was Day One—a journey of misfires, sea lions, and surrendering the bridge.
Naturally, it called for a drink—click here for the recipe.