Temperatures rarely squeaked above 70º even after the sun finally burned off all the fog. We spent three days in San Francisco in the company of the most talented and kind-hearted people either of us have met. Every spare minute was spent outside. While I daydreamed of backpacking, at night we car camped out in the back of the car to ensure an early start each day. Sunrises were met with endless cups of camp coffee. This was the routine until my girlfriend boarded a plane back to Dallas and I continued down the coast.
I spent the following three days cruising the PCH south through Big Sur. The stretch of land between San Francisco and Ventura is a coastal wonderland. For someone who lives landlocked by metropolitan areas, nowhere near a major body of water, it was a different planet.
Campsites were booked solid but Highway 1 is rich with roadside parking. I woke up every morning as the fog rolled in and saw the sun set behind a different landmark each night. The remainder of the of my time was reserved for the trek home, but it was a reluctant return trip to say the least.