November 7th, 1967
Rachel & I drive to Big Sur in her Morris Minor.
We drive inland & then to the coast, watching flocks of birds fly low over the ocean.
We pass miles & miles of artichokes before getting to Castroville—"The Artichoke Capitol of the World." Mexican farm workers crossing the road in yellow rain slickers.
In Big Sur, we try to get a room at a motel with a sign outside saying: "No Hippies or Beatniks Allowed."
I go in & ask the guy if I’m what he considers a hippie. He considers my beard, striped pants & moccasins.
"Just look at yourself," he says.
I tell him I don’t think appearance has anything to do with the way somebody would take care of the place. He stares off in another direction.
Finally I ask him the price & he tells me $10. I tell him it’s too much anyway & leave.
We go to the Big Sur Inn & they’re full. Finally, we pay $10 at another motel.
In the evening we climb the hill behind the motel & then follow a trail along a stream. In spite of the gray weather, the clearness of the stream running over the brown spotted rocks lifts my spirits.
There’s another trail on the other side of the stream.
“Let’s cross,” I suggest.
It doesn’t look very deep so I take off my shoes & roll up my pants.
But with my second step in the water I sink up to my waist & start running as if there’s shallower water ahead of me.
It only gets deeper. I’m soaked. But the cold water & the violence of running release all my tensions. We both start laughing madly.
We go back to the motel & have fried chicken, cheese, baloney, oranges & apples, oatmeal cookies & wheat bread. Then we go to the Big Sur Inn & sit with coffee, saying very little to each other, watching the fireplace & the kids who work there.
A beautiful redhead sitting at the bar keeps looking over at us. She’s playing sex kitten with a couple of guys. Asks one guy who’s going to Hawaii to take her with him.
"Maybe someday," he says as if he both desires her & is giving her a break. She cracks up & tells him he’s much too serious.
Saturday’s beautiful. It’s sunny & we climb a mountain for about four miles. We can see thirty miles up & down the coast & a couple hundred miles out to sea. It’s as if the ocean is lifted up like a large piece of paper facing us.
We climb a thin trail that isn’t more than a ledge zigzagging across the front of the mountain. As we climb higher, we can see trails around the other mountains, a few of them tipped by clouds.
The mountains around us are shrouded in a deep purple haze, many covered with brush & trees, while others have green pasture where cows are grazing. A corral of horses stands at the top of one mountain.
The phenomenon of movement becomes almost still up here: cars on the highway below moving in slow motion, the waves of the ocean rolling slowly, the cows appear still.
As we climb higher, I suddenly realize I've never been to this height. I panic & fall against the side of the mountain & walk along clutching the long grass. If I don’t focus on the grass, I feel projected out into the ocean as if I’m soaring.
After a while we stop to rest. We sit there till dusk watching the ocean, broken into a silver-blue foreground & a gray-blue background. Freighters move up the coast. Then a school of whales comes along shooting water from their spouts. Somewhere in the distance we hear children shouting.
"I want to live with you," she says finally.
"I know.”
"Do you want to live with me?"
I’m in a trance watching the whales.
"Keith's talking about moving,” I tell her.
"We should get our own place,” she says.
I feel coerced, but more secure.
"Where?" I ask.
A young guy named Will David we met at the Big Sur Inn comes up the trail. He’s carrying a small bulb that he found along the way. He gives us a lemon & we eat it. The three of us sit for about a half-hour looking out at the sea.
I feel invigorated, enjoying the exhaustion in my muscles. Will’s bare from the waist up & I enjoy the smell of his sweat. Rachel thinks he’s condescending at first, but I figure that he’s from a wealthy formal family & can’t overcome his distinct accent even though he’s being friendly. He goes on ahead of us, with a cheerful bouncy stride.
Miles back in the mountains, up a bare dirt road, there are houses. Instead of facing the trail again, we take the road back down.
The road bores into the center of the mountains. The trunks of the long thin trees seem frozen & still. Three dogs run up barking. At first I’m afraid till Rachel tells me they can smell the fear on you.
She plays with them & they follow us for a while. She lifts one by his front paws & hugs him & tells him how soft he is. After a while they head back up the road.
Along the way we stop to talk to a painter named Bob Nash. He works as a handyman throughout the year & house-sits in the winter.
Finally we go down to the Big Sur Inn & sit by the fire with coffee & pie.
Saturday night we drive to Santa Cruz & stay at Jeannine's. Sunday we go to the beach & watch the surfers & the seals out on the rocks. Knowing we’re going to live together creates a kind of peace in us. We just hug & kiss & walk on the beach all day.