Driving down the Big Sur coast is a dream for everyone, even us folks who get to live here. In the spirit of California day tripping, the girls and I hit the road in my 1966 Beatle. With abandon we stopped in all the places we usually pass on our commute to town. Flooded with crisp clean air, a furious wind and fields of oaty grasses, we tripped to the river, along the cliffs and up the ridges. Sunning our faces and ending our journey at the often brisk shores of Pfeiffer Beach. The rocky nooks to the south have incredible shapes, I must return with my Hasselblad and a model to explore the mirroring curves and humps of the figure and stone. There’s something waiting there for me but every time I’ve returned to the beach in the months following our excursion, I've been so engulfed in the heat of the sun and the allure of the sea that my will had no choice but to bound under and through the incoming tides, out beyond the shore break with or without a bikini. With or without a tour bus.