27
Escapade
It
feels
as
though
I’ve
woken
to
rollerblade
the
sharp
edge
of
Fate’s
quixotic
atmosphere
sparked
by
radiation
leaked
from
a
flawed
nuclear
reactor.
With
nothing
important
to
do
I
opt
to
drive
from
Monterey
south
on
Highway
One.
Arriving
at
Carmel
Highlands
I
turn
off
for
a
magic
moment
at
Tickle
Pink
Inn
where
I
peer
through
thin
crystal
windows
of
the
quaint
yet
swanky
lobby
at
brilliant
turquoise
waves
that
crash
against
ocean
reefs.
Next
I
tackle
a
narrow
stretch
of
highway
with
utmost
caution
because
even
the
slightest
slipup
could
mean
a
disastrous
head-‐on.
Perpetual
erosion
of
mountainsides
may
at
a
given
moment
provoke
a
catastrophic
slide.
Crews
in
orange
vests
remain
busy
grinding
and
blasting
to
widen
the
road
that
is
inching
away.