Terrifying Beauty

Life is one beautiful trip.

Riding across bridges and on the edge of cliffs terrifies me. I’ve gotten much better about this when I am the one behind the wheel. The Ravenel bridge, here in Charleston, barely phases me anymore, with the exception of one treacherously high ramp.

The fog rises to meet us.

Joelle is an excellent driver, and I trust her implicitly. When we travelled from Texas to California in 2015, I was a shaking, sweating, nervous wreck on the steep road that descends into Sedona.

This year, even as the winds buffet Steady Betty through the mountain passes, I’m showing signs of improvement. Only occasionally do I slap a death grip onto the door handle, and lean into the curve. When we get dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, I whip out my phone and post something to Instagram.

We have travelled all the way across the country to see the stunning coastal geography of Big Sur. It’s time to suck it up Buttercup. There are probably no fewer than 20 scenic views and pull-offs on a ten-mile stretch of road that runs north of our campsite at Fernwood Park. I’ve asked Joelle to stop at all of them.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I am transformed. I am a mountain goat. I am fearless, hiking along the hillside, running down the shoulder of the road to the next awe-inspiring view. We spend two days, weaving in and out of the wide spots on the shoulder of the road. My phone battery feels the drain from all the pictures I take from our precarious vantage points.

Totally fearless outside of the car