Bespoke Traveler

pch-roadI am one with the wheel gripped in my hands. The car and I move fluidly along the sinuous embanked road. Every minute movement of my wrist is responded to by the vehicle’s motion. There is no vehicle—I have acquired four rubber wheels instead of feet, and I float along the California coastline in a transcendental state. I no longer see the Pacific Coast Highway’s (PCH) curves or bending yellow lines or asphalt lanes, it has become me. Hemmed in by the ocean on one side and the rose-gold hills on the other, I am heading on a path that leads to nowhere and everywhere all at once.

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