The Pacific Coast Highway, almost 700 miles of All-American tarmac, an undulating ribbon of egalitarian dreams whose surf-kissed curves call out to gleaming Bentleys and rusty Combis alike. And Rock's generic Ford Escape.
Daddy this pool is pretty sweet, why are we driving 800 miles again?
That's one vehicle that's probably best directed down U.S. 101 instead of Route 1. Although it would be handy for quickly clearing the bottleneck at Bixby Bridge.
There's a lot of sand here, I take it we're not in the 6th Avenue and Central Park South sandpit anymore?
Thanks for sharing your beach Uncle Luke, can I take some sand back to Manhattan?
Swim right up ladies, I'm not Harvey Weinstein. The only audition you should be worried about is the one where I ask you to read for the part of generic car number three in Monster Trucks II: The Crushinator.
Santa Monica beach at sunset. This must be the stroller version of the PCH.
Mommy I'm starting to understand your preference for sand over snow.
With careful camera angles you can almost recreate what life was like pre-kid. Nothing says romantic sunset like shaking sand out of a two year old's ear.
Next door neighbor Cooper Dooper makes a cameo appearance at Au Fudge, a celebrity hangout started by Jessica Biel, who deserves credit for the genius idea of putting a kids' room just off the main dining room.
The great thing about staying on east coast time is being up at sunrise is actually quite pleasant. Especially with sand between the toes.
Rise and shine Los Angeles, it's time for your avo toast and goji berry smoothies.
Dad I'm embarrassed to have my car seat seen in your choice of wheels, why can't we ride something like this?
First stop on the PCH proper, meaning once you clear the Land Rover traffic jam that is Malibu, is Point Dume State Beach. That must be the hip way to spell Doom, you know, like when celebrities out here name their babies.
After surviving the Dumesday cliff ladder to the beach the next stop heading north is an old stomping ground, Santa Barbara. Just like most of SoCal, it's suddenly gone all hip. The Mill is a case in point, an old textile mill that's been repurposed as a all-in-one hipster retreat, complete with wine bar, craft brewery, and on-site furniture carpentry.
Dad, these chairs look like my crib, are they mid-century modern?
Looks like the kind of exacting craftsmanship that a toddler likes to unexact.
The Landsby, the latest proof that the hottest trend in hotels in converting dilapidated Model 6s into the burgeoning boutique motel category. Even the sand in the monster truck-ready courtyard is curated.
The days of choosing between the McDonald's or the Wendy's on opposite sides of the interstate are over. The days of affordable family holidays are also over.
Mommy, if we can get organic hand-picked berries everywhere why do we need to live across the road from Whole Foods?
Good night and good luck. You're gonna need it, he's still on east coast time.
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