It was Christmas Day, and the fastest route from Bakersfield to Morro Bay. The route that didn't involve freeways. {We like that.}

So we headed west on Highway 58, through the otherworldly power stations and desolate cotton fields of Rosedale and then up and up and up til we could gaze out over the cold green hills. The winter-dry grass waved in a bitter wind, snow dusted across distant mountain tops. We danced in place, to keep from freezing.

A remote and winding road, this one reminds you that even central California has hidden pockets, little spaces where you might, maybe, just

vanish.