A Journey Along the Winding Coast of Central California

We woke to rain on Thursday morning, prepared yogurt parfaits for breakfast, packed some snacks, and set out toward California’s central coast by 7:15 a.m. The road carried us south along the long line of the California aqueduct and past the still expanse of the San Luis Reservoir, where a small group of wild turkeys moved through the grass near the roadside. By late morning we reached Pinnacles National Park, washed in November rain. Groups of black-tailed deer stepped quietly near the trailhead while we ate lunch in the car and pulled on our rain jackets.

The loop from Moses Spring rose through mist and moss-covered stone, a short climb with the kind of high reward that makes a cold day feel generous. The talus cave, shaped by fallen boulders, required crouching under low ceilings and navigating tight passages with flashlights through the intimate space. Water moved through the rocks with its own steady rhythm, and the trail felt almost entirely our own on a quiet weekday in mid-November.

We reached San Luis Obispo by late afternoon. Umbrellas lined the sidewalks and warm storefronts glowed against the rain. The evening felt inviting despite the weather, with people gathering downtown and lights strung across the street reflecting softly in the pavement.

Friday opened with clear skies and Stephanie’s birthday. We spent the morning working in town before driving west to Montaña de Oro, where the Bluff Trail offered long views across the water and the sound of waves shaping the cliffs below. Later in Morro Bay we walked the shoreline beneath the height of Morro Rock, watching pelicans, cormorants, and sandpipers move through the late afternoon light. Back in San Luis Obispo the pace slowed again as we walked Mission Plaza and the quiet stretch of shops around it before heading south for the evening.

Rain returned Saturday morning and carried into Paso Robles, softening the light across the vineyards. Farther north, Monterey greeted us with cold air and fog. We joined the crowd to walk Cannery Row and continued along the water until we saw a harbor seal stretched across the rocks. At Old Fisherman’s Wharf we watched more seals playing in the water and resting beneath the pier.

Our final morning began early as we took Highway 1 through Big Sur. Bixby Bridge rose above the surf in its quiet grandeur, and the coastline opened and closed with each curve. At Garrapata State Park we watched sea otters moving through the kelp while waves broke against the cliffs. Rain found us again at Point Lobos, softening the edges of the coves and making the greens and stone tones feel deeper. We hiked portions of the South Shore Trail, the Bird Island Trail, China Cove, Gibson Beach, and Sea Lion Point, each offering its own view of water, stone, and wildlife.

When we reached Carmel-by-the-Sea the sky cleared, and the day settled into its sunshine along the village streets and the white-sand beach below. A final calm before the six-hour drive home to Reno. It was a trip full of celebration, coastal beauty, small town rhythm, good food, and shared memory.

In Monterey, it is easy to imagine John Steinbeck walking the edges of Cannery Row, notebook in hand, listening to the language of work. His stories turned a fishing town into a portrait of persistence, where ordinary people lived by the tide and the slow certainty of effort. The old canneries now hold cafés and galleries, but the rhythm of labor remains, softened but not erased. Fishermen still mend their lines at the harbor, and the sea still influences the day.

Inland, across the ridgelines toward Paso Robles, that same patience unfolds in the vineyards. The work is quieter but no less physical. Rows of vines stretch over limestone soil, each harvest shaped by weather and restraint. Winemakers talk about timing and texture the way Steinbeck wrote about character, with respect for what cannot be rushed.

Together, the coast and the valley carry the same lesson. A place is shaped less by what it produces than by how people inhabit it. Living local means noticing that continuity, whether in the way a fisherman coils his line, the rhythm of a harvest, or the patience required to see past what tourism has made of a place to understand what work once sustained it.

Dinner at Giuseppe's in San Luis Obispo set a welcoming tone for the trip and offered the comfort a rainy night invites. Lasagna made with house-made pasta, tagliatelle Bolognese with slow-cooked beef and pork ragu topped with ricotta, a traditional anchovy-forward Caesar, and warm artisan bread with garlic parmesan olive oil created a meal that felt both familiar and deeply satisfying. Brick walls and soft lighting added to the unhurried atmosphere.

Friday morning began with strong coffee and hearty breakfast sandwiches at Kreuzberg California, a café shaped by Berlin's creative spirit and San Luis Obispo’s gentler pace. The space carried the hum of conversation and the steady comfort of a morning held by good coffee and shared work.

We stopped by the SLO Natural Foods Co-op for water and snacks, then picked up lunch from High Street Deli for a picnic at Spooner’s Cove, where sunshine, good food, breaking waves, and a quiet stretch of rock created a memorable midday meal.

That evening we drove south to Arroyo Grande for Stephanie's birthday dinner at Ember. The meal unfolded in a rustic and romantic setting, bringing regional flavors into focus through wood oven roasted scallops on leek and winter squash puree and a generous grilled pollo al mattone cooked under a brick. We ended the night with their signature toasted marshmallow ice cream cocoa cake, a rich and memorable finish to the celebration.

The next morning in San Luis Obispo we settled into Scout Coffee for warm cappuccinos while rain tapped softly against the windows, a peaceful start before heading north.

In Paso Robles, a baja fish burrito and tacos at Finca formed the perfect prelude to an afternoon at Eberle. Their long-standing commitment to free tastings set a relaxed tone as we moved from whites to reds, including their well-regarded Cabernet Sauvignon. The standout was the Steinbeck Syrah, with aromas of dried fruit, smoky oak, and earthiness, balanced structure, medium tannins, and a lingering finish. It earned a Gold Medal at the 2025 Pacific Rim Wine Competition.

Monterey’s cooler temperatures suited the deep dish at Heirloom Pizza Co, a comforting meal after a day spent exploring the fog and sea air.

In Carmel-by-the-Sea the sky cleared as we reached Mad Dogs and Englishmen, where hot coffee and banana bread brought a warm pause before brunch. Later at Pangaea Grill we shared a crab cake benedict and huevos rancheros, a relaxed close to the week along the calm stretch of Ocean Avenue.

A few days on the road reminded us to be fully present, to let celebration shape the adventure. The weather varied throughout the trip, but we had planned well, and nothing felt diminished by the changes. Rain added atmosphere to Pinnacles' trails and made Giuseppe's brick-walled dining room feel even warmer. Stephanie's birthday brought clear skies and sunshine for the coastal bluffs and Morro Rock. On Saturday morning, steady rain turned Scout Coffee into a cozy refuge, the kind of place where coffee tastes better for the sound of drops on the windows. Later, in Monterey and at Point Lobos, a misty drizzle carried the scent of sea and earth, softening the edges of the landscape and drawing out its colors. By the time we reached Carmel the sky had cleared again, offering a calm finish to the journey. Each day brought its own conditions, and we met them with readiness and gratitude for the joy of being present.

Stephanie's birthday trip offered a pause that felt grounding. We celebrated with intention and presence, grateful for days that asked only that we show up fully. The small rituals of travel, morning coffee shops, daytime adventures, and evening reflection, became reminders that living well happens in the attention we bring to life’s moments.

This trip confirmed that rhythm and delight travel well together. The balance we found between movement and rest, between plans and spontaneity, is good practice for what's ahead. But it was also complete in itself: a birthday worth marking, a coast worth savoring, and time well spent for its own sake.

This is a larger photo story than usual because the week carried us across very different landscapes. We moved from the rain-soaked trails of Pinnacles to the meals and small town rhythm of SLO, the vineyards of Paso Robles, and the dramatic coastlines along Highway 1. What follows is a snapshot of moments that shaped our days and the experiences that stayed with us.

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Next week's dispatch will be a reflection on gratitude for rootedness amid change, and on the quiet faith that grows during seasons of preparation. The greater Reno-Tahoe region has been our rehearsal space for slow travel, teaching us how to live attentively in one place before carrying that rhythm to another. The coming issue will look at how the stillness before motion can become its own kind of grace.

This trip reminded us that gratitude is readily found in God’s creation: a breath of sea air, the sounds of waves on rock, the feel of rain on your face, the joy of seals and otters playing in the surf, the taste of good food after a day’s adventures, and moments of shared laughter. As Thanksgiving approaches, we are aware of how much of this season has been about learning to wait well. Preparation, planning, and uncertainty reveal both our limits and our dependence on grace.

We are thankful for the stillness that comes before change and the peace that meets us when plans remain unfinished. Each step of preparation deepens our sense of purpose, reminding us that even the work of waiting reveals grace. In this in-between time, we find reassurance that each new place will bring its own light, its own lessons, and its own reminder that the rhythm of place is never separate from the providence that orders it.

Until next week,
S&S

Some Great Place
Living local in a global world