Warmth at Last

The trucker's trailer is right by route 1, or the 1, as roads are preceded by definite articles in this part of the country. I am on the road a little before 7:00 AM and I am driving through farm country. The ocean is generally not visible from the road any more, but it is equally enjoyable driving by all the fields. I can smell celery and strawberries, there are workers in hoodies and sweats and baseball caps working in the fields which are in arrow-straight rows that flash by as I turn my head to look down them. The sun is not yet high enough to burn off the clouds of dew that hang maybe twenty feet off the ground, but it instead lights them up which makes a nice scene. The air is not so cold that I am uncomfortable, which is a welcome change. Where the road splits I accidentally take the wrong fork, but it's not a huge deal since a quick check of the map shows me that I will soon join up with 101 south, which 1 will also join up with. 101 is a larger road and I have to deal with one or two other lanes of traffic which is a hassle after riding so long in my peaceful single lane. Route 1 again splits from 101 near Oxnard, and I take it all the way through Santa Monica and Malibu and LA.
Apart from the nice houses and sea views in Malibu, this stretch is truly miserable. I spend close to two hours in traffic, staggering from light to light with nothing but cars and strip malls to look at. I curse LA and its traffic, but I knew this section would not be fun. Maybe I should've gotten on I-5 and blasted through as fast as possible, but it's too late now. At this point, I am getting hot too. I feel it's about time that I enjoy some southern California warmth. South of LA the drive never really fully recovers to the level of enjoyment I had in the north. The land is visibly more crowded, and 1 merges into I-5 eventually anyway, although there are short stretches where it shoots off and back on again. I am driving by one such offshoot of 1, and supposedly it is a beachside stretch, but it is impossible to tell because on the ocean side of the road, there are RVs tail to nose for at least a mile. There is not a single break in the chain at this, yet another, campground and I feel like spitting at them, but if I did that I would just splatter the inside of helmet and that would be stupid. Back on I-5, I pull of at Encinitas to fill up my tank and make some calls to my friends in San Diego. I also take off my Goodwill-bought underlayers and pack them in my saddlebags. I am once again free with only one pair of pants on, and nothing but a t-shirt on under my jacket so I can feel the warm air blow over me. After freezing almost all of the way down the coast up until this point, I feel that I have reached a monumental occasion. I get a hold of Jenn, and get some rough directions to where she is. I have a pretty good-sized population of friends in San Diego, but unfortunately for both them and me, most have a steady9-5 style office job. I make my way toward the area known as Pacific Beach in San Diego