The Road Not Taken
When I was a little boy, my Mother used to read to me every night before I went to sleep. It was mostly short stories for kids, but to keep it interesting, every now and then she would throw in a poem. One of the poems that she would read to me was this.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
At a very early age, my Mother taught me that it was okay to be different, and it was okay not to follow the crowd. Girls of Pacific Coast Highway is very much so a tribute to that fiercely independent streak in me that my Mother so carefully nurtured. Without my Mother’s love, care, and devotion, I would not be the man I am today. So I dedicate my life’s work to her. I’m not sure she would completely approve, and I know she wouldn’t be a bit surprised, but I’m pretty sure she would be very proud.
Ryan
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Girls of Pacific Coast Highway is now open for business - girlsofpacificcoasthighway.com
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Even a drifter like me needs a place to hang my hat, kick back and put my feet up every once in a while and in the process of looking for something else, I found paradise... or at least my version of it. It may not look like much to most people, just under nineteen acres of dusty rolling hillsides way outside of town. As a matter of fact I'm so far out of town that the road ends at the gate where my driveway begins. The house, situated at the top of the hill, is nothing to brag about and that is being polite. Formerly occupied by "crack-heads", the structure was in horrible shape and needed quite a bit of work just to make it livable. So for the last couple of years I have been working to put things in order so I can have a home and a base to operate from. I'm no where near done with this project and as usual, I have big plans... but good enough for now.
One of the things that makes this property so incredible is that its quiet, sometimes unbelievably so. My nearest neighbor is probably about three-hundred yards away and when you live at the end of the road there isn't much traffic to speak of, so for the most part it's pretty peaceful around here. There have been times when I have been outside and it is so quiet that I literally have to strain my ear to hear anything at all. But the thing that I love the most about this place is the view. I am blessed with with an amazing unobstructed southern view that is to die for, pastoral rolling hills spotted with oak trees and vineyards as far as the eye can see. The nearest structures are miles away and look tiny in the distance. This is a place where someone can truly relax, unwind and really clear ones head. It may get hot as hell in the summer and bitter cold in the winter, at least by California standards, but it's heaven to me.
Luckily, being the animal lover that I am, the house came pre-equipt with pets. The former occupants left two beautiful little kitties behind when they moved out. The cats quickly joined me and my existing little black kitty CJ and I suddenly had a family of four, me and three cats. Patience, an older little calico was in bad shape when I took her in, but after a trip or two to the vets she cleaned up quite nicely and quickly became queen of the house. She earned her name by patiently following me around everywhere I went until I finally fed her and took her in. Originally I thought she belonged to one of the neighbors, but I later found out that she didn't. Thumper got his name because one very cold winter night he somehow managed to climb about four and a half feet up the side of the house, hang on the window ledge with one front paw while banging on my bedroom window with the other until he got my attention and I let him in. This younger grey fluffy guy is an absolute character and my constant companion when I am at home. Unfortunately, kitties don't last forever and I had to put Patience down about a month ago. Old age and a host of health issues finally got her, but she had a great two years with me and finished well. And a little while back CJ, whom I had inherited from my mom when she passed away, went out one morning and never came back... one of the hazards of living in the country, there are plenty of predators around. So for now it is just Thumper and me, but I have a feeling that there may be an addition or two to the pet side of the family in the not too distant future.
Now that I have things pretty much under control up here, I can afford to turn some of my attention back to my favorite project, Girls of Pacific Coast Highway. So for those of you that enjoy my work, there is good news! The Girls of Pacific Coast Highway website will be launching soon. My expectation is that we will be up and operational in the next few weeks. I have literally spent the last several months sorting, cropping and editing images in preparation for the launch. I have seven “Girls” with thirty-five individual sets containing over thirty-two-hundred images ready to go for the launch. I also have several more sets that I still have to finish editing that I will be releasing for updates down the road. I expect that I will be ready to launch sometime mid to late January 2016.
So for me this is really “the moment of truth”... A culmination of a million and one little actions over decades of time that have lead me to this specific place at this specific time, right here, right now... Very soon I will find out if my adolescent dream of being a “Playboy photographer” is going to become a reality or is it just the crazy fantasy of a wild-eyed young man... Truth is, it's just an expensive hobby if the pictures don't sell... But to be honest, I feel pretty good about things. I have received lots of positive feedback from the Deviant Art community about the images that I have posted here and that has really meant a lot. The favorites and downloads are great compliments, but the comments that people make are most valuable to me... and I truly do appreciate each one. Also early reviews from a few close friends who have seen the entire portfolio of images are overwhelmingly positive. So I have my fingers crossed and I expect great success... Just like every other entrepreneur out there that has ever jumped off the edge of a cliff without being able to see the bottom of the ravine. Wish me luck.
That's all for now, check back for updates about the website... and of course more pet chat.
From the top of the hill at the end of the road I wish you peace and a prosperous new year.
Ryan
***Website Update***
MasterCard has approved the site, I am just waiting for Visa.
***Website Update***
The Call of The Road
I finally got old enough to ride my bike to school and the horizon of my world expanded considerably. I now had permission to go downtown to Laurel Street with my friends. We would buy packs of baseball cards with stale hard chewing gum inside at Woolworth's and ice cream at Peggy Lee's. We would hang out at the bowling ally and play pinball for hours until we ran out of quarters. If we got hungry we would head to MBJ Ranch Room for pizza or Lyon's for a burger. We would steal cigarettes out of open parked cars and smoke them in the ally before we snuck into the movie theater for the matinee. We knew every back street, short cut, twist and turn of the city. And if anyone ever decided to chase us, we could usually lose them in a heart beat, even the cops...
Even with the new found excitement of downtown, I would frequently return to the open fields in the hills of San Carlos to collect and sort my thoughts, or heal the wounds of a young tender heart. The comfort of quiet reflection, a soft breeze and the warm sun would keep me company. This was a place where a young man could develop deep thoughts and big dreams and wild-eyed plans to live them out. A place where the foundation for a future could really be carved out and established. I spent hours sitting on the rail fence of the faculty parking lot of San Carlos High School staring at my beloved San Francisco Bay.
When I turned sixteen and got my car, there was no staying at home for me. How do you expect to keep a boy away from his Camaro? The San Francisco Peninsula was now my "open field" and I wanted to know every inch of it, especially the exciting parts, like where the girls were... It didn't take me long to find El Camino Real in the city of San Mateo, the local cruise spot back in the day. An unassuming, six lane piece of asphalt less than two miles long that served as the primary artery through the city's shopping district by day, on weekend nights transformed itself into a teenaged wonderland teaming with activity and echoing with the sounds of youthful revelry. This was a place of fast cars, tough guys and beautiful young women. And all the trouble a young sixteen year old year old boy could hope to find. A place long on youthful testosterone and short on common sense. A place where the soundtrack was thick with heavy metal from bands like AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult, Aerosmith and Van Halen, and were frequently accompanied by the sounds of breaking bottles, slamming doors, revving engines, squealing tires and police sirens. A place where drugs and alcohol were hard to avoid and the smell of marijuana, cheap beer and even cheaper perfume filled the air. A place where you didn't have to worry about finding women, because there were pretty girls with dangerous curves around every corner. A place where boys swaggered and girls swayed, and everybody checked their look in the rear view mirror. A place where loud, colorful, shiny machines with names like Challenger, Charger, 'Cuda, Nova and Chevelle were piloted by brash, brazen young men who prowled the streets in search of prey. A place where your "metal" could be tested at any time and you had better be up for the challenge, because bragging rights were on the line. A place where all it took was a look, a nod and couple of open lanes in front of you, to find yourself in the heat a drag race. A place where muscle cars "jumped off the line" and "roared" down the street in an endless parade of "street challenges". A place where fights would break out, the cops would be called and everyone would scatter before the handcuffs came out. A place that was a rebellious adolescent's utopia and a place where I felt at home.
But even with my new found home away from home, I still made time for the open highway. Many times I would just take off, loose myself, disappear and melt into the landscape. I would take solitary drives on 280 out toward Crystal Springs then over 92 to Highway 1, where I first fell in love with my fair lady, The Pacific Coast Highway. I would find long stretches of coast line and take her up well over the speed limit so I could let my baby breathe and really stretch her legs. I would wind through the back roads of Portoal Valley, La Handa and Woodside looking for nothing but never finding it. I would cruise Skyline Boulevard and feel like a king because I was the only one on the road. And in my mind clouded with the arrogance of youth, The Peninsula was my kingdom and I her self appointed Prince, and heir to the throne of the Golden State. Ahhh... The sweet aroma of the arrogance of youth...
Its been lots of miles and many years have passed since my days of street racing on El Camino Real and long lazy drives across the back roads of The Peninsula... But the road still calls my name, and cursed with a restless spirit that refuses to die, I always seem to answer. I guess that why when I found myself at "the cross roads of life", I decided to get in my car and drive... It's just my nature, its just what I do...
The road can be a very lonely place, especially when you find yourself as a stranger in a strange town. And in my line of work, that is me quite often. Now don't get me wrong, I know how to make a friend while sitting on a bar-stool and chatting over cold beer. And if I'm in the mood, I can usually find a game of pool or darts, or if I'm really lucky pinball. And I even know where Trouble lives, just in case I need to find her. But the loneliness of the road is a loneliness that I often seek. It allows me to fade back into my very comfortable and favorite role as an observer and truly "watch life". You would be surprised at how often you will find me up late at night or in the wee hours of the morning, pacing the dark streets of a quiet town, observing the signs of life around me. And it is not unusual to see me up before dawn sitting alone with my camera in the local coffee shop "waiting for the light to get right". Polite chat with hotel staff and and banter with my breakfast waitress are usually the extent of my morning discourse. Rarely does anyone ever stop to talk.
Even under the best of circumstances, in between shoots and girls and the next town up the road, I still find myself with chunks of time on my hands so I look to find interesting ways to kill them. My favorite weapons of choice are my camera and my pen in which I have spent years in the practice of wielding. I shoot the things that please me, mostly candid shots of day to day life, or something that strikes me as particularly unique, beautiful or interesting like the sun glistening in the morning dew or that leaf with an interesting twist or a bird grooming his feathers. And I write about my life and my feelings and experiences through poetry, short stories and verse, most of which I keep to myself or at most share with close friends. I reflect quietly on my past experiences, plan my future while trying hard not to miss the beauty of the moment or the gift of the present. But my restlessness pushes me on...
It is amazing how quickly I can wear out my own welcome, push myself back out the door and onto the road. There is just something about it that calls to me. I love being on the highway with my arm out the window, the wind in my hair with the hum of a 350 ringing in my ears... There is nothing like it... And there is nothing like doing it alone... Allowed to be completely lost and consumed in my own thoughts, I pick at the recesses of my mind as the miles roll by. I wrestle with a world that now refuses to see me as I really am, a cocky eternal teenager, navigating my orange and black chariot of chrome and steel, powered by horses numbered in the hundreds, across my Golden State. I laugh at my own hypocrisy, cringe at my own piety and shed tears over lost opportunities and the girls in my life that got away. And I run my finger over the scars of a heart that has been too often broken and that is still tender in certain places. It's amazing how good of company I am, especially when I've got a full tank of gas, a few hours of daylight and an open road in front of me...