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And in That Moment Nothing Will Ever Be the Same
The fog was as thick as I’d ever seen on that morning. It was low and getting lower, a dark and ominous blanket reaching down towards the sea.
I had driven away from Santa Clarita around eight. The sun had come up and cast a soft glow on the mountains and canyons near my house. But by the time I had left the city limits and headed into Ventura County via Highway 126 the sun had taken a giant step to hide behind the clouds. The fog covered the pastures and fields of crops. And as the highway winded its way toward the beach in Ventura it moved swiftly. At times I could not see fifty feet in front of me and then it would clear, making the road wide open but covering the mountains so that you thought you were in a different locale.
My experience making this drive on a foggy morning hundreds of times over the years told me two things; one, to make sure to drive at least fifty miles an hour to reduce the risk of a driver coming up behind you too quickly and not being able to slow down in time, and two, to not fear the situation as it is a natural part of living in this section of southern California leading to the Central Coast. I turned on my headlights, flipped the switch for my brights, and forged ahead confidently.
It’s fifty miles from the Santa Clarita Valley to the Ventura coastline. As I got closer the fog…
