1991 Road Trip Day 1 Afternoon | La Honda to San Gregorio

1991,Wind-shaped Monterey cypress and old barn at Redgate Ranch, La Honda, California coastal hills — San Gregorio, CA, USA — May 1991 · Velvia50

ROAD TRIP 1990–1992

May 1991. It was an era before GPS and smartphones, when road trips began with nothing more than folded paper maps spread across the passenger seat. This is a record of the first afternoon of that journey in San Gregorio—of the meaning hidden within the name La Honda, of a quieter America, of a world without sound, and of a portrait shaped by the wind.

The Beginning of a Deep Valley

I said goodbye to the weathered red barn standing in La Honda Creek Preserve like a prop from an old movie set. The journey was entering a new phase. When I first saw a sign reading “La Honda,” the name of a Japanese automaker immediately came to mind. But this was California. The word was Spanish. Because the “h” is silent, locals pronounce it “La Onda.” It means “the deep place” or “the deep valley,” and true to its name, the farther I drove, the deeper I seemed to be drawn into nature’s embrace.

The scenery beyond the windshield gradually gave way to rolling hills. Unlike Japan’s meticulously paved roads, the asphalt here was rougher, cracked and imperfect in a strangely comforting way. Gentle curves stitched endlessly across an immense green carpet. Holding the steering wheel, I suddenly remembered another road far away: the Yamanami Highway in Kyushu, one of Japan’s most celebrated mountain drives. The scale was different, but the exhilaration was identical. I rolled the windows all the way down, and the wind burst into the cabin, tossing my hair into disarray. It felt as though I had climbed onto the wind’s back and was gliding down the hillsides themselves.

Frame captured from original VTR footage filmed in May 1991. The image has been preserved as close as possible to its original recorded condition. — Captured from original footage recorded during a 1991 American road trip

The Scent of a Coming Sea

As I continued along what felt like California’s version of the Yamanami Highway, I noticed the air changing against my skin. Until then, it had carried the scent of trees and mountain forests. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it shifted into something softer and damper, touched by salt and moisture. Perhaps you’ve experienced this yourself: you’re driving, the ocean is still nowhere in sight, yet you know with complete certainty that beyond the next hill the sea awaits. The scent arrives before the view does. Salt announces the landscape ahead. Convinced that the Pacific was drawing near, I pressed the accelerator just a little deeper.

A Silence Almost Frightening

The car emerged from the “deep valley” of La Honda and entered San Gregorio farther west. Here again, human presence vanished as though erased from the world. Perhaps this was the true meaning of a quiet America. Every so often another car passed by, but there were no pedestrians—not a single person walking anywhere. Even the animals seemed to observe their own rules. Horses and cattle are usually found gathered together, yet here one horse stood alone atop a broad hillside while, far in the distance, a solitary cow occupied another. I wanted to call out, “Don’t you ever get lonely?” They appeared perfectly content, luxuriating in personal space so extravagant it bordered on absurdity.

Eventually I pulled to the side of the road and turned the key. The cylinders settled into silence. What followed was the same complete stillness I had encountered earlier at La Honda Creek Preserve. I listened carefully. Birds sang. Dry grass whispered in the wind. The quiet of rural Japan often carries moisture with it—the chorus of frogs, the scent of damp earth. But the air here was endlessly dry and transparent. When the wind passed, what remained behind was a world without sound. The silence became so profound that the ringing deep inside my own ears grew louder. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I had reached the very edge of the world. There was fear in that realization, but even more powerful was the overwhelming sense of freedom. This unsettling stillness would accompany me many times as I ventured farther along the West Coast.

A Portrait Sculpted by the Wind

Within that silence, I raised my Canon T90 and exposed a frame of Velvia 50—the photograph shown at the beginning of this article. The scene was a ranch in San Gregorio, a quintessential stretch of California’s coastal hills. Dry grass, poised on the threshold of gold, covered the ground like a signature of early summer. Yet what immediately commanded attention was the immense evergreen dominating the right side of the frame: a Monterey cypress. Its branches stretched away from the ocean as if attempting to escape it. This was a landscape shaped by wind. For decades, powerful gusts from the Pacific had battered the tree until its very form became a visible record of those unseen forces. “The ocean is just ahead,” it seemed to say.

To the left stood an aging wooden barn and a simple fence weathered by time. The pairing of Monterey cypress windbreaks and the enduring architecture of ranch life can only be found in the coastal reaches of the Santa Cruz Mountains. What this photograph captured was more than scenery. It preserved the invisible movement of air itself. It became a frame in which the memory of the wind had settled and remained.

Epilogue

Many years have passed since that afternoon. Everything tangible changes, and the horses I passed that day may no longer roam those hills. Yet the dry air remains in memory, as does the silence so profound that only the ringing in my ears could be heard, and the dramatic instant when mountain wind surrendered to the breath of the sea. Those moments continue to flow through my mind exactly as they were. I sometimes wonder whether the California wind still sweeps across those hills today.

Continue the Journey →

▶ 1991 American West Road Trip Day1｜Road Map – Sacramento to Santa Maria

Articles from Day 1

Read the Japanese version →

Westbound, Then Skyward — Memoirs from the American West, 1990–1992 —

— Road Trip Day 1 (Afternoon) — San Gregorio–Chasing the Memory of the Wind (1991) —