Driving The Pacific Coast Highway

Ah, the Pacific Coast Highway. Everyone talks about it like it's this magical, life-changing journey. You see it on all the postcards. Beaches, cliffs, that endless blue ocean. Sounds amazing, right? Well, buckle up, buttercups, because I’m about to drop a little truth bomb, an unpopular opinion that might just rattle your surfboards.

Driving the PCH is… well, it’s a lot. And not always in the way you expect. It's the road trip equivalent of that friend who tells the longest story. You love them, but sometimes you just want them to get to the point.

First off, the speed limit. Remember that? The one that feels more like a gentle suggestion? It’s usually 55 mph. Maybe 45 in some spots. And that’s when you’re on a straight shot. Most of the time, it’s winding. Like, really winding. Like a toddler with a crayon after too much sugar. You’re leaning into turns, your knuckles are white, and the only thing you’re seeing clearly is the dashboard clock ticking slower than a snail on vacation.

Pacific Coast Highway Travel

And the traffic. Oh, the traffic. It’s not just the RVs the size of small apartments that are clearly lost. It’s the camera-wielding tourists. They pull over for everything. A seagull? Pull over. A slightly interesting rock? Pull over. A cloud that vaguely resembles a celebrity? Definitely pull over.

So you’re crawling along. At 30 mph. Behind a family whose primary mode of transportation seems to be stopping every five minutes to take photos of their matching Hawaiian shirts. You start to question your life choices. Was that really the best time to finally do this iconic drive? Maybe I should have just flown to California and rented a scooter.

Then there are the "scenic overlooks." They're often packed. Like, sardine-can packed. You can barely find a spot to park your car, let alone get a clear view. You end up staring at the back of someone else’s head, trying to get a glimpse of the ocean through their selfie stick.

And the fog! Don't even get me started on the fog. It rolls in like a surprise guest at a party. Suddenly, that breathtaking vista you were promised is replaced by a pea-soup shroud. You can’t see ten feet in front of your car. It’s less "majestic coastline" and more "driving blindfolded through a cloud." You might as well be on a regular highway in Kansas, except with more expensive gas and the lingering scent of kelp.

Don’t get me wrong, there are moments. Tiny, fleeting moments of pure bliss. You’ll round a bend, the fog will miraculously lift for precisely 30 seconds, and you’ll see it. That gorgeous, shimmering ocean. You’ll gasp. You’ll think, "Okay, this is why everyone raves about it." And then, just as quickly, the fog rolls back in, or a truck from Caltrans chugs past, or a herd of those ridiculously photogenic cows blocks the road.

And the towns! Everyone talks about charming little towns. And they are! Until you try to park in them. It’s a competitive sport. You circle the block six times, only to see someone snag the last spot right under your nose. Then you end up parking three miles away and walking, which is lovely exercise, but not exactly what you signed up for when you pictured yourself casually strolling along the coast.

So, my unpopular opinion? The PCH is a lot of work. It's an endurance test disguised as a scenic drive. It's beautiful, yes. But it's also slow, crowded, and frequently obscured by fog and slow-moving vehicles. It's like that gourmet meal you waited an hour for, only to find out it was mostly garnish.

You spend more time looking at other people's cameras than the actual scenery. You spend more time navigating traffic than enjoying the open road. You spend more time thinking about where you’re going to park than where you are.

And the food! Everyone raves about the seafood shacks. And they're fine. But are they worth the hour-long wait for a clam chowder that tastes suspiciously like the one from the can? Probably not. Unless, of course, you have absolutely nowhere else to be and no other pressing desires in life. Then, by all means, enjoy your very slow, very scenic, possibly foggy, very much-worth-the-wait clam chowder.

Drive the Pacific Coast Highway in Southern California

So, if you’re planning to drive the PCH, go in with your eyes wide open. And maybe pack a good book for the inevitable traffic jams. Or a portable espresso machine. You’re going to need it. Because while the views can be stunning, the journey itself is often less about freedom and more about a persistent, leisurely crawl. And sometimes, just sometimes, you might find yourself yearning for the simple, unadorned, fog-free efficiency of a good old-fashioned highway. Don’t tell anyone I said that.