California State Route 1 — alternatively the Coast Highway, Cabrillo Highway, Pacific Coast Highway, or the PCH — is perhaps one of the ultimate drives in the US. That is if you’re not stuck behind 10 cars trailing a diesel soot-spewing 1970s Winnebago with about even odds of summiting the next small rise.
Photo details: A then new-to-me BMW E36 M3 in Big Sur back in 2007 during a road trip from SF to LA. Shot on a crappy point-and-shoot hence the low resolution. Edited via Photoshop to remove any indication of the vacation traffic that frequently snarls what is an otherwise amazing driving route. You can click on the photo for the full resolution version.
I learned two important things today. First of all, Photoshop’s Oil Paint filter is a great way to salvage crappy pixelated cell phone photos. Second, even as a car enthusiast I can barely tell Rolls Royces and Bentleys apart (more on that in a future post).
The former is important because according to my wife I am an awful photographer (she’s likely right). This is probably because I take the same approach to photographing people as I do to shooting cars. Namely, stand in the middle of the street, get as close to the ground as possible (slightly below street level ideally), and then throw every possible filter at the resulting image until it looks halfway decent. While this generally works for cars, most of my human portraits end up looking like some unintentional, cheap (and not at all artistic) imitation of an Andy Warhol pop art portrait.
The latter is important because I’m sure that whomever owns said Bentley is acutely aware of the difference between his Bentley and the equally unreliable Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II. This is likely not limited to the fact that Bentley chose the more pedestrian “2” in their model designation, while I can’t help but identify the equivalent Rolls Royce as Silver Cloud, the Second. Fortunately (unfortunately?), my depleted bank account does not discriminate.
To be honest, I have no problem having fun at the expense of owners of early ’60s British saloons as 1) they don’t use the internet, and 2) if they did they would not have made it past my inability to correctly differentiate between whoever/whomever in the first sentence of the last paragraph. Crisis averted.