Jalopnik Mid-Week Weekend: El Camino Real

This past Friday I drove 400 miles up to San Francisco and then drove back down to Los Angeles on Saturday just because. I figured after months of press cars the all too-dormant WRX needed a good workout. My freeway of choice was the King's Highway, the El Camino Real, U.S. Route 101, or as we in So-Cal enjoy saying, "the 101" (all freeways in Southern California are prefixed with a the, as in "Take the 5 to the 10 to the 210 in San Dimas." Whereas up in the Bay Area they simply say, "Go north on 210 until it merges with 101 and dumps you out on Van Ness"). Unlike Uncle Bumbeck, who took his PZEV Focus over to the coast to tackle Highway 1 and her epic twists, I decided to just flat-foot it and enjoy the WRX's high-speed stability rather than side-to-side prowess.

A few miles north of King City, while tripping out on the disturbing yet all too familiar misogyny of Andrew WK's The Girl is Beautiful, my rearview became totally filled with Chevy grill. But not just any old Chevrolet. No my friends, I was being tailgated by an insanely cherry fifth generation El Camino. And I mean, this was the uber Camino. It was painted Hard Rock red and tilted forward with a hot rod lean. I knew a priori that this G-Platform beaut had the 350 so I dropped the window to hear the burble. As she passed, I got a look at the driver who was in fact the cutest Mexican rockabilly babe in all of Central Coastal California. Red sunglasses, Princess Leia cinnamon buns and smiling. My heart melted a little. Then she dropped hammer and blew past me, her extended twin-pipes sparkling as she flew.

You couldn't draw it up any better. This was original sin, boys. Driving on the El Camino Real with the bell markers whizzing past and nearly being run off the road by a stone cold hottie driving the archetypical El Camino. It was like being molested by the Pope. At the Vatican. Words (and my stupid Canon Elf) fail me. Using Jalopnik-telekinesis I immediately, psyonicly informed Davey what had just transpired and he dropped dead from an aneurysm. Then he rose from the dead and began blasting Ashtray Monument until his ears imploded. As for me, "I turned the wheel and muttered to myself, 'No way. Man, no way.'" Holy Christ do I love cars! And man, am I going to miss Jalopnik...

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