The Road to Bulungula Lodge, Wild Coast, South Africa. (24 total images, 1 video)

“Rufus is a very strong man,” says Maya, a local Xhosa woman we just picked up from a village on the Wild Coast of South Africa. “Even in his old age of 80 years he is still able to procreate and have many children,” she says.

We’re all headed to the Bulungula Lodge where Maya works and we’ll be visiting. Rufus is our driver.

The road! The ocean! The Pacific Coast Highway!

Somehow this roll of film survived my camping trip to Maine where I woke up with several inches of rain soaking my pillow, daypack, camera, etc. Here’s what was almost lost forever!

Also, to show how fragile film is, the other roll I took in to get developed (photos of last weekend’s trip to the beach) did somehow get screwed up. Sadness.

Roadside strawberries from a farm off the Pacific Coast Highway.

I don’t like hot weather. I don’t like cold weather. I don’t care much for warm weather either. I like cool weather. And I especially love cool, foggy, Members Only jacket weather. When I lived in LA, I hardly ever went to the beach during normal beach hours. I went in the evenings or at night. I went for a drive. I went to the pier and wore sandals and a hoodie.

“I’m not afraid to walk hand in hand
I think we were made to lie in the sand
Decadently by the sea, under the sun”

-from “Lovers from the Moon” by Stephin Merrit.

I love car culture. After being without wheels for my first few years in New York City, I took matters into my own hands and bought a good friend’s used Volvo 850. It’s crappy enough that I can park it anywhere on the streets and not worry about it and at the same time as durable as any piece of machine I’ve ever owned. I love it more than any material thing I possess. (Well, except maybe for my Canon 5D).

Having a car in New York City allows me to bring back some of the most cherished elements of my Los Angeles childhood. Just the comfort of knowing there’s a beach 15 minutes away is a wonderful thing to wake up to every morning. And of course, the ability to jump behind the wheels (and in my mind’s eye, I never settle for anything less than jump) and get the fuck out of town at the whistle’s call.

The following are some photographs from last weekend’s escape to Cape Cod, Massachusetts — which, until then, was one of the few unexplored outings in my many New England jaunts.

• Next: Cape Crusades >>