After loading up the old Ford Sports Trek with our tent, sleeping bags and double-thick queen-sized air mattress we were on our way. It was a funny coincidence; about an hour and a half into our trip our stomaches growled and we just so happened to be about a mile outside of Summerland. The town is a real shit-hole. Cottages with white picket fences and antique shops overlooking the ocean. I can't believe a 2 bedroom goes for $1.5 million here. We were lucky to find Summerland Beach Cafe.
I ordered homemade chicken tortilla soup and a turkey sandwich with bacon and melted cheese between two thick pieces of bread.
Bob had the Avo Bravo Burger which was overflowing with creamy avocados, savory ortega chilis, bacon and all held together with melted, tangy swiss.
We also decided to have a few of their beer-battered onion rings the size of our heads. After all, we were heading into the wilderness and this was probably going to be our last decent meal.
We managed to choke it down - I mean did everything have to be so fresh? What's wrong with letting everything sit around for a while so the flavors have a chance to come together?
Shortly after our stop in Summerland we stopped in downtown Santa Barbara to get a few provisions. We just got the basics: pomegranate juice and champagne, heinekens, water (a mixer) and a few packs of smokes.
El Capitan was just a little north of downtown and we were there before we knew it. When I checked in at the campground the attendant informed me that we were the only 'tenters'. I was not surprised, who else would be so brave to face the 70° days and upper 40° nights on a bluff in Santa Barbara?
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