Descriptive Essay : Winding Along Highway 41 Bound West

1795 Words8 Pages
Winding along Highway 41 bound West, I anticipate the crackling of the radio about to take place. As I approach the blind corner near the Cerro Alto National Park sign off to the left shoulder of the highway, the first crackling interludes my favorite station as if the radio is more of a popcorn machine than a wireless receiver. No more than a gentle pressure on the steering-wheel is necessary as I carefully glide my vehicle along the undulating roads toward my destination. Morro Bay, my favorite coastal childhood getaway town, still remains the place I can escape to when I need to take my mind off of my troubles. I can hear the crackling picking up now, interrupting the foretelling tunes of my favorite song, "Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)”…show more content…
But Morro Bay is not just a small, coastal town shadowed by a big rock; for those who know the area’s ins and outs, there’s another history waiting to be understood just a quarter mile away from that igneous attention-seeker. The three Morro Bay smokestacks, once part of an industrial power plant that fueled the local economy in the 1950s, tower peacefully above the town. Though shorter than Morro Rock, the smokestacks reach so high into the sky that as I child I thought they might graze outer space. For those who boast 20/20 vision, these smokestacks are visible from a ten mile radius, and for me, they mark the beginning of what usually ends up being a day-long seaside respite where time stands still. I learned the history of these industrial vestiges early in life, when my child-self observed an absence of smoke coming from the so called “smokestacks.” “Why are they called smokestacks if they don’t smoke, Daddy?” a blonde and curly-haired younger me piped up, gazing straight up at the mysterious, cylindrical structures. This was on one of those many comforting Saturdays that my father, brother and I would head over to the coast, spend some time fishing on the pier next to the Harbor Hut, and then head over to the Foster Freeze for my weekly foot-long hotdog sandwiched in a crisp, golden bun. My father explained to me that sometime before I was born the power plant shut down,
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