There’s a certain magic in the endless blue of the ocean and the rhythm of the Pacific Coast Highway that hugs its rugged edge. For those who understand, the journey to a wave is just as important as the wave itself. There’s something meditative about it. The way the road twists and turns, demanding just enough attention to keep you present but not so much that you can’t let your mind drift. The morning air smells of salt and eucalyptus. The past and future seem to disappear with each passing mile. These moments exist outside of time, where the world feels quieter, slower, more deliberate.
This is a drive that’s been made thousands of times before, but never quite the same way.
You’re in no hurry– there’s no need to be.
The Bronco hums beneath your feet, a truck built for adventure, made to chase horizons. A vehicle that, like the ocean itself, belongs to a different era—one where things were built to last, meant to be used, meant to be lived in.
There’s something poetic about surfing. A surfer spends a lifetime chasing something that never lasts. Every wave is unique, appearing for a brief moment before disappearing into the vastness of the sea, never to be seen again. It’s a lesson in impermanence. A reminder that the best things in life can’t be held onto, only experienced. Maybe that’s the lesson. The ride itself is the thing.
Your tires roll to a stop while the world is just waking up. Beyond the lot you scope out the lineup. Your camarades sit quietly, waiting for their moment. No one says it out loud, but they all know—there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. And isn’t that the point?
Find the thing that pulls you forward, something that makes you feel small in the best way possible. Chase the thing that can’t be caught, knowing that it’s the chase itself that makes it all worthwhile.
So, here’s to the open road. Here’s to the waves we’ll ride and the ones we’ll miss. Here’s to the Bronco that takes us there.
And most of all, enjoy the ride.
