The Ortega Highway

Every weekday, I travel thru the coolest road of the West Coast. The Ortega Highway known (or maybe unknown) by Caltran as Highway 74.
It is a two-lane road cutting right in the middle of the Cleveland National Forest. It is one of the few direct links between Orange County and the South of the Inland Empire. The portion I travel is roughly thirty and some miles although as the crow flies it is only ten or fifteen miles.
It is a road across some of wildest portions of Southern California.
My westbound trip in the morning is a very exhilarating ride.
The fun starts as you leave Grand Avenue in Lake Elsinore. Immediately you realize that something exciting is on the doing. As you climb on a steep straight stretch of the highway you can see, etched in the rock of the mountain in front of you, a succession of switchback leading to the pass overlooking the valley by a good two thousand feet. Traffic permitting that is a nice stretch of exciting alpine driving. At the right time of the early morning some of those switchback open to an unbelievable sight of a pure baby blue sky scratched by a couple of contrails and a few wisp of clouds reflecting the fire of the raising sun. Some other morning the fog will change the view of the lake below, the valley, the hills and mountains across it into a Japanese ink painting where the stroke of the brush represent mountains engulfed in wispy haze. The side of the road does at this point display the widest array of hearth tones covering the entire array of brown, rust, sienna and beige of the bushes rolling into inscrutable inner valleys. In the right season the witches’ brooms throw out the wild scream of a bright yellow. Splashes of red and orange dot the chaparral.
When the pass is reached the road race in a couple of wide curves in the direction of a thick oak forest, to cross the odd little village of El Cariso, populated by a very colorful bunch of free spirits. Small signs announcing to the traveling masses that Jerky of all denomination will be available at the general store punctuate the approaches of the village. It looks like an entire zoo has been sacrificed for drying. Maybe the only animals not offered are household pets, unicorns and dragons. The rest is fair game if I can indulge on the pun.
Across the street from the general store is a bar/tavern/would be restaurant: "Hells Kitchen" dedicated to the motor biking crowd. I found the place fun (at the great despair of my tender spouse) for two reasons: They pour a darn good pint of hard cider and the condiments bar in the dining room is inside a...coffin! Weird enough for me.
From there the road is starting a downward move in the land of the giants, Poking out of the chaparral are huge boulders of oblong shape and mostly upright. Images of ancient ritual amongst dolmen, menhir and other stone altars come to mind. The scenery there belongs to those upright boulders and no one else.
Out of the Giants Land you enter the descent into the canyon. If you ride a bike or an open car you can feel a noticeable drop in temperature and the oaks are again taking over. You are back into those tight and exciting turns where one can push the limit of its jalopy.
You now enter a construction area where only one lane of traffic is alternatively allowed. That is a nerve-wracking portion since at time one will drive literally feet from megaton carry style equipment, busy crushing rock, tearing rocks and drilling under the road. By the scenery is again totally different and one almost expect to see the helicopters of the opening sequence of Mash racing in the steep hills the bend. The second giants of the road poke those hills: Dasylirion. Those plants plant resemble a large throw of blade shaped succulent leave from whose center project a gigantic flower looking like a 9 to 10feet Lilly of the valley. Those are the lone sentinels of that portion of this magical road.
Crossing a narrow bridge you then enter the approaches of Ranch land, soon, after the only two straightaway portion of this road enabling passing the slow pokes crawling in front of you, you are driving along pastures where horses and cattle provide a drastic change. On one side one particular horse, a pinto, fully aware of his handsome image allow the admiration of the driving crowd. A few miles later, with a little luck you will be greeted by a small herd of Longhorns. And finally, almost at the end of that stretch you might in turn become spectacle for a pair of shy deer.
Then the magic is done and you enter San Juan Capistrano.