There's a shortcut through the mountains here that, if you put up with the occasional screaming motorcycle and pull over for the driver who insists on doing 60, is one of the prettiest roads around.

Rolling hills and ancient oaks, bobcats, birdsong, a certain whooshing sound to the grasses when a certain breeze blows through at dusk.

Hotter here than over there, where on some days, before the summer sun has its way, the marine layer seeps over the ridge line, draped and elegant.