Juju runs the PCH

This past Saturday was gorgeous. It was the kind of gorgeous that makes you get outside regardless of anything else. The kind of gorgeous that invented sports. The kind of gorgeous that makes men actually want to cut their grass and fix the gutters.

Obviously I had to do something outside. In pondering my options, I also realized that Juju, my MINI, hadn’t been out of her cage in almost 2.5 months. Now she loves the garage. A sanctuary that keeps her paint from getting keyed randomly. (A tragedy a friend's brand spanking new VW recently suffered.) But it’s no place for a pure driving car like Juju to spend a day like this past Saturday.

So what better way to stretch her 17-inch, race tire covered rims than head to the Pacific Coast Highway? We decided to venture south.

Abso-freaking-lutely incredible.

Windows down. Sunroof open. Music blasting. There is no better way, or stretch of road, to drive. There are comparable slices of asphalt. The dragon's tail in NC for example. But few others provide an incredible view of giant waves crashing on huge rocks. Very few have reinforced guard rails to be sure you don't mess up and go spilling into the Pacific. And even fewer have turnouts who's views rival the Blue Ridge Parkway.

For example: