A stop at Pismo Beach on the way to Los Angeles is a family tradition. It's the halfway point, and it's got a lot of history for us, dating from the time that my dad worked at Diablo Canyon.
So, after driving for 4 hours in a stuffed-to-the-gills minivan, we do the following:
Walk down the pier.
Watch the surfers. Mock the ones who fall off even though they are right underneath and can probably hear you.
Eat at Mo's Smokehouse BBQ, where we eat pulled pork sandwiches, garlic fries, fried green tomatoes, tri-tips, and ribs. Foodgoat thinks the quality of the sandwiches has markedly declined in recent years, but I think it was still pretty good, and I'd rather have that than clam chowder, which Pismo Beach, host of the annual Clam Festival, is known for.
[Note: Should you go to the beach afterwords, do not take your leftovers with you. This is what will come to pass, if you should fail. They will try to take the leftovers. (You know of whom I speak!) They wait until you leave the boxes behind to dip your toe in the water. They will open the box quietly and they will eat the pulled pork sandwiches for themselves! ... Stupid seagulls.]
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