Not all of California is overrun, and we drove up the coast today to luxuriate in that part of it.

The Central Coast, it is called. And it is spectacular. Rolling hills, green, when a drought is not going on. Home to hundreds of vineyards. About an hour north of Santa Barbara; about three hours from Los Angeles.

Underpopulated, by SoCal standards, and likely to remain so … if only because it’s too expensive for nearly everyone.

Our destination?

Little Pismo Beach, of Bugs Bunny/Warner Bros cartoon fame.

So, here we are, looking out the windows of a rental home, watching the breakers roll in from the Pacific, on the other side of about 100 yards of white sand.

Pismo is one of the few areas in the state of California where the populace can drive onto the beach.

That makes it very popular with ATV riders, whose vehicles can be seen on haulers being pulled by big pickup trucks as they traverse the band of compacted, semi-wet sand.

Their activities could be a distraction for people staying here, but the sound of the surf is loud enough that, while we can see the trucks, we can’t hear them.

Surfers ride the waves, even in the morning. The surf appears to be fairly mild. Dogs are allowed to walk, on this part of the coast, and horses can be ridden, as well; a company that sponsors rides goes past the side of the house every few hours.

The weather is the epitome of mild. Here are the averages, by month, in nearby Arroyo Grande, which is a few miles inland.

The average summer highs are a tick under 70, and the average lows are in the 50s. Nearly perfect temperatures, that is.

Lots of sun in the summer, though it often does not appear until the clouds burn off. Mild breezes.

It is lovely.

But, since the population is low, the area does not have many jobs. Which seems to keep the population low. (The “big city” in the area is San Luis Obispo.)

I know some people who live in the area, but in every case they retired with good pensions, or after having sold a business.

The rest of us can visit, buy a case of local wine, and go back home, eventually, thinking about how nice it will to come back some day, dreaming we could somehow live here.