You roadies well know my most traveled highway by now. It was inevitable I’d come across new memorials erected each year. While the 154 isn’t really a blood alley, as evidenced by its annual statistics of accidents and fatalities, to us locals it always seems like a bloodier route.
It certainly possesses all the hallmarks of what generally makes an legit blood alley more dangerous than other roads; hairpin turns, blind curves, short straightaways for high speed passing, only a two-lane road and not a ‘Super-Two,’ at that, thin or nonexistent shoulders, sunrise-sunset sight lines, and frequent road work repair resulting in the need for sudden stops or adjusted lane egress. It is a feared road among my brethren, here at the gateway between Southern California and Central California.
Nonetheless, I navigate it on a weekly basis and have been doing so for the better part of five decades. I own no fear for the 154; quite the opposite, in fact. As mentioned in my earlier three-part series about the 154, that highway holds a wide array of emotional footprints for me. It is very much a primary setting of my entire existence on Terra Firma, its surrounding environs in the depths of the Los Padres Forest having hosted any number of all-too-human experiences. Life and death, sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. No small amount of metaphorical and corporeal skeletons of mine rest somewhere about the 154, both figuratively in closet and literally underground.
I roll the 154. Big time.
As I was doing yesterday, in the late afternoon, when I came upon this recently constructed, incredibly beautiful descanso setup.
It was situated on a down slope, at a breakneck turn that customarily results in an increased speed limit due to the downward plunge from the summit, likely a contributing culprit in the decedent’s untimely demise.
It was not an easy one to witness nor reach, erected behind a guard rail just past a mountainside cliff, not far from the Cold Spring Arch Bridge (a 154 mainstay I discussed with sorrowful detail here) with a thin shoulder barely wide enough to safely park. Given the array of materials this shrine incurred and how it surely required a delicate process of hauling and construction at the small site, it was a marvel the decedent’s family members were able to place it in the manner they did. I had to turn around and double back, so sudden was its appearance at that curve.
The descanso honors a 22 year old young man named Otoniel Diaz. Its architecture is the first of its kind I’ve come upon, with a complete ‘greenhouse’ style structure surrounding the main cross made with wood, real glass, and polycarbonate roofing sheets. I’ve seen a few constructs with awnings, and small, alcove-style altars that provided a semblance of cover from the weather, but never a elaborately crafted edifice like this one.
Inside the glass-encased hut stood its primary cross, emptied libation bottles, a rosary draped about the cross, dollar bills for luck, a photo of Otoniel, a vase for fresh flowers, and several token keepsakes from assorted family members or friends. Outside were two additional crosses, one atop the structure, another to the side adorned in plastic flowers. A Valentine’s balloon was attached to the outside cross, floating in the breeze. There was an additional penned rock totem as well.
I was impressed to say the least.
The attention to detail was inspiring. His family and friends love him very much, obviously. I hope that Cal Trans leaves the shrine untouched for many years. This memorial deserves its expected longevity.
As I have done with all the souls whose markers currently adorn the 154, I bid Mister Diaz fair travels on his road upward to the higher spheres.
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