Ojai Coffee Roasters
Small town charm has never meant more to quarantined Americans than it does at this very moment. Alas, there’s nothing like a rampant fear of crowds to quickly turn people away from metropolitan dwelling, spurring a millennial migration of sorts as they leave the cities in droves for small towns — and lower populations. Southern California isn’t typically renowned for these types of places, as the whole region is pretty much overpacked with residents in search of those endlessly balmy days (and exorbitant gas prices). The Ojai Valley is one of those aforementioned small-er places that has benefitted from this exodus from city living. Beautiful parks, miles of orange groves, and a handful of outstanding wineries has recruited a swath of restless buccaneers into the coddling (and quite fertile) arms of Californian wine country.
But for those of us that don’t start our day with an 8am Chardonnay, coffee is certainly the next best thing. So I headed to Ojai on Chilecito for a cup of local drip. The commute from Malibu is mostly coastal up to Oxnard, where you eventually connect with the 101N by way of Rice Ave. Some short amount of miles later you take the 33N, keep right for state highway 150 to Ojai, passing through Casitas Springs (‘famously’ housing Johnny Cash, as advertised by a DIY picket sign with some portraits deliriously taped to its face, making any sensible observer immediately question things), at which point I had to take a leak and finding a usable restroom was akin to finding a second hospitable Earth-like planet for human beings to live on inside our solar system. After several rejections from Subway, Dominos, etc. I walked BRISKLY into a Rite Aid, and on my way out was stopped by an employee who was interested in what kind of motorcycle I was riding. She replied, “Oh, a BMW. I knew it was something different. We only see Harleys and Indians around here”.
And after hopping back on Chilecito, it was clear that Rite Aid Barbara was ‘rite’ — there are plenty of motorbikes on the road, pretty much all of which are Harleys and Indians. Several wind blown minutes later I arrive in Ojai, greeted by terracotta rooftops and white plastered arches, and a main thoroughfare flanked by boutique shops and ivy draped eateries, each edging capacity limits indoors and out. After finally finding a questionably legal parking spot, I head to Ojai Coffee Roasters to wet the whistle.
Located in the center of town, OCR is set in a pleasantly large space while still maintaining a small, local feel. The amateur coffee-er that I am orders a cafe au lait from a guy that looks like he would cringe at the thought of mixing coffee and milk, but instead of ‘roasting’ me for the infraction, he courteously preps my order and brings it to my table outside. The coffee was great, not overly acidic or overly dark. Kind of forgettable in a good way, and any shop that roasts their own beans deserves anyone’s attention. Empty cup in hand I walk through town, admiring a wonderful central plaza with a park for youngsters, plenty of picnic benches and a rather charismatic fountain.
After sauntering back to the motorcycle (and admittedly taking some tasteful blog pics), I continued up the 150 towards sprawling orange groves and vineyards and eventually twist up a mountain face, revealing a breathtaking view of the valley floor from various cliff side vantage points. Continue climbing the hillside and the two laner will level off and cut through a few miles of ranch land, replete with grazing goats and cows and their rolled hay bale fodder. This is where I opened up the bike, and really had a fun time with the wind in my face. 1000cc’s twin sparked never felt more right, but unsure of fuel levels (these old bikes don’t have fuel meters) I turned around and headed back towards town. After snapping a few mental images in addition to the handful I took on my phone, I topped off the tank and headed home. All that gas for a $4 cup of coffee? Worth it.