These streets are made for walkin'

By: LOUISE ESOLA - Staff Writer | Saturday, January 14, 2006 12:08 AM PST ∞

My office sits along a pretty busy street in the lovely seaside city of Oceanside, a beautiful hamlet by the sea.

Lovely, spectacular, and full of charm.

The "Coast Highway" itself is a long stretch that begins somewhere south in San Diego, miles before you are required to habla espanol or possess Mexican car insurance. This seemingly Nile-length roadway runs all the way north into Washington, offering drivers breath-taking and sometimes tranquil views of our great nation's western coastline.

("Take my breath awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay....")

Ahem, ahem. Not so fast.

I will tell you that this is the same winding road that this week led me to make a phone call to the World Famous Bunny Ranch in good olí Carson City, Nev.

You may be asking: Why on earth?!

I know we are a rated-G publication, but you must allow me to explain.

I recently discovered that my place of business is located on the very same particular strand of the highway that is the place of business to women whose livelihoods have won the title of "World's Oldest Profession."

For those who were home-schooled in such locales as Grand Prairie, Texas, I am here speaking of prostitutes.

Streetwalkers and midnight cowgirls.

I had no idea, but, apparently, they're out there.

And apparently, so am I.

I was recently informed that these gals are strutting along on the very same street where on many days you will find this health-conscious newspaper reporter walking along, determinedly so with a pedometer to count my steps and the divine hope of never having to be buried in a piano case.

Fueled by numerous health articles touting the benefits of step-counting, walking has become a workday hobby and a must-do for me.

For when I need a break or feel that I just ate the caloric equivalent of a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts, one can surely find me briskly strolling about the vicinity of the Highway 101.

Sometimes I walk with a cubicle-mate, sometimes I brave it alone.

And I suspect the latter is what prompted one townsperson, a friendly chap parking his car, to urge me to watch out because "you donít want people to think you are a ("hiker" minus "i' plus "double-o")."

Excuuuuuuuuse me?!

I later mentioned the incident to a colleague, who looked at me as though I had worn white shoes after Labor Day, responding: "Haven't you noticed all the small, cheap motels around?"

Truthfully, I've seen the kitschy motels, but I've have never seen such women of the night. I was then informed that they are no Julia Roberts in tall Pleather boots and can actually be seen in daylight hours.

Donning my serious investigative journalist hat, I phoned Oceanside police to confirm. And Yup, for years it's been sort of a hub, an LAX for local, um, pretty women.

But surely no one would dare confuse little old me, a young sophisticate with a pedometer for a, ahem, streetwalker?

To work, I wear slacks and collared shirts, modest skirts and cardigans, jeans and sweaters. Rarely do I wear make-up. On my day walks, I trade dress shoes for flip-flops, sneakers, or rubber-soled loafers.

That said, after I called the cops, I felt I needed to once again put to use my student-loan-financed journalism degree. As a reporter writing this in-depth report, I needed confirmation.

So I called the only place I knew of where I could legally discuss such matters with legal prostitutes: the Bunny Ranch.

Again, for those who attended parochial schools in the likes of Franklin County, Ark., I am here not referring to a place that exploits the Easter Bunny or Bugs.

I am here talking of the place that employs such cats as Dixie Cupps and Treasure Chest. I got neither on the phone, but I did get to chat with the hostess, Miranda Kay, who sort of chuckled when I asked about attire.

"Let's just say, here you definitely know who the working girls are."

Then she put Bunny Love, a front-line gal, on the phone.

Itís just as I suspected. I wonít elaborate ---- for this is a G-rated publication ---- but I will confirm that not many of them wear loafers. And it's not what you wear; it's what you don't, Bunny said.

As for the lighting, the harsh sidewalk-pounding sun doesn't do much to bring out the girls' unique, um, characteristics, Bunny explained.

"It's very dark inside and we have spotlights to highlight the girls' features,'" she said.

And, for the record, there was no mention of pedometers.

Staff writer Louise Esola covers Oceanside schools. She can be reached at lesola@nctimes.com.

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