As I child I remember this hill vividly. When on long road trips, whether to Grandma's, Death Valley, Utah, it didn't matter. It seemed we would always come back on this road. Coming down the grade into Camarillo, meant we were almost home.
There was one special story about the mountain on the left. My parents always said it looked like the profile of an indian head. Trying to come down the grade, it passes so quickly, that some don't see it.
Do you see it? On our roadtrips south, I always look for the profile of the indian. It has always and will forever be a reminder that I'm almost home.