Then the fun begins, with the sensual S-bends a test for the handling ability of any vehicle (even a Corolla). The nicknames given to the challenging switchbacks during the racing heyday speak volumes: Deadmans Curve, Sweeper, the Corkscrew and Carls – named after a racer who was killed on a blind hairpin. But after the logjams of the soulless interstates below, driving Mulholland is sheer bliss, a dynamic invitation to freedom.

“I think because of the views, Mulholland gives you a semi-religious feeling of being up there and in control,” says writer David Thomson in his essay, Beneath Mulholland. ”It is where Satan would take you if he were to offer you the city.”

At the Universal City Overlook, I spy the turrets of Hogwarts at Universal Studios Hollywood; while a few kilometres on, I linger at Nancy Hoover Pohl Overlook, named after a resident who, for 60 years, campaigned to stop development of Fryman Canyon, now a popular recreational parkland that provides vital habitat for bobcats, grey foxes and mule deer.

But Mulholland Drive saves its best views to the bitter end. Beyond the 405 freeway, the road peters out, reduced to a gravel track leading to the remote San Vincente Mountain Park, a former Cold War missile launch site that has been returned to wilderness, with picnic areas and hiking trails.

Climb the spiral staircase of the original radar tower for 360-degree views across the canyonlands of the Santa Monica Mountains, the Encino Reservoir and the San Fernando Valley – a breathtaking vista that challenges the perception of Los Angeles as an over-developed concrete jungle.