Mother of All Road Trips

This was an epic ‘best of all’ road trips to celebrate my Eightieth birthday. Brian and Melanie had planned this entire adventure and sprung it on me during their visit here at Christmas. It would begin in San Francisco then follow the PCH, the Pacific Coast Highway, down the California coastline and end up in San Diego. I flew up to San Francisco on March 1^st, met up with the gang at my gate and we were off on our adventure.

Fifty-Nine years after I first arrived there in the Fall of 1964, I was back on familiar ground… or was I? San Francisco had changed a lot since I was first deposited in front of my barracks, as a fresh-faced recruit right out of basic training.

My job was that of a staff reporter at the post newspaper. With more than two and a half years of college education, I was considered a good catch for the Army and a potential lifer.

The base quickly became my new launch pad from which to explore the city in a used motor scooter, begin work at an art theater downtown, and grow my library of paperback books and vinyl records. Just walking the old parade grounds, now covered by grass, brought back a plethora of stimulating memories.

Back in the day, the farthest I got on my motor scooter was down to Half Moon Bay. This time around, we drove through the quaint town of Santa Cruz and visited the giant redwoods there.

I had a strong visceral feeling as we drove further down the coast to Monterey and Carmel-by-the-Sea. Back then, this was John Steinbeck’s world and my mother was a part of it. Long before World War Two changed California from a semi-rural state to the crowded, fast-paced world that it’s become, this area was heavy on fishing and the coastline had become a glamorous get-away for Hollywood stars and industrialists.

Eighty-three years earlier, an adventurous young woman was just beginning to spread her wings along the very same coastline. Newly escaped from the rigid confines of working as a maid on Summit Avenue and long sojourns back to the farm to care for her aging parents, Hildegarde was, for the first time in her life, free from the constraints of her rural German Catholic upbringing.

We drove through Seventeen Mile Drive in Carmel, where my mother used to work at a maid to the wealthy and enjoyed the famous bag piper at Spanish Bay who plays each evening as the sun goes down.

We visited Cannery Row and the Wharf where my mother might have gone for fresh fish for her employers or for a weekend getaway. I’ll never know but the chances are great it probably happened there.

Moving farther down the coast, the kids and I returned to where my latest cerebral adventure took place. ‘Playground for the Devil’ is my latest novel and the Henry Miller Memorial Library played a pivotal role in its storyline. I wrote about the place based on research I had done online. It was refreshing to see that my description of the structure and the atmosphere there was close to right on the spot.

I didn’t include ‘Jack the cat’ in my novel but the back porch where my protagonists first engaged in verbal fisticuffs was right there as written. The Henry Miller Memorial Library/museum/bookstore proved to be a cathartic experience for me.

From Big Sur, we swung over to Paso Robles, had a wonderful luncheon at a vineyard, visited Bubblegum Alley in San Luis Obispo, checked out the pier at Pismo Beach and finally drove down to Santa Barbara.

After leaving Santa Barbara, skirting Los Angeles, and zeroing in on the beaches of San Diego, we ended up on Mission Beach and then finally Ocean Beach.

It was a three-day whirlwind adventure, stopping where we wanted, enjoying liquid refreshments, eating in the sunsets each evening; and sharing thoughts, feelings, and appreciation for the lives we’ve created for ourselves and our families. Family time is priceless and this trip was a certain example of that. Besides, it’s given me a ton of ideas for future blogs. Now the grandchildren can find out what it was really like for Mom and Dad and Papa.