The last three or four days I stay in Coronado are only bearable because I am near my son Mark and his family. The noise from the Navy doing their thing is never going to amuse me or allow me serenity while on vacation. Helicopters, gunfire, more helicopters, and explosions. The population of the RV park has become bothersome to a degree. Easter weekend campers have begun showing up and it seems every party has a dog or two or three. Just too much going on for me (the cranky Mainer in the tent at the end of the loop). To top it off some guy has decided the “tent only” parking space means “anyone if no one is present”. I am getting impatient and intolerant of the others and it is time to move on. On Sunday morning of the 20th of April I collapse the tent and deflate my wonderful sleeping partner the air mattress. I had repacked the SAAB the day before so loading things into it was a snap and soon I was rolling down the Strand toward the Coronado Bay Bridge.
As I crossed the bridge I couldn’t help think that this may be the very last time I ever cross that bridge. Don’t know why. I don’t enjoy the bridge at all. It is way higher than it needs to be; 200 feet or so and the only thing on it higher than the roadway are jersey barriers at the edge and light standards. All the jersey barriers have tire marks running up them. How the heck does that happen?!? Seeing the tire marks is unnerving. My imagination goes right to work when I see those black marks swerving up and down the cement surfaces of the only thing preventing vehicles from hurtling over the edge into the water below. After a bit of research I find the edge barriers are only 34 inches high and the 200 foot clearance was designed to allow an empty aircraft carrier to pass under the center span. Doesn’t help my understanding one bit. Ta ta, bridge.
The last few days in San Diego have been nice. Friday evening I had a dinner with son Mark and his beautiful wife and daughter, AJ and Hannah. Earlier in my stay I also saw Haley, Mark’s other daughter who is a student at SDSU. My visit to this part of the country can only be labeled as a reunion between Mark and I. Nothing can top the event of he and I getting this opportunity to meet and begin to heal our injured past. I am grateful for him and for living long enough to have him back in my life.
On Saturday I finally caught up with dear Kathy Smith an AVP associate and good friend who lives in San Diego. We met for lunch in Kensington and, as usual, we shared a lot of information/experience and parted company richer for it. Kathy is a champ.
So on Easter Sunday morning I leave San Diego and get on I 5 north to get out of sunny southern California. I take a chance and drive straight up I 5 through the dreaded Orange County towns that are generally clogged with traffic. Since it is early enough on Sunday I run into very light going all the way. After passing into San Fernando valley territory I start to look for a place to eat. I am starved and I sense my acuity is beginning to deteriorate. Time to eat something. I find a great place in Valencia called Claim Jumper. They have a great buffet for $17 and I figure I can eat at least a hundred dollars worth before they kick me out. Burping and belching along the rest of the way I get to the other side of the Grapevine and I begin looking for U.S Rt. 99 to Bakersfield.
I called Bill Shamphan earlier and we agreed I could stay with him for a few days. We did this last year as well. Bill and I go back 55 years to our USS Sirago days. (Note: Sirago is used in the title of this blog and in my email address. My Sirago days were wonderful!) I arrive in Bakersfield in the afternoon, Sunday April 20th. Bill asks if I’d eaten yet and thus began 3 days of non-stop binge eating on Basque food.
Last year Bill introduced me to Basque cuisine. I immediately fell in love with the whole nature of Basque people and their eating style. The food is hearty, filling, delicious, plentiful. We started at Chalet Basque. At the bar I was served a sample of tongue with sour dough bread. Delicious. We moved to the dining room where we ate rack of lamb beginning with cabbage soup, beans, tomatoes, salsa, bread, salad, string beans, more tongue, rice. You get the idea. Every day, twice a day we ate Basque food at a Basque establishment. The Noriega Hotel serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I don’t believe anyone could eat all the meals they serve.
As well as eating more than my usual one meal per day I didn’t walk or jog the whole time. I surrendered to my gluttonous sloth happily and greedily. My last day with Bill and his sweet wife Mary was spent having a cup of coffee and letting the stomach rest. No breakfast; just a quick pack up and get out of town while I could still fit into the SAAB.
I love staying with Bill. Sea stories and yelling at each other because we either can’t hear what the other is saying or we are not agreeing. Our politics don’t match up very well either. That adds to the richness of our discussions. See you next year Bill.
I scooted up the road from Bakersfield on Rt. 99 to Oildale and then onto Rt. 65 the rest of the way to Visalia. First I went to Woodlake thinking that is where I was going to meet with Brad Frisius one of my Facebook friends. He redirected me to the Starbucks in Visalia where we sat for about an hour and talked. I can’t use the word “chat” in Brad’s case. Brad and I reached a fairly deep level of trust soon. We talked and listened. Brad is a terrific guy with a quick mind. I enjoyed our too-brief time together but we both felt the need to withdraw in order to think about all we had spoken about. Thanks, Brad, for the lunch and for the deep connection.
Leaving Visalia I crossed the Central Valley on Rt. 198 to a mountain range that marks the western edge of the valley. At Coalinga the road begins a wonderful twisting climb over the Gabilan Mountains to U.S. Rt 101. Rt. 101 is a major north-south artery that runs right up the middle of the Salinas Valley to Monterey. Ed Birdsong lives in Soledad about two thirds the way up the valley. I can’t remember ever driving this route during my years living in California. I must have either gone up Rt. 99 or CA Rt. 1 along the coast.
As I came down out of the mountains east of the Salinas Valley I began to get views that are incredible. I don’t believe I have ever seen such a fertile and fully utilized valley between two marvelous mountain ranges; the Gabilan and the Coastal Ranges provide moisture and protection that results in such a productive agricultural region. I followed Rt. 198 across the valley floor to Rt. 101 and hung a right to go north. The final run up 101 was brief and soon I was in Soledad.
I arrived in Soledad just before dinner time on Wednesday the 23rd of April. Ed’s house mate met me outside as he was placing recyclables by the curb. We went in and there was Ed in the living room. Ed has had surgeries and a few complication during the healing process so he is restricting his activities in order to heal. We talked for a long time and then, since I was hungry Ed directed me to a restaurant “La Fuente” on Oak Street. I ate a terrific meal of eggs and steak with beans and potatoes plus corn tortillas. O.K. I ate. So sue me. Back to basics tomorrow.
Playing Fair and Being Kind 