Playing Fair and Being Kind

CAR THIEF WISDOM

California divides north and south roughly at Santa Barbara. California could be six states today according to some wags but when I was living in 1970s San Diego most people divided it simply into “Northern” and “Southern”. Both halves are gloriously beautiful in their own style. I’ve traveled extensively through the two regions. The deserts of the south and the coastlines of the north are breathtaking.

In 1975 I was suffering a break-up of a rebound romance with a young Navy ensign. She was the daughter of a Navy Captain, the sister of a Navy flier, and she was a most intelligent and beautiful woman. We both were stationed at Naval Air Station Miramar, located a few miles north of San Diego in Southern California. I was not capable of a relationship in that phase of my life and I was confused and in a great deal of emotional pain. I should not have been in love but there are no known emotional rules for people in mid-life years that will be obeyed. I made her life miserable for a few weeks before she finally stopped answering her phone. I was a mess and I decided a road trip was in order. I packed my car with tent and gear and made arrangements for a few weeks leave from my duties. I didn’t know where I was going but it was that time of year when desert travel was not wise so I headed up the coast.

Just before I left I’d had dinner with Duncan, a civilian friend who had grown up locally and was familiar with the California coastline. He suggested I visit Big Sur and, specifically, I should have a meal at Nepenthe’s restaurant on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Duncan was a really good pal but he was not very aware of emotional situations. He taught algebra and photography on the naval base, which is how I met him and he also was teaching himself silk screening processes. Duncan was a genius and he spent a lot of time by himself engrossed in projects of a scientific nature.  At this particular time I was not thinking of sight seeing as much as I was just going away to salvage some pieces of myself. I appreciated his suggestion so I filed it away.

I was living in an alley apartment in Coronado, a small seaside town across the bay from San Diego, only about ten miles north of the border with Mexico. I packed the car and drove over the bay bridge to the mainland, then headed north toward Los Angeles. Once past LA the towns change in character. There is an agricultural flavor. Eucalyptus trees imported from Australia years ago line the highways. The trees form windbreaks for the farms in the region. The winds from the ocean and the Santa Ana winds from the desert in the fall can wreak havoc on citrus groves and produce that grow in the exposed fields. The trees do their job. Past LA is Ventura, Oxnard, and then a bit further Santa Barbara. The Southern California citrus industry was still thriving along this part of the coast.

Just past Santa Barbara U.S. 101 and California highway 1 split. Route 1 continues to follow the coast while 101 stays on a more direct northerly track. Route 1 is a winding two-lane blacktop with spectacular views. There are wonderful driving experiences to have as well. The mountains and ocean have this arrangement of cliffs and canyons that form startling vistas and demand that road engineering be quite imaginative. The highway twists and dives and climbs and twists again and again. The experience is exhilarating.

There are 4 highways that are used for north and south travel. I’ve used all of them. Route 1 along the coast, route 101 just a few miles inland but straighter because it doesn’t follow the line of the coast, interstate 5 which runs up the middle all the way to Washington state, and 99 which runs the complete length of the Central Valley from Bakersfield to Chico and Red Bluff away up past Sacramento. My favorite for scenery is route 1. The fastest of course is I-5. Routes 101 and 99 are good if you want to see how the people live; that is, the people who grow the food and pack it and ship it across the country. All these roads have much to offer. There are farmers and cowboys and vintners along all of them.

At San Luis Obispo I departed route 101 and drove along route 1 toward the coast. As I’ve describe, this part of the drive is the most scenic. I spent a few minutes here and there along the way to photograph vistas but for the most part my heart was aching and I was not quite sure why I was doing what I was doing. I trusted the trip was a diversion but my mind was oscillating from San Diego to my present location and back again.

During this time period the state park system in California was basic and easy to use. It was a simple task to find a camp ground and to secure a campsite for the night. When I got to San Simeon State Beach Park I only had to pay an entry fee and then find a suitable spot for my tent, which I did. It was nearly dusk as I finished setting up camp one dune back from the beach and I was wondering if I’d be able to get a fire started for the evening in the fire ring. I looked about the camp site for pieces of drift wood and kindling. I found a few candidates for a larger fire but my sense was that this would be a dark night. While I was scrounging the vicinity for flammables I noticed the next campsite inland from me was occupied and the people there had a nice fire going. The vehicle at their site was a vintage VW camper bus and they had no tent pitched.

Since I had already eaten and was only staying long enough to get some sleep before moving along the next day I didn’t have a lot to accomplish before morning. This is California and the weather report is usually dry and warm. With that in mind I decided to give up the fire quest and wander over to the next campsite to introduce myself. I could see a youngish woman and a child by the fire ring and I made sure that I was obvious so’s not to startle them as I strolled over their way. As I got closer the woman caught sight of me and very coolly offered a hello. She was poking the fire and arranging the embers and unburnt parts and the child was watching her and being very well behaved.

We passed around our introductions easily and she offered me a place to sit on the opposite side of the fire ring from her. I was grateful to have a person to talk to. It was growing darker and it was that time of day when the lonely ghouls come out to terrorize sad folks. We chatted a few minutes and we both seemed able to get beyond the usual level of conversation. The woman spoke quietly to the child. The child murmured a few soft words in return and they both walked to the camper bus. She put the child into the back of the bus where the bed is and soon she returned alone to take her place by the fire. She explained the child had been ready for bed and would fall asleep soon.

We traded brief histories and situations and soon we were talking about marriages and relationship. I told her about my divorce and my premature attempt at finding love; the confusion with loneliness and the urge to fill a hole too soon. Her situation involved divorce as well and then she told me the magic part of her story. At least it was magic to me. I had asked her where she was from and how it was she was traveling along this part of California. She responded that she lived in Providence, Rhode Island, or rather she used to. The Volkswagen bus was not hers. It belonged to her dentist. She had asked if she could borrow it and he had agreed to loan it to her. That was a month ago. She never said anything to him; she just left town with her child and they had been on the road since. I was absolutely impressed. This woman was my new hero and I told her so. We had a good laugh over that story.

We spent a few hours by the fire enjoying the camaraderie of loneliness and new friendship and that was sufficient.  Whatever events that have made us guarded and cautious slipped away unnoticed. We found ourselves leaning in comfortably; talking in lowered, longer, lingering tones. There was a point during our visit where she sensed the depth of my ache and she offered me a gift of wisdom. She spoke from a place she was familiar with. Her voice was steady, unfaltering.

“George”, she said.  “Identify what it is you love about your ex-girlfriend; then find those things in yourself.” That was it. She said nothing else; just held my gaze for a few beats and then returned her attention to the fire in the ring.

In that moment I couldn’t think of anything to say. We sat by the fire for a while in silence and after a little while we retreated to our respective beds, my head filled with her words. I slept through the night. When I arose the next morning I looked up the slope toward that fire ring. My friend was gone.

G. M. Goodwin

2 January 2015

My trip up the coast had become an adventure, a fine example of the hero’s journey. I had found the wise person I was supposed to meet and she had given me the treasure I sought. She was disguised as a car thief and she was not around in the morning when I awoke.