While I prefer being a homebody, I do find road trips
enjoyable. Florida,
South Carolina, Maine,
Canada, California,
Washington, Kentucky,
Michigan, New
York, Maryland, Delaware—all
places visited over the last 20 years.
The most unusual trip? Hmmm, would
that be the trip to Florida with
a spinet piano in the back of our Honda Pilot?
Or the train trip to California
(including an hours long breakdown in Utah)
with 4 young children while my husband finished remodeling our house? Perhaps it was driving to Quebec
and taking the train back home to Pennsylvania
with a train change in New York
and an overnight with a friend in Philadelphia. Though each of those presented their own
unique joys and challenges, the most memorable road trip was the time I went solo
in Northern California.
It all started with my dad’s desire to attend his 60th
high school class reunion in Tulare, California. We flew to Bakersfield
with plans to stay at his brother’s house, he for the duration and me for a
night on either end. The day following
our arrival, we visited my aunt’s sister’s farm in Visalia. Being used to the farms of several hundred
acres on the east coast, this 1000+ acre produce farm was eye opening. The output was incredible—huge peaches,
luscious grapes and much, much more.
From there I continued, just me and the rental car, going
further north than I had ever been on the West Coast. In spite of spending most of the first 21
years of my life in California, I
had never been further north than Fresno/Sequoia/King’s Canyon. This was my opportunity. Our youngest son was spending the summer
interning at Point Reyes National
Park, and that’s where I was headed. But first I made a stop in Modesto
where a friend was in the hospital after a hiking accident. He was glad for the visit, brief though it
was, and I left him with a very large, beautiful peach from the produce farm. Back on the road I headed for Stockton
and then turned west, traveling through rolling hills, vineyards and hundreds
of windmills.
I arrived at Point Reyes just after
dark and met up with our son, Jonathan, at a “let’s all get together and hang
out” type party. It may have been
somebody’s birthday; I’m not sure. A lot
of new faces, names I wouldn’t remember, and conversation. I was by far the oldest there—in my mid-fifties—but
everyone was welcoming and kind. The
rest of the week was spent at the house Jonathan shared with a co-worker, a
ranch style house from the days when the Park had been ranch land. While Jonathan was at work, I explored the
small town of Inverness, read from
the collection of books at the house and spent time bird watching out the
windows. After work, he took me
sightseeing in various parts of the park.
And on the last day we tackled the Point Reyes
lighthouse. The 308 steps down to the
lighthouse were easy to navigate. The
lighthouse itself was rather small, especially compared to the rocky
outcroppings, but interesting. The rocks
were draped with sea lions who were quite the attention getters. Then came the
“climb” back up. My son and his
coworker, being young and in great shape from working outdoors, sprinted to the
top and waited for me. I and most of
those around me took our time, not hurrying, not lagging, taking each step
upward with a measured, steady pace, conserving our energy. I definitely felt a sense of accomplishment
at the top and celebrated by buying a Point Reyes Lighthouse poster which I
have to this day.
But all good things
must come to an end and on the morning that marked the end of my visit,
goodbyes were said and hugs exchanged. I
was headed for San Francisco and
the Golden Gate Bridge,
not wanting to miss the opportunity to see something of the city as I drove
through or the experience of driving over the famous bridge. It all passed by quite quickly and I soon
found myself on Highway 1, another of the experiences I had put on my list to
accomplish. The road was good;
guardrails were pretty much non-existent and the locals drove very fast, but
the scenery was more than worth it and the frequent turnouts helped keep us
tourists from giving the locals too much grief for which I was thankful.
A turn back east and I was back at my uncle’s house to spend
an evening and night with them. In the
morning my dad and I flew to Tucson, Arizona
to visit my brother and family and then to Iowa
to visit our other son, family and new baby.
And then home to Pennsylvania.
Quite the adventure all around, but the best part was going
solo.
