California Adventure

Entry 9

August 13, 2015

In the previous entry, I said that I forgot to put money in the parking meter before going into Caffe Trieste. However, I forgot to mention what else happened regarding that. After I had been typing away and meeting new people in the coffee shop for about two hours, I happened to glance outside the window and see what looked like a large tow truck on the street beside my white mustang. Panic flooded me, and immediately following panic was adrenaline. I left my new MacBook Air and my phone on the table, frantically said excuse me as I brushed rudely past John of San Francisco and ran full speed out the door to my car, hoping to get there before they hauled it away. When I reached the mustang, I saw that the truck beside her was not a tow truck. And to my surprise, there was not even a ticket on my car.

Feeling very fortunate, I dug around in the console and managed to find enough quarters to keep my spot for the maximum allowable time which was two hours. By this time, I was laughing with relief and apologizing to John for having almost wiped him out during my hasty exit earlier. He and Lani were both surprised that I did not have a ticket. We all decided that must have been my good fortune to make up for the twenty five dollar toll fine I would eventually have to pay because of my earlier predicament at the toll booth.

When I was finally alone at the little round mosaic table, I worked more quickly, of course. By this time, I wanted to be caught up with writing about the past events of my trip so that I could spend some time on the streets of San Francisco before heading back to Fresno. As the final sentences came together, another visitor appeared at the round table. My recollection is that his name was Roy. The man was older and my first assessment of him told me that he likely had some type of neurologically degenerating condition. His gaze was averted and there was apparent oral weakness which affected the clarity of his speech. After a great deal of effort and care, Roy was seated safely. Initially, I got up and moved beside the chair in case I needed to adjust it before his weight was transferred. Ultimately, he managed without my assistance.

Roy was polite and immediately asked if he could buy me a drink. He surveyed the empty pear cider bottle that remained on the table and I thanked him for his offer and said that the cider was very good. Shortly after Roy was settled, the barista greeted him by name. Roy didn't get in line to order. He just held up the cider bottle and said he wanted one of these. The server said "That has alcohol in it Roy." You want Snapple. In response, Roy clarified that he definitely wanted the cider. As the exchange progressed, the man behind the counter continued to serve those in line. When it slowed down a bit, the barista said, "You'll get drunk, Roy. You want Snapple." Then Roy conceded and said "Yes, I'll take Snapple."

A moment later, Roy had his cup and seemed content. He turned his attention back to me and asked if I like his shirt. The light blue stripes at 90 degree angles formed small squares over a white background and the buttons were simple. The color of the stripes matched his large blue eyes perfectly. I told him so, and added that my sons both have beautiful blue eyes too. Roy's attention seemed to drift off as he gazed downward and wiped the drool which had escaped from the corner of his mouth as he sat holding his drink.

As I typed, my eyes attended to Roy discretely. He sat slumped in the chair with his pants well above his waist, covering a small gut. The August afternoon was warm, but Roy insisted that he was not hot in his wool coat when I asked him if he wanted to take it off. He tried to explain that the evenings sometimes get cool. My nods and responses seemed to assure him that I understood what he was saying.

Eventually, Roy left with his cup still full. Before my departure from this nostalgic shop, I reviewed John of Sequoia's texts about where I may want to go while in San Francisco. I remember that it was about 2:30 because when I checked the time, I realized that my meter would have run out shortly after 2. Again, I rushed outside and found the mustang safe and sound with no ticket. I drove up a block and found a new spot, inserted all the change I had left, which was only enough to keep me in the green for 15 minutes. There was a bank less than a block away so I went there and got two rolls of quarters.

When the business of parking and paying was done, I found City Lights, a book store. On a leisurely day, I would have spent hours there. However, because I was cramming all of my San Francisco time into a few hours, it was obvious that the privilege would have to wait. After a quick walk through and a picture, I went to Vesuvius to have a glass of wine and experience the atmosphere in order to strengthen my emotional connection to this strange and wonderful city.

As I sat at the bar sipping, I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. Sadness and euphoria collided. How can two emotions be so opposite and yet so similar? It occurred to me that, until 4 months ago, my emotions have been filed away for such a long time that they have likely forgotten how to behave. This fact became obvious about a week into my trip when I finally decided to let them roam freely in the mountains.

During the next few minutes, I contemplated the new friendships which had emerged over the past two weeks, grateful for the unique connections I had made. Did my heart ache because it knew how I would miss all that I had found here? Or did it ache out of gratitude for such an opportunity as this? Admittedly, there were other reasons for it to ache, but there was no need to consider those, knowing that it was unproductive to do so. I sent John a quick picture to let him know that, once again, his suggestions had been fruitful. By this time, I knew John of Sequoia was growing tired of my constant girly chattiness, albeit via text. Nevertheless, I persisted since there was nothing to lose by it, knowing I would be gone soon.

With my backpack already fastened, I paid the bartender and went back toward Caffe Trieste to purchase a souvenir in memory of the friends I had met at Sunset in Grant Grove. On the Saturday morning that John and Yvonne were packing to leave, I had coffee with them on the rocks (as I think I mentioned earlier). They used a French press for brewing and I remember how the resulting beverage tasted smooth and pure.

When I brought up the subject of how good the coffee was, Yvonne chuckled and said it was just because of the cold. Whatever the reason, I loved the coffee and decided that I would brew my coffee this way from now on. After I had made my purchase, it was time to go snap a shot of the Golden Gate Bridge and get on the road again. I would stay in Fresno for the night and fly out early the next morning.

My shot of the bridge did not particularly please me, but at least I got one. Then, I turned on my navigation and said goodbye to San Francisco. However, the city had one last surprise for me. Before long, I realized that she would say goodbye on her own terms... Of course, I made the best of it and tried to appreciate her terms as it WAS a city. Two hours later, I finally escaped the traffic and San Francisco smiled mischievously... knowing she had taught me a lesson. We called it even and I smiled back at her with a smirk suggesting that we were an even match.

Within minutes, I was on the open road again tempting the law one last time before my flight to North Carolina. Something about being behind the wheel of the mustang made me wild....which reminds me of another thing I wanted to mention about my driving on this adventure. First of all, I have never owned a sports car, so I had no idea how it would affect me when I decided to rent the mustang upon landing in Fresno that day.

For the first few days of my trip, I was busy trying to navigate the curvy mountain roads and orient myself. For this reason, my mischievous relationship with the mustang developed slowly, without my awareness, having completely blossomed by the time I left Mammoth.

At last, I arrived in Fresno again, tried to sleep a little, and eventually said goodbye to the mustang. Reluctantly, I found my gate and boarded the first of three flights which would take me back to the place I have called home for almost twenty years (Wilmington, NC). John texted me and said he hoped I would find as much beauty and life at home as I had brought to California. I responded by saying that "Home is where the heart is." Right now, my heart is trailing behind somewhere - protesting. Not being the controlling type, I left it be. Perhaps it will hide well and require a diligent search for its safe return.