SOLO YO

(Only Me) by Jim Hickson

Since my wife was taking a 18 day trip to Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee and Virginia I decided to take my own road trip to the California Central Coast. When I mentioned this to our “kids” the response varied from “Awesome,” to “Whaaat? ! Really! Alone?” as if I had told them that I was going paragliding over Lake Tahoe. I guess when you reach a certain age your kids can be shocked by certain announcements you make and they start to worry how you will function.

I was hoping to see some of the wildflower super-bloom in the rolling hills as I remember vividly the last time we drove those winding roads in 2017 and were absolutely stunned. The 2023 Spring bloom was big news.

I wish I could say this recounting of my recent trip was an unforgettable, nearly life- changing excursion but it was not. (Not that I needed a life changing adventure at my age). In the end I was just satisfied with navigating the roads, planning my motels and airbnbs, and not losing my Visa card (or new/used iPhone). Although I tried to leave my Visa card in a restaurant. Also I must include, not losing any luggage (in the past off the car’s roof), and having the 2013 Honda function perfectly.

What follows are some mundane glimpses for the memory bank.

Scoring a premier window seat at Taste Restaurant in Plymouth and being able to order bar food instead of the expensive prix fixe tab. A man and woman engage me in conversation and I learn a little too much about them. She is a ex-attorney turned licensed spiritual hospice councilor who enthusiastically drinks her Zinfandel (and knows nothing about wine). He is her adopted older brother who is a minister and real estate agent (an interesting dual occupation). They have both driven up from the Rocklin area for dinner. They seem to know very little about where I am headed, though very interested I am traveling alone for 9 days. The longer we chat I sense some discordant weirdness about them. He asks me “Have you read the preamble to the Constitution? Sharon and I are both studying it.” I immediately sense the bait he has cast and change the subject. Are they people who carry a little book of the U.S. Constitution in their pocket? Tea-Party anyone?

I eventually turn away and enjoy my delicious shepherds pie.

I walk the nearly deserted streets of Baywood (southern arm of Morro Bay) under the dome of clouds. I find a local place with big outdoor decks called Beerwoods. Only four older men are chatting outside at 3 p.m. relating life stories (sounds familiar).

I enter the small lobby where a man about 45 greets me, asks how I’m doing etc.

I tell him “just fine, as I am on a solo road trip.” The gal working the deli/kitchen says, “WHAT! I’m jealous!” The guy says “Solo, really? Oh man.”

They both study me. The guy says, “Really? Solo?” I reply, “yup, nobody knows exactly where I am or what I am doing next; where I should be.” He tops the beer off, shakes his head and says, “mannn, ahh solo….” stares at the floor and shakes his head. I go outside and find a seat and eve-drop on the old guys.

Every day becomes cooler, breezier and cloudier. I can’t sit outside very long since I don’t have a parka or gloves, just some long sleeve t-shirts and a thin sweater. Also 3 pairs of shorts I never wear. My hike (which I envisioned to be a highlight) in Montana del Oro State Park is in a heavy mist. The flowers I see are muted. I sit on a bench over the grey ocean, eat an apple with some peanuts and watch the tide come slowly in. I return to my cute airbnb and patio which seems to be directly in a wind tunnel off the bay and ocean and turn the heaters on.

Poppies. Montana del Oro.

3 days in Atascadero. One morning of sun. I visit one glamorous winery my brother belongs to. But there is beautiful green countryside outside my nice airbnb. The hosts, who I never see, bring a basket of fruit and muffins that appear every morning outside on my patio. I enjoy a nice, rather steep hike above Atascadero Creek and walk the town. Eat another dinner in my kitchen rather than spend an exorbitant sum at a local restaurant several miles away.

I drive north up highway 25 through the San Benito Valley toward Pinnacles. When the occasional sunbeam strikes a distant hill swaths of wildflowers look like huge blots of watercolors. Lupin, poppies, phlox. 3 cars pass me in an hour and a half. I stop in the middle of the road and take photos. A glimpse of Old California.

San Benito Valley

Still it is mostly overcast.

When I get to Pinnacles National Park I’m glad I cancelled my overnight stay. It is drizzling and cold and the rugged hills are masked with fog.

I stay overnight at a huge motel complex that looks like it was teleported from Palm Springs. Totally incongruous along a highway 5truck stop. I discover ornate rooms connected to their nice restaurant filled with valuable plein-air oil paintings. I recognize some of the artists. Almost all of them of old California. I am stunned. Millions of dollars hanging from the walls, nobody around, all doors open. Must have been an eccentric billionaire who created this huge display along with the plaza, fountains, and 168 rooms. When I ask the hostess about this she says, “His great, great, great, grandchildren will have no worries.”

The brightness and beauty of these painting counteract the wind and overcast.

When I leave the Mission del Oro for home the next morning it is raining. In Santa Nella, which averages 11 inches a year. On May 2. It’s 30 degrees below normal.

I drive north into Sacramento, passing 400 trucks, have a wonderful lunch with my daughter and son-in-law and then head home, up to Colfax.

When I arrive it is raining lightly and 45 degrees. I unpack, build a fire in our old wood-stove, pour a glass of wine and watch the Giants struggle again on our small TV.

I still have food in the ice chest for a decent dinner. Yo Solo. Just me.