17 May: Pacifica / Half Moon Bay

17 May 2014

Why is it that everything turns into such a major drama?

On Thursday, I had to take someone over to the hospital for a procedure, and stay there until they were finished and drive them home.  The Cruiser has a low front apron on it that glides nearly soundlessly over the top of concrete bumpers but then catches on them when I try to back out and scrapes horribly.  I didn't realize they'd be taking Nick to a different entrance than the one we came in, so I had to go get the car and move it to the other entrance.  When I backed out, it scraped more horribly than usual, and a woman who was walking by looked at me and said accusingly, "It's BROKEN.  Your car is BROKEN!" like I had done it deliberately.  I said "Thank you," and she made some kind of nasty comment in return.  Beats me.  I got out and looked, and sure enough, the passenger's side of the apron/bumper had broken and was flapping.  It wasn't scraping the ground, so I figured I could still drive it if I was careful.  (Famous last words!)

I got Nick home and called the Chrysler dealer, and we agreed I could bring it in today.  I had a 10:00 appointment to drop my cleaning supplies at the Sunnyvale recycling center, and Enterprise rental cars closed at noon, so we agreed that I would bring it in as close to 9:00 as possible, get the rental, load the cleaning stuff into it, and I would continue on to my appointment.  (Chrysler no longer provides their own loaners; they have a deal with Enterprise.  "We sell them our cars, and they rent them back to us," was how the guy put it.)

Naturally, it's never that easy.

I got out of the apartment in plenty of time, which should have told me right there that it was going to be a bad day.  I got everything into the Cruiser and drove out, but I forgot about the damned apron and hit the first of our two speed bumps faster than I should.  The apron dropped off and started scraping.  I got out, pushed it back into place, and drove off again.  Although I went gently over the next one, the apron dropped off again, so I went into the side parking for the condo units on Homestead and tried to put it back in place again, but this time it had bent or something and I couldn't get it into place.  I called the Chrysler dealer.  He said to have it towed in.  I called AAA and they said it would be anywhere between "now" and 45 minutes.  I figured it would be an hour.  After 20 minutes, I got an automated call that AAA would be with me in 20-30 minutes.  20 minutes later, a flatbed showed up.  Unfortunately, when he pressed the remote control button that would drop the flatbed so he could load the car, it refused to budge.  He called his buddy and ended up apologetically informing me he would go back to Mountain View and get another truck and be back in 20 minutes.  I figured it would be more like 40 since it takes about 20 minutes just to get to Mountain View from my place.  One full hour later, a standard tow truck shows up and a different guy gets out.  He asked what was wrong -- evidently the first guy had moved it back into place so well it didn't look broken.  I told him, and he said, "Did he try to tie it up with zip ties?"  I said, "No," and he said, "Well, maybe he didn't have any. Would it be okay with you if I did that?  Maybe you could drive it to the dealer yourself if it works."  I said, "Sure!" so he got out a zip tie and proceeded to tie the thing in place so well it didn't look broken any more.  Five minutes of work and the car was drivable.  I hope the 2nd guy told the 1st one how to do it.  I probably could have driven the car indefinitely with it like that, but I don't like the idea of driving yet another old car held together by baling wire and zip ties, plus the Chrysler dealer was going to replace the clutch as well.  It was in need of it, getting worse every week, and although I could

I drove over to the dealer, arriving there well after 10:00.  (Oh yeah, I had tried to call the recycling center to tell them I would miss my appointment, but the only number Directory Assistance could find didn't answer.)  Filling out all the paperwork went well, and Joe told me that Enterprise was bringing over a Dodge Journey, as I had asked for a "small SUV" since I don't get up out of normal-height cars any more.  Imagine our surprise when the Enterprise guy showed up in a bright red Dodge Caravan.  Joe asked him if that was going to be the same price as the Journey, and it turned out that this was merely my "taxi" back to the Enterprise office.  Joe agreed not to move my car so I could transfer all my stuff into the Journey when I got it.

While I was sitting in the Enterprise office, I happened to look across the street and saw an old Chevy pickup truck with what looked like an Airstream camper shell on it.  Naturally, since I have a bazillion computer cables, I never have the one handy that I need, so until I can download the one from my camera, here's another one that looks astonishingly like it:

I went back later and discovered that the camper shell is an "Avion", manufactured sometime in the mid to late 1960's.  Very nice.  It was probably the same age as the truck but in a lot better shape.

I love all the weird cars I see around here.  While I was waiting for the tow truck(s), someone with a beautiful brand-new powder-blue convertible VW Beetle drove past, so silently that I thought something was wrong with the car.  It's not a Bug if it doesn't make that ringing noise that sounds like it's dragging a couple of chains.  Later someone with a new one that wasn't a convertible also drove by, but that one sounded like, well, the only description I could think of was "an asthmatic box fan."  It definitely had a noisy wheeze, so my faith in Beetles is restored.

And here's a picture of a Dodge Journey like I got from Enterprise, only I got one in a lovely sexy black:

It doesn't look like much but it's really a nice car.  And for $5 a day out of my pocket, I'm not going to complain.  It's lighter than the Cruiser, and it's got better acceleration and brakes, but I miss the heavy feel of my "pickup truck".  And I have to admit it's nice to have a car where the turning radius isn't measured in nautical miles!  The seats aren't as comfy -- there's a major console in the center that prevents me from sitting dead center in the seat -- and since they haven't flattened, every time I drop something, it slides down between the seat and the center console, requiring a major effort to retrieve whatever it is.

From the Enterprise office, I tootled north on Lawrence Expressway.  The Sunnyvale reclamation center where I was supposed to drop my cleaning stuff is off Lawrence after it curves around and becomes Caribbean Drive.  I stopped for lunch along the way and got one of Coco's San Francisco Sourdough burgers, a heavenly greasy mess as I recalled it. I splurged and had a piece of chocolate cream pie for dessert.  It took me about 20 minutes to eat it, it was so rich, and the chocolate so mesmerizing.  I thought it might be Hershey, because it reminded me of the Hershey chocolate syrup of long ago, but the waitress said they made their own pies from bricks of milk chocolate and she didn't know what brand it was except that it wasn't Hershey.  Well, whatever it was, it was incredibly good, and very dark for a milk chocolate.

I continued on to the reclamation site.  Although it's blocked from sight by a large earthworks next to the road, the unmistakeable smell of swamp gas announces its presence.  I drove in and flagged down the woman working at the gate for the commercial trucks, and asked about the household waste area.  "That's all over.  It's LONG over," she told me.  I said I was aware of it and I just wondered if I had come to the right place.  She said that when they hold the household cleaning products day, they have it marked off with cones and signs, and it was every third Saturday.  Well heck.  That means I drive around with the junk in my car until I can transfer it back to the Cruiser.  And THEN I drive around with it until I can get back down there on the 3rd Saturday of whenever.

So.  I decided it was a nice day, and with nothing to do and a good car, I'd take one of my drives.  I wanted some cool ocean air, but I know that on a nice Saturday, Santa Cruz and Highway 17 would be impossible, so I just drove right back up Lawrence and got on Highway 280 and drove north.  It was amazing.  It got noticeably cooler as I drove north up the Peninsula.  Right at the Highway 92 interchange in Belmont, there was a sudden change in the air.  I'd been watching the fog fingers creep over the hills from the ocean, but suddenly I could *taste* the moisture in the air.  It was so sweet I found myself taking big breaths of it and nearly hyperventilating.  It's been dry down where I am, everything full of static, but I never realized how dry until today.  I drove all the way up to where Highway 1 joins up with 280.  I was going to go across 280 to the East Bay and back south, but I couldn't remember if that was a toll or not, and I couldn't find my FasTrak in the bucket of stuff I'd retrieved from the Cruiser, so instead I turned off on Highway 1 south to Pacifica.  By that time I was close enough to the ocean that it was completely overcast.  I had the passenger windows down, front and back, and kept them that way the entire trip until I thought my teeth would chatter.  That damp foggy chillness across the back of my neck was a nice change from the heat of the last week or so.

I pulled off the highway just at the south end of Pacifica to find my FasTrak (I did) and drove around a bit.  Pacifica is about ten times larger than when I last saw it.  All I remembered was a stack of apartment buildings jammed into a hillside, barely visible in the fog.  But I found an older version of it today, one that was decidedly downmarket and vaguely familiar.  I thought maybe I was reminded of Eureka/Arcata, but it didn't have the right ambience.  But somewhere I've been in a place very much like it.  It looks like it might even be affordable.  Lots of ethnic restaurants and old guys in flannel shirts lugging a bag of groceries back to their flats.  Weeds growing up between cracks in the tarmac in the parking lots.  Apartment buildings of that vaguely 1960's motel style, with the outside staircases of concrete steps.  Vacant lots, for heaven's sake.  I didn't think there was a vacant lot anywhere between Marin County and Gilroy.

South of Pacifica, I encountered the "Tom Lantos Tunnels."  I knew these were new (well, since I'd last been there) and figured they must have been built to accommodate a slide.  I got it right in spades; it's the bypass for the notorious Devil's Slide area, where a slide closed Highway 1 for five months some years ago.  These are two of the longest tunnels in California:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Lantos_Tunnels
Check it out on Google Maps, in the satellite view.  You can see why they would want to bypass that slide area.  Some of those treeless areas start well east of the highway.

I continued south to the area of Montara Beach.  My word, is that lovely.  As gray as the fog overhead, Mother Pacific was surging quietly against the rock wall, and where there was sand, the waves were small and nearly silent.  I had to laugh when I saw a couple of guys with surfboards going down the beach.  I have no idea what waves they thought they would be catching.

I kept driving south, getting more and more into the weekend tourist traffic.  At one signal some fool couple on a motorcycle passed everyone on the right shoulder and cut in ahead of me.  The girl made some odd gestures while I followed them, and I finally realized that they had their helmets together and were having a conversation.  She'd wave her right hand, and he'd wave his left one, and the bike weaved all over the lane.  I was watching them carefully when the inevitable happened, although thankfully not to them or me.  The traffic had been stop and go, occasionally getting up to a good speed before coming to a complete halt with no warning, so between that and the crazy couple, I was keeping a good distance.  The guy ahead of THEM wasn't.  There was a sudden short shriek of rubber and a bang, and the red Mini solidly rear-ended the big Ford SUV in front of him.  The motorcycle zipped quickly around the cars and disappeared.  I stopped, the SUV moved to the shoulder, but the Mini didn't move.  Since I hadn't really seen anything (I'd been focused on the bike, and missed the lead-up to the bang), I figured that if I didn't get my car around the site, I might be hemmed in.  I got around the Mini, avoiding the pile of splintered plastic and miscellaneous parts, and continued on.  As I passed the Mini, I heard him start his car, so I figured it was still drivable enough to get over to the side.  I sure didn't envy anyone about half a mile back, though.  It was going to be a long trip home.  Even longer for the Mini driver, though.  The SUV might have had a dent, but I'm not sure.

I turned left in Half Moon Bay at Highway 92 to go back to I-280, but thought I'd pay my traditional visit to my old cherry trees, and went down Main Street.  Unfortunately, there was a street party in progress, so I turned off early to go find the house where they are (actually one block off Main) and they'd blocked the cross street where the house is, and even parked an enormous fire truck in front of it so I couldn't even see my trees.  I went around the next block (scraping the Journey's apron on a dip in the road; why do they make these damned things to hang down like that?!), back out to Highway 92, and followed the long, slow trail of cars out of Half Moon Bay.  It was kind of nice doing only 15 MPH, as it allowed me to see things I don't normally see, like the Odd Fellows' Cemetery on the north side of the road, all overgrown with weeds and some interesting monuments here and there.  I didn't see any parking but it must be an interesting place to visit.  There is a small forest of eucalyptus just as you leave the last vestiges of civilization.  There is a place just before it that advertises "surplus lumber" and has a bunch of life-size wood carvings of rampant, roaring bears.  As you drive past, you realize that there's a section of the acreage that has nothing but piles of what looks like different types of firewood, neatly trimmed, and then you're in the forest.  The smell of the damp eucalyptus was mixed with the heady aroma of a wood fire (some of that "surplus lumber", perhaps?).  I don't know what it was, but something about the combination of smells, the damp cold day, and the afternoon light took me right back to the days we used to camp out with our travel trailer.  The wood smoke overlaying the eucalyptus was so delicious I wanted to just take a bite out of it.  I nearly bayed out the window.  What the heck burns with that heady incense-like fragrance?!

The rest of the trip home was uneventful; got over to I-280 and back home without incident.  The reservoir looks comfortingly full, and the hills along Highway 1 are still green.  The hills on I-280 are golden, the golden brown of the usual summer die-off and not that horrible burnt-brown that I saw in Central California earlier this year.  It looked DEAD.  This only looks pretty.

So, supposedly I hear on Tuesday about the Cruiser.  We shall see what they say about the clutch and the apron.