Observations in Motion

Part 4, Back in the U.S... oops!

Brian and I awoke at our hotel at 0830; sleeping 7 hours straight through was wonderful.  We cleaned up, walked toward the train, and found an Italian restaurant whose servers looked kind of Italian, but again mostly spoke Spanish among themselves.  We had a great breakfast, drank gallons of coffee, and headed to the train station.  On the way, I felt a rumbling like Jimmy Dean's 'Big John' did at the bottom of the mine.  It seemed either Mexico was not done with me, or the Italians were declaring war, and the revenge was assessed in my Levi's.  Yup, right on the street, and in front of a full glass window, Houston had a problem. 

Fortunately, the station bathroom was not crowded, and Brian had an extra pair of shorts.  Incredibly fortunate.   Also fortunate that skinny Andy had a belt, so I cleaned up for the second time that morning, contributed my Levi's to the trash, cinched up my belt and continued Commando style to the train.  Do you have a good visual, now?  While I swore Brian to secrecy, I felt compelled to share this anecdote with the Sauvage Delivery Boys so they can enjoy my discomfort, even at this late date.

Now on the train from San Diego, I did not have to share a seat, so I will use the 'fortunate' word again.  The open space vistas were not changing that much.  Smaller rocks, but the same adobe color as the Mexican rocks, with more sage-type brush.  Oh yeah, a MUCH smoother ride, like on rubber wheels, vs. that shuttle van on the dirt road from Turtle Bay.  Now in view is Solana Beach, another of my adulthood surfing spots.  Wow, there is Swami's too, still a classic point break for regular foot forward surfers to make frontside turns… ok, the waves are Rights.  Saw the Especial Norte restaurant in Leucadia my brother took us to a few years ago, with no line yet for lunch.

Nice to be on the train with a planned schedule, and feeling back in control.  Now riding past where we walked across the tracks to the beach when Brother Ken and Helen lived in Carlsbad.  Did you know the Village Tavern in Carlsbad used to discount beer when the train rumbled by?  Interestingly, the cars parked in the beach communities here aren't any nicer than those in San Quintin; still Beach-funky.  Our train is now passing the cars driving past Pendleton.  "GI Beans and GI gravy, gee I wish I'd joined the Navy"… that got me through Boy Scout Devil Pup training with marching routines with the Marine Devil Dogs.  "I left my wife and forty-eight children alone in the kitchen in starving condition without any gingerbread left".  The military's open space is welcome relief, and still damn similar to space surrounding Ensenada.  Past San Onofre power plant to the surf spot Trestle's, that civilians had to sneak into down the creek with the dead seal, but my former roommate Hugh Brown and brother Allen got a pass from their father, Colonel Brown, to access restricted surf spots.  Allen cherishes a picture of Hugh by his car, a REAL Woody, there on the bluff.  The same clean waves roll on (RIP, Hugh).

Now approaching San Clemente, where we used to pile 12 year olds with surfboards into a slat sided work truck, way before it was outlawed by safety and good sense, but still great fun shivering in the back with your buddies.  You can still ride in these trucks in Mexico, observed there just yesterday.  Now passing San Clemente Pier.  Amazingly, Diana and I in our twenties were chaperones for her sister Denise' high school sorority weekend party.  I just kept pushing out the horney little peckerheads who kept trying to climb in the windows.  Good thing I still had my football weight back then.  Funny, the best ocean access and view homes are either multi-million dollar customs or 'grandfathered' mobile homes.