Pretty

I often look forward by looking back first. A habit that is not always endearing or useful, but a hard one to break. One of my oldest friends came for a quick visit, too short. And as is always the case with old friends, we talked about old times. Specifically college in Santa Barbara and those post-college slacker years of the early 90's. The overall feeling these days is one of finding our place. Of placing ourselves in the story of our lives. From talking with friends I am gathering the impression that no one is ever where they expected to be, if they were even together enough to have expectations.

This is fine. This is beautiful even. It means where ever we go, there we are. I've been on many roads. I like to recall the numbers, as we name them on the west coast. The numbers are evocative. The 10. To me, this means Palms Springs, Joshua Tree, my hometown of Redlands, LA or Santa Monica. I've also taken that road all the way to the other side, ending in Florida, Jacksonville I believe is the other end.

But more rich in memories and nostalgia, more filled with adventure and fun is the ever beautiful 101. It starts in LA but it was never LA for me. It's the space in the middle. It's all of California that is not LA or SF. It's the journey in between, though a significant source of traffic in both cities. As I think of it now a thousand stories well up. But they are for another time.

For now, I just want to list the numbers I traveled on during my week in California last September. I've made a habit of being on the road in California in September recently.
Anyone who knows these roads can piece together the journey with their own memories. But it went like this:

SF heading south on the 101. 405-105-110-91 to end up at my cousins visiting with my dad. Next day, 91-105-405 to visit friends near UCLA. Then Sunset to Silverlake then to the 110 to Pasadena to crash with Suresh.
The next day we head north: 210-118-126-101 with lunch in Santa Barbara. More 101-then 68-1 and a stop in Monterey/Carmel. Then 1 again to Santa Cruz and Todd's place.
In the morning, the 1 to the 85-280-and into SF on the 1 again, stopping at Twin Peaks.
Further north on the 101 with the Golden Gate and all that gorgeous Marin County. Cut over on the 116 to the 1 and it's such an amazing road. And I was in such an amazing place.

On the way out, Mountain View Road to the 128 back to the 101. For good measure I took the 101 over the Bay Bridge and drove familiar roads in Berkeley. Ashby, Telegraph, College. As well as Broadway in Oakland. Which means the 580 back to the bridge.

On the day I left, threw in the 35 on the way to the airport after shooting down the 1 to Pacifica to put my feet in the water.

These are just numbers. These are just places. But in the days ahead, as in the days behind, I know these numbers will be significant and serve as landmarks. That whole 1600 mile week of driving through my past has served to propel me into my future. I relish the numbers.

It's not the same on the East Coast for me. The New Jersey Turnpike just doesn't cut it, though it can be useful. And I have had some great trips and seen the leaves turn in the Fall from windy little roads in the Mohawk Valley. There are those names in the East, so strange on the tongue; Cobleskill, Schoharie, Poughkeepsie, Saugerites. But the wide open space of the West is where I began, so that fond bias will always remain.

In europe, they tend to mix letters and numbers. I'm near the A11. It just doesn't quite get there for me, but I'm willing to give it a try. As soon as I get my wallet back with my license.

I'm willing to give everything a try again. There is so much potential in the days ahead, soon I'll have no time to remember, but I won't forget; the numbers, the faces, the in-between places.