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The long walk to thanksgiving.

Like many kids we had long been fascinated with trains. This was likely sparked by David's Christmas gift of a Southern Pacific SDP-40 engine and caboose which thrilled and ignited our imagination.

Over the years we would enthusiastically spot them from the back seat on many trips or following the rail bed, either current or in ruins, as it weaved through the country along the highway. We would especially pay attention to the regular transit of the local freight short line operation through Sebastopol. We would be playing in the yard and hear the distant blast of the horn and judge if it was entering town from Santa Rosa or returning from Graton. Jumping on our bikes we would decide how fast to ride down to High School Road, up to Hurlbut, or across to DuFranc to meet the train at the crossing. Sometimes we guessed wrong and had to turn back disappointed.

Our regular visits to family in Auburn were rewarded with the amazing sights of the transcontinental freights climbing or descending the long haul through Auburn to or from Donner Pass. On one visit we were with Mom visiting Papa at the trailer park. Since we had a few hours to kill we, David, myself, and Matthew asked if it was ok to hike down the the tracks to look around and explore. Thinking back I am amazed at almost teenagers running round a main-line railroad. Since we had taught ourselves as much as we could, we knew enough to keep an eye out for trains and walk on the side for the most part. We may have benefitted from the chance that we were exploring the up-track so any trains were moving slower. I now know how dangerous this can be. A down-track train that is coasting between power and braking and going down-wind can literally sneak up on you and be zooming by before you hear it. There must have been a break in traffic, or our guardians were on the job, because I do not recall seeing more than a few trains that day; as it was to turn out, all day.

We finally calculated that it was time to be back so we headed back to the trailer park only to find it locked and empty. Hmmm, we thought. Maybe that rarely heard warning, "Come on now or we are leaving without you" had finally come true. We began to wonder if we had been left. Not permanently, but for an unknown number of hours. What to do?

We decided to take matters into our own hands. Having been out to the ranch near Meadow Vista many times we were sure we knew the way. Also, we knew the tracks pass by the freeway offramp on the highway to the ranch. We decided to simply walk along the tracks and cut across to the highway and continue out to the ranch. One of a handful of problems we failed to comprehend, and did not have the experience to judge, was just how long it takes to walk, as compared to the few minutes it takes to drive.

So off we went. Back to the tracks and headed out in the direction of Donner Pass, heading east. After a mile or so the tracks cross highway 49. I recall our discussion of whether to cross the bridge or work our way down to the highway and find a crossing. I am not sure, but it seems we judged the bridge too narrow if a train came so we crossed at a near-by intersection (or across the highway when there was a gap??). The bridge was then a steel girder span. Today it is pre-stressed concrete.

Getting back on tracks we continued next to a field as the tracks made their way between 49 and I80. Matthew being rather young was having a little trouble and began to complain. David and I did our share of complaining and arguing about the situation as we trudged on into the afternoon. There was a road next to a fence on the north side. As we explored we happened to find a ball-bearing from a rail car. Maybe it was a remnant from on old derail. We picked it up and continued our trek.

We began to grow weary and were greatly disappointed when it became clear we were approaching a turn south as the tracks are forced to wind through the terrain for reasons greater than the needs of three hungry boys.


About that time we decided to abandon the tracks and set off along the road toward the Airport. Based on memories of attending a horse show near the airport we know there was a road back to I80.

We decided to take a risk and go around to the airport to see if we could find a phone and a number and try to call the ranch to let them know where we were and what we were trying to do. It was a small airport then and we were only able to talk to one person. We tried to explain we needed some money and a phone to make a call but apparently he did not buy our story and went on his way without much discussion.

So we set off again toward I80 to find the old rutted road we remember from the horse show was replaced with a fully modern secondary highway the current Bell Road. The asphalt as fresh and the remaining construction equipment indicated we had stumbled on a brand-new highway. We set off and it began to sink-in we were running out of time as the sun set before we arrived at the freeway. As this point we had to guess if Bowman Road, the frontage road heading north along the freeway was going to get us to Placer Hills Road, the highway to Meadow Vista. We were afraid that it would connect to the road which wound up and down an back and forth, Lake Arthur Road, but hopefully would get us to the Meadow Vista off-ramp where we knew the last mile very well.

It was then that the Sheriff pulled up and asked us if we were the lost boys? We hesitantly admitted that  "Yes that sounds like us". Scared that we were in trouble, we hopped in and he gave us a ride the last few miles to the ranch. It was dark when we arrived to find a buzz of activity and begin to realize people had spent the afternoon driving all over trying to find us. If only we had left a note...we were informed.

I remember upon entering the house, Papa simply gave us a firm look and shook his head. That was the extent of his comment, and I will never forget it. That one look communicated an entire lecture and reprimand and expression of disappointment at our inexperienced series of unfortunate events.

So three rather thankful boys settled down to a late thanksgiving dinner. During the next few days we were playing around with the ball-bearing we found, a 2 in ball of steel, checking out how it would roll or throwing it around. We found out it fit on the upper lip of the bumper of our Ford station wagon. We became distracted and left it there.




Later we loaded the car and said our good-byes and started to drive down the highway only to hear a strange sound coming from the engine. A rrrrrrrr-bang, rrrrrrrrr- bang. !?!? Dad urgently pulled over and got out and checked under the hood and all seemed in order. Then we remembered, "Oh yea, Dad we left the ball bearing on the bumper". And there it was.  Dad was beginning to wonder "what next with you kids!!?!?!" We retrieved our find and were able to make the trip home safely.

I apologize Mom!

The Wiesbaden post reminded me of an apology I owe to Mom and Dad. One of many, I'm sure. As a parent I now have a different perspective of what it means to prepare a child for their first day of school. However, as noted, I was at times somewhat stubborn and independent. At the time I thought it was the logical thing to do. In hindsight, I must have let Mom down. Not once but twice.

The first time in Wiesbaden. As shown in the map of the neighborhood, my Kindergarten classroom was about 500 feet down the street. I recall Mom lovingly and excitedly helping her third child get ready for his first day of school. When the time came, and all was ready, Mom said "shall I walk you to school?" And I said "No! I can walk there by myself!" She said "are you sure?" I responded "yes, I am sure!" (Awwww)

The second time was about four months later, as I recall. Again we were getting ready for my first day of Kindergarten in a new house, riding a bus, to a new school, in a new city, on another continent. This time Mom offered to drive me to school. Again I said "No! I can take the bus!" So I crossed the street and waited by myself, and took the bus. (Awww)

Sorry Mom for raining on your proud day. I suppose you made it up when you sent me off to San Diego, though Andrea helped me from Santa Barbara by driving me down.

Everything I owned fit in the back seat, trunk, and bike on the bumper rack, of Andrea's Ford Pinto. I was not, even then, very good at planning ahead. When I am not interested in the details, I tend to procrastinate. I managed to get the address of the apartment I was to share with Wendell, Dan, and Glen. I was pretty sure. But no-one what there. They had not arrived yet. I was not sure when they were to arrive. We had to look up the property management company. Somewhere in El Cajon. I recall they were not open. That was a strange message. "Hi, I may be a tenant, I think this is the address, no-one is home, I don't have a key..."

Andrea and I, based on our experience with Steve and Gena on the two week back-pack trip, thought we would find a local campground. Looking at the map, we thought that Mission Bay looked good. Yea, if you have a reservation and $100! So we had dinner and saw a movie at the Ken in Kensignton. We knew we would find something, and had our camping skills to fall back on.

Good thing.

At that time Lake Murry was closed to decontaminate the water from a spill or something. Again, looking at map we thought we would give it a try. It was just enough. The lake and park were closed and fenced off. So at dusk we squeezed over the fence, and quietly laid out our sleeping bags and slept under the stars, among the Condos around the 400acre or so park. With ants crawling. Only a few people walked by. We bothered nobody and nobody bothered us. The next morning we got up and broke camp. After breakfast we eventually found my room-mates at the apartment.

So I started out an independent Kindergartener, and ended up a homeless College student, for one night.

Sorry Mom. Thanks Andrea.