11. Homeward Bound
Sorry for not keeping my blog up to date. I was occupied with a little work I promised to do for a healthcare company in Ann Arbor, and Marcia and I settled into a California routine, with the result that nothing seemed sufficiently new to write home about.
It must be time for a change.
Which is fortuitous, because change is afoot. As you read this, we will have said our goodbyes to west coast family and begun our drive back to Ann Arbor, following the southern route most of you recommended.
There are a number of “road home” songs we will play in the car on our trip. I am no musicologist and don’t know if “road home” is a genre in its own right, or an intersection of road songs and songs about home. Either way, several tunes come to mind from my era: Simon and Garfunkel's Homeward Bound; John Denver’s Take me Home Country Road; the Stone’s Goin’ Home; the Beatles’ On Our Way Home; and Gladys Knight’s Midnight Train to Georgia.
Midnight Train to Georgia is technically a rail song, not a road song, but after one sells his own car (in the 5th stanza), the rails are all that remain, so we will play it.
Feel free to email titles to add to our playlist. Our route will require about 60 hours of driving, spread over 12 days. At 4 minutes a track, that comes to 900 tunes. Right now, our list is too short to get us out of California. Save us from playing the same song twice.
Alas, decamping is difficult. I already ache for my children and grandchildren. I will leave large parts of my cardiovascular system in the bay area. There is a song title in there somewhere.
This will also be my last entry in our “California Daze” series of postings. Marcia and I look forward to seeing many of you when we return. In person. Face to face. We leave behind some new friends, the technobabble of Silicon Valley, and the incomparable San Francisco Bay and the hills that decorate her shores.
Last week, I wormed my way onto a cruise on one of the Cal Sailing Club’s 28 foot keelboats. It occurred to me, after I returned, that I was the only US-born member of the crew. Our skipper was Israeli (but born in Holland); the other crew were a Swiss accountant, a Japanese biotechnology scientist, a Pakistani electrical engineer, and a Chinese graphic designer.
Near the entrance to the bay, under the Golden Gate, the wind whipped ferociously and we reefed the mainsail and swapped in a small (65%) jib sail to maintain control of the boat. Even so, we were heeling 45 degrees and sat side by side on the windward rail to add our weight to the ballast in the keel. Our foul weather gear was soaked.
The skipper knew seamanship. The rest of us faked it. The forces on a larger boat in a high wind are considerable, and while I know how to sail I had no idea what sort of stresses the boat (or the crew) could take. I silently repeated to myself: Don’t fall off the boat, Paul. Keep your fingers out of the winch. Don’t fall off the boat, Paul. Keep your fingers out of the winch.
We turned the boat east toward Alcatraz and then south towards San Francisco, dodging dozens of other sailboats and motorcraft that had positioned themselves along the perimeter of a Sail GP regatta, in which catamarans with mylar sails, hydrofoils, and professional crews tore through a racecourse at speeds over 40 miles per hour. As we approached the city the wind eased, I had time to take a selfie, and we tied up next to the Ferry Building for an ice cream break. 30 minutes later we cast off and traversed the bay once more, sailing into the Berkeley marina just as the sun dropped behind Mount Tamalpais.
At this point, obviously, we cue the music. I don’t know about you, but I also hear the sonorous voice of a disembodied narrator who bids goodbye to the Golden City, as Paul and Marcia’s 3-1/2 month California sojourn draws to a close. Two velvet curtains swing together in front of the screen, and the voice wishes our couple a safe journey eastward — full of adventure, beauty, meaning, and delicious irony.
Onward!
Paul