Equating a Hypothesis………………#73 (the 50’s)

Traffic Laden Highway 101 – Known as the Coast Highway

The return journey from Canoga Park to the Bay Area on the 5 hp. Cushman was prosaic.   Dale and Gary’s stamina for consummation of the return trip was waning,  once again acquainting the Highway,  the conciseness of the onrushing air and the ever-changing boutique emitting from the passing landscape.   Gary could appreciate the affinity for nature’s surrounding shared by those two-wheel travelers who glide the by-ways in their high-powered cycles, but still questioned whether they might be taking license for self-aggrandizement.   The Cushman occupants having changed their timeline, the three-day excursion from Oakland to Canoga Park on scenic  Highway #1  was abridged,  the northern journey home would be accomplished in two days utilizing the well-traveled highway #101.

A farewell to a scenic friend

A Black & White visitor

An afternoon start Gary once again perched on the two sleeping bags behind and above Dale, the two focusing on accomplishing the 175 miles to San Luis Obispo.  The adventurers becoming  dismayed, the enthusiasm that encased them at the start of this venture having subsided, the return journey home becoming somewhat anticlimactic.  North of Santa Barbara the highway passing within 100 yards of the breaker swelled ocean, Gary acknowledging a farewell to this scenic friend.   Dusk was approaching as they passed through San Luis Obispo, a community of 20,000,  exiting the city limits soon discovering a turn-out area  overlooking the highway.  The two travelers adhering to their no driving after dark rule and with the evening sun beginning to descend below the horizon  a decision was made to adjourn to this provisional  station.   Unlike the melodious concerts of their nocturnal bivouacs on Highway #1,  the lullaby song of the cascading waves of the blue pacific, the only evening sound was that of the  trafficking fanfare on #101.   Gary acknowledging the four lane made for a faster more direct route home but it was but a destination, but philosophically the real goal for this journey having yet to be determined. The rising sun and the echoing sound of 18 wheeler welcoming the travelers to resume their journey,  the two finding fuel for themselves and the Cushman 10 mile up the road at Santa Margarita.  With better than 250 miles remaining,  the steady droning of the muffler, the continuous buffeting of the wind and passing vehicle was remedied by a stop, a  stretching of the legs and a cigarette.  During a break in their travels stopping at the side of the highway before entering Salinas,  an authority from the state in  a black and white stopped to inquire about their purpose, asking if they needed any assistance, Gary briefly explaining about their return to Oakland.  The officer bidding them to be mindful of the traffic and wishing them a safe journey.

Dales residence on Lenard Drive in Castro Valley

The enterprising masters of the highway were but blocks from entering the gates of recognition announcing their return at Dale’s residence,  an inner feeling  beaming with accomplishment,  a return of the triumphal conquerors.   The two travelers, somewhat wind thrashed from the journey,  their goggles and  flight helmet liner exhibiting decorations from the inhabitants of the  road  were about to address the conclusion of their journey,  when once again  the Cushman slowed to a stop.   The drive chain having repeated its fallacy, a loss of the master link, chain separation  and with that, the triumphal return resulted in a hands-on approach,  the two having to enduring the disenchantment of pushing the scooter the final two blocks.

In search of a compass

Reality could be burdensome, Gary remained indecisive about his future, heavy with indecision and his logic which he relied upon was of no consequence.   The trek to the south with Dale was a temporary reprieve, the moirai remained, a determination and direction was needed.   The youth grasp that without a compass,  inactivity gained nothing and he found himself traversing the employment market of the large retail outlets in metropolitan downtown Oakland,  placating himself,  seeking employment whatever the vocation.  Deliberations and alternatives in his mind were still elusive, the youth seemed at a loss when an unexpected compass of fate intervene.

His mother was elated, a close friend from her school days in Yreka whom she hadn’t seen in years having moved to the bay-area and was visiting.  Gary having never heard his mother mentioning  Alice Larson Casserly,  but then again his mother was never one to disclosed very many of her childhood remembrances, Gary suspecting that it had something to do with his father’s reaction.   It was when Alice made her second visit that fate made its appearance.  Gary always a student of logic, determined that Karma, Fate,  Kismet, even luck required an equating hypothesis if to be acknowledged or accepted.  Accompanying Alice on this visit was her husband Jeff, regarded as Master Sergeant Jefferson A Casserly, United States Army.  Sergeant Casserly was newly assigned  recruiter at the Induction and Recruiting Center in the Federal Building downtown, not surprising the sergeant immediately displayed an interest in the youth.  An Introduction found the two in a discussion of the many educational and career opportunities available in the army.  Gary’s logic began to equate a hypothesis of the events that had just transpired during the past two weeks.  His cousin’s army missile association,  the Rocketdyne experience and now his mother’s friend Alice’s husband, an army recruiter, could this be fate, luck or in reality the components of an equation leading to a hypothesis.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.


%d bloggers like this: