Inquisitive Quest

Preparation was cardinal, the two recent high school graduates about to invoke on a possible thousand mile round trip on a single 5 hp.  Cushman Road King motor scooter and to stipulate a journey of this magnitude Gary Willson and Dale Spady would be diligent in selecting provision.   Passage to an army surplus depository established some unique procurement’s not on their agenda.   Gary regarded it as pragmatic, it might appear extrinsic, but a  flight helmet liner was in order.  It was olive drab in color, nylon cloth like material, tight-fitting and to accompany this world war II relic, both boys acquiring amber tinted goggles.  The googles being a necessity, shielding their eyes from the insect domain of the open road,  Gary feeling especially venerable as he would be sitting on two sleeping bags, raised up  behind Dale on the rear jump seat.  Also on order was a saddle bag with several compartments to accommodate changes of clothing and rations for meals if necessary.  A discussion concerning the extent of travel that could be accomplished in a day was soon dismissed as impractical.  This journey would be to experience vibrancy and freedom from the constrictions of responsibility including mileage goals.  Gary placing a well received telephone call to his  Cousin Bud residing in Canoga Park northeast of Los Angeles, arrangements being made for the two to stay with him and his family.

WWII  liner and goggles a necessity

The Cushman Road King was saddled and ready as were the two adventurers as the earlier morning fog shrouded atmosphere encasing the bay-area.  Gary and Dale mounting their oracle of transportation venturing to the Nimitz Freeway entrance on 98th Ave.   The entrance sign notification was significant  “entrance for vehicles less than 5 hp. Not Permitted”.   Heading south on the freeway, the scooter traversing along at 40 mph when Dale began slowing to a halt at the side of the road.  Gary question him if there was a problem, his reason was a resounding  “I’m cold”.   Gary understood, realizing that they both hadn’t considered the wind chill and failed to dress appropriately.  The jackets were non insulated windbreakers and likewise the leather gloves they both adorned were also non insulated, but more for show.   Gary could ascertain from Dale’s voice that he was hesitant to continue, especially at that speed on the freeway,  Gary rationalizing,  it was the damp fog that was the culprit.   Once again they continued their journey stopping once more before reaching the junction of the Bayshore Freeway and the San Jose City limits.  On West San Carlos St, they found a twenty-four hour bowling alley deciding to stop and kill some time and discuss the situation and regenerate some discernible heat.   Relaxing and warming the adventure was still somewhat questionable but a decision was delivered from above as they walked out of the of the bowling alley, discovering a bright sunlit morning.

Highway #17 over the Santa Cruz Mountains

The truckers were amiable, Gary acknowledging their patience, the Cushman with two dauntless adventurist aboard was in the slow lane, lugging up highway #17 over the Santa Cruz Mountains, having fallen in line with the tractor and trailer burden laden eighteen wheelers.   Second gear and 20 mph was the most speed attainable by the  loaded scooter, but once cresting the grade, it was fifty plus going downhill.  Santa Cruz, the boardwalk and the beach was tempting,  but their limited finances of $75 between them, the wind-blown duo foregoing temptation deciding to continue, soon finding themselves on Highway 1, the coast highway, eager for a Monterey lunch.

The marina at Monterey

The entrance to 17 Mile Drive

Pebble Beach Club House

The marina at Monterey spiked Gary’s interest,  the slips filled with sailing crafts of every imaginable size.   The seagoing vessels nestled side by side,  dancing every so slow with the gentle rise and fall of the ocean basin.  The invigorating fragrance captured by the shoreward breeze was  beckoning its invitation, luring those susceptible to its enticements.   Something about the sea made pause,  but this was nor the time, its voice acknowledged,  finding Gary returning from thought joining Dale the two once more posted on the motorized transport.   The sign read, 17 mile Drive and Gary immediately reflected, Pebble Beach, the Cadillac of all golf courses.   He noticed that Dale’s interest hadn’t peak,  but Dale wasn’t a duffer, with a little insistence Dale relented turning towards this legendary course.  Gary was disappointed,  the course as seen from the road was like most links, uninspiring until you teed off and traversed the course did one absorb the scenic wonders that most non-players are unaware of, experiencing the manicure foliage, the waterfalls,  fish laden ponds, and all the scenic wonders embedded in a  golf course.   Gary like many found the game not always about competing and placement of a ball,  but the substance of a fresh breeze, the quiet sculptured solitude and the aura of enlightened  serenity.  It was noticeably apparently the golf course was out-of-bounds but the haven of  wonders on the rest of  17 mile drive  were more than enriching, and with the afternoon  waning it was  back to the highway 1,  Carmel a very short distance beckoning.

A town of quaint village shops

Beach at Carmel

Carmel was picturesque, it reminded the youth of an alpine village bundled amongst a tree laden enclosure.   What astonished Gary was the ambulation down the main street,  seizing on the quaintness, up a gentle slope, then suddenly reaching a crest, before you as if on a Cinerama theatre screen appears an expanse of sparkling white sand and beyond the crisp tops of breaking water ebbing onto the beach.   Gary having frequented the beach at San Francisco and walked along its sandy mire, but never having experience the pristine  polish of Carmel’s consort.   The evening was approaching  finding the teens once more on the two lane path of highway 1, but a new companion joining their  company,  the ever-present Pacific  keeping watch over their progress.

South of Carmel

The first nights nocturnal view

Captivating Scene

On the left side ,  just ahead,  a turnout area that rose on a gentle slope.   Gary speculating,  it having been used as a scenic rest,  one could gaze across and below at a small white sand cove with a protrusion of  wave encrusted rocks  silhouetted against  the glowing sunset ebbing in the west.   It was time to lodge for the night.  Disembarking the Cushman, the two removed their sleeping expertise and making  station for the night.   An open pit was present,  some previous spectator having succumbed to building a warming fire,  the invitation accepted.   The  evening drew nigh, with the sound of cresting seas breaking and rushing to meet the accepting strands of firma,  a nocturnal repose was greeted, a welcomed rest.

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