California – Returning Home

The Last California Road Excerpt

I have written four blogs on my “road” in California if you have been keeping up. This final patch of road in my retirement had a few more twists and turns, but ringing through this entire trip was a theme of peaceful rest. Jesus tells us in Matthew 11 to come to him when needing a reprieve from labors and burdens and he would give us rest; even a deep rest for the soul. That was this trip. Let’s get back on the road and catch that flight out of the Golden State. 

Departure Via the Coastal Highway

Our time for departure had come at the cove in Northern California, and we rose early packed a few things, and then had breakfast in our room overlooking the morning surf. The tide seemed slightly higher and the “never gets old” big blue Pacific was churning once again below us extending west from the rugged dark gray and brown rocky cliffs and mini-islands of granite and sandstone orphaned from the shore. We settled up, checked out, and left the lovely confines of the B&B resort. We headed south on the famous Highway 1 and enjoyed more views of sea caves, stacks, and arches being pounded into existence along the shoreline. The road had few straight stretches as we “switch-backed” along the craggy coastline with rock formations, golden pastures, and mountain ascents to our left and steep cliffs and ocean to the right. Occasionally the oceanside was eroded and flattened to smaller rock ledges and surprisingly, sometimes to small isolated sandy or rocky beaches. There was even a stretch of coastal sand dunes. Don’t get me wrong, the ocean highway drive is exhilarating and beautiful, but after two hours at a slow pace I was more focused on checking into our airport hotel to rest up for a morning departure; time was a wasting. On top of this was Shutterbug.

Shutterbug

Chris shares some similarities to my late precious Uncle Nick. A couple years after my dad’s untimely death, my mom decided to escape the pain by moving us from Wisconsin to California. Uncle Nick helped us with the exodus and during the journey, he earned a “nick” name beholden only to the four of us kids in the car—shutterbug. He stopped for every scenic turnout and historical marker along that 2100-mile trek and took an incessant amount of photos. Chris was sort of like Uncle Nick on this return stretch of road. He was shutterbug, stopping or slowing down with the window lowered to take yet another photo of ocean and rock. We were wasting time and then there were the sand dunes.

Sand Dunes

Chris is a human vacuum for input as well, always curious and always wanting to suck in more information; scenic turnouts, historical markers, and points of interest get him every time. I, on the other hand, was having a Parkinson’s sleepy day and barely able to stay awake. After what seemed like hours I woke up and we had a conversation like this:

“Hey Chris, where are we?”

“Oh about 20 miles down the coastline from when you were last awake.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, about an hour ago.”

“You mean we’ve only gone 20 miles on this winding coastal highway?”

“Yep. And I got sidetracked by the sand dunes.”

I said, “Sand dunes?!” Not only had he only gone 20 miles, but he also turned into a state park that promised beautiful coastal sand dunes melding into ocean majesty. He explained that he saw a sign describing in brief the sanctioned dune preserve and he thought it was a mile to the dunes and then the ocean, but it was more like 3 miles, plus. When I asked about the “plus” he explained further that he drove the three miles into the park, found an empty parking lot and a trailhead to the coast through the dunes, and then ran into the “plus.” The trail wasn’t a short jaunt to ocean blue through the dunes but was deceivingly long and just kept going as the dunes got higher. It took forever, he said trudging through 8-inch-deep sand on the trail. I told him at least he satisfied his curiosity and made it to the ocean. But he didn’t make it! The coast was more like 1.5 miles away and he didn’t want to leave me in the running car. “Wait . . . the car was running, and I am in it sleeping, in an empty state park lot?” That is my dear Chris. But he eventually broke the park rules, left the trail, and summited a 30-foot dune being extra careful not to disrupt the ecologically sensitive plants that were anchored into the dune slopes, bringing them stability. At the top of the dune, he took photos of a gorgeous lighthouse on a rocky peninsula jutting into the ocean  . . . still about two miles further down the coast. At least we came away with some photos.

Russian River Escape

After the sand dunes escapade, we continued south for another hour until finally finding an escape from the coastal highway. We essentially followed the Russian River east through the coastal mountain range to the much faster 101 Freeway. Once on the freeway, we could breathe again since it was getting late and we still had to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, skirt through the west side of San Fran, and then veer east onto the San Francisco Peninsula where SFO was located. Our hotel was cheap, clean, and had an exterior door entry on an open-air second-floor walkway. Although designated handicapped accessible, one could barely maneuver a wheelchair within it. I called it a dump. Chris called it solid. Nonetheless, we slept ok and made it to the airport the next morning by 8:30 a.m. for an 11:30 a.m. flight. 

One More Angel 

Once in the airport rental car return parking ramp, we had a similar dilemma as when we arrived at SFO five days earlier: “How are we going to get all our stuff to the gate from the auto rental place?” Chris piled all our gear out of the car, helped me into my wheelchair and we started trying to figure out the pay-for-use luggage cart rack. Right then, the rental car agent came over to us and said, “Hey, let me check on something.” Within minutes he had another rental car worker pull up in one of their rental SUVs and she loaded all our things, had us jump in, and then dropped us off right at the airline curbside check-in. We literally had to move all our gear about 10’ and off it went to ND. As in similar encounters throughout this journey, we didn’t get the name of this amazingly kind and helpful person; Gabriela I think.

Dallas to Fargo

The flight from San Fran to Dallas, and then Dallas to Fargo had some delays, with many passengers angrily making alternate arrangements. Somehow all our connections survived, and our plane was the last plane of any airline that landed in Fargo that night a little past midnight. Because of my wheelchair status, we were not only the last ones to exit the plane, but eerily we were literally the last passengers in the entire airport! We collected our gear and exited the airport front doors, and it was as if a plague had wiped out all of Fargo; we didn’t see a single person or running automobile. Chris left me and our Clampett baggage curbside, ran several blocks to our parked car and swung back to load me and the luggage. As we sped north to Grand Forks on I-29 we both had the realization that we had done it! The hour drive was pleasant, full of peace, and restful.  

Rest for the Soul

Reflecting on my great California road in retirement, what immediately comes to mind is that God went with me and provided rest. That provision may have included a few small miracles and some angelic assistance because things just simply worked out. Of course, Chris worked hard to make this all happen, but he too noticed a divine provision. My daily regimen wasn't PT, OT, and ST but an adventure of “Come to me and get some rest for your soul.” For me, this trip was rest. Jesus beckoned me to come to him, and then for a few days anyway he seemed to shoulder my burdens with an extra dose of calm. Peace be still, come and find rest for your soul. Those were the orders, and I did my best to obey.