Not quite as historic as Route 66, California Highway 1 is one of the many highways that run through California. After 15 more minutes of offroading, NS and I were finally on regular paved roads heading South toward SNL. We are hoping to find out why I have amnesia, and how NS ended up unconscious outside the nicely tiled structure in the wilderness outside Mill Valley in Northern California. Luckily, I had my seatbelt fastened and made sure NS did likewise.
NS dozed off and we were doing about 60 when a black bear and its’ two cubs lumbered out into the highway. I slammed on the brakes, sending bottled water, military issue peanut butter and my notebook flying through out the SUV. NS woke up and asked why I stopped. I pointed at the bears as they finished their leisurely stroll across the highway. Luckily neither of us was hurt, but I am definitely not allergic to peanuts as one of the containers opened dousing me generously with the gooey stuff. Yum!
“NS, I am pretty covered with peanut butter and it looks like we are running low on gas, better hit the next gas station.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We made our pit stop at the gas station using the Gas Station credit card we found in the glove box to fill up the tank and added some donuts and coffee to our stores of goods. If anyone is wondering, the name on the gas card was “Robert Johnson” and “Sandia National Laboratories,” so I am pretty sure we are going the right way, but I am really wondering who this Bob Johnson is. Could it be me?
NS, almost reading my mind asked, “So Steve, do you think you might be Bob Johnson?”
“I’m not sure, it is a possibility, but I really don’t feel like a Bob.”
Sugar and caffeine fixes sated, I notice the sun rising. “NS, it looks like it is getting light, any idea what day it is?”
“Sure, I don’t have amnesia. It is Sunday July 3rd.”
“Thanks, I almost forgot I had amnesia until you brought it up again.”
“Uh, sorry Steve.”
We hit the road continuing on Highway 1 until we get to the Golden Gate bridge.
“Hey NS, do you ever wonder why it is called the Golden Gate bridge when it is really more of an red-orange?”
“Steve, everybody knows that the Bridge is actually named for the Golden Gate Strait, the narrow entrance between the Pacific Ocean and the San Francisco Bay. The strait was named by explorer and U.S. Army officer John C. Frémont, who marveled at its beauty in 1846—two years before the discovery of gold in California.”
“I knew that, I was just seeing if you knew that.”
“Hey genius, pay the toll, we can’t cross the bridge unless we pay.”
I hand over three of our precious dollar coins to the toll taker and continue on where Highway 1 turns into US 101.