It was a perfectly foggy/rainy/redwoody day and I went west on River Road. The goal in my head was Guerneville. I walked over a bridge. Around some bends. Saw rolling vineyards and some pretty farm houses. At every turn surely Monte Rio would appear and then Guerneville. Nope. Just more beauty. It had stopped raining and my walk was pleasant. Noticing no towns I bartered in my head that I would walk there and take the bus back.
A goateed, pony-tailed guy in a truck kitted out for odd jobs yelled from across the street asking if I wanted a lift somewhere. I said sure. Either my head would be detached from my body and put in a box or I would get dropped off in Guerneville. As we drove west, I found out his name was Dan. Because he told me. And he asked me if I got stoned. I said no. He said something like he thought so. I never know whether to be flattered or insulted, but I quickly didn't really care. He told me a mildly dirty joke and then I thought that if I did get decapitated, I would probably be molested first. And so close to Christmas. Sad.
Dan dropped me off and I walked around Guerneville. I got an Anne Lamott book from the local used book store which I thought was meaningful as she lives just south in Marin. Virtually local. As was I. I walked along the main drag and saw the old gay bar and general store. Ghosts of past lives. I got a cup of coffee at the local coffee house. (Something I wish they had in my part of Manhattan - just Starbucks. No local anything.) Rick, my brother-in-law picked me up instead of the bus and I went home.
Almost felt like a wayward kid who ran away from home and got found and brought back. And richer for the adventure.
V. typical ingredients in this area...wonder if Dan shops here.
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