The City by the What? Where?

LA/XC DAY FIFTEEN:  SAN FRANCISCO

Yesterday’s mileage:  438

Total LA/XC mileage:  4,091

Road Music:  Sheryl Crow iPod marathon

Yesterday’s state tally:  1 (California; it’s a long state)

New states for Beagle Man:  0

It finally happened.  My pardner woke me at 6:05 this morning (late for him),  I strapped on his leash, grabbed the essentials, opened the door of the motel, stepped outside — and had absolutely no idea what city I was in.  Guess we’ve been on the road for awhile.

It’s also possible that yesterday’s UN-BE-LIEVABLE drive up the coast from Santa Monica — one

of my most exhilarating travel experiences ever — scrambled my brain a bit.  I got off to my inevitable late start, and as Antonio the bellman helped us bring our stuff down to the car, Ricky, who’d been the model hotel dog all week, paused, assumed the position, and emptied his bladder for a record-breaking 45 seconds on the lovely carpet in front of the elevator.  Not so sure Loews Loves Pets anymore.

Left our home-away-from-home in Santa Monica via Ocean Avenue, made an immediate left onto Moomate Haiko (love those CA names) — and Sundance and I were off on Highway 1!  Malibu was pretty enough — surfers dotting the water like seals (one got such a long ride I initially thought he was a water skier) — but I kept losing Highway 1 — or the PCH — and finding myself on 101 North.  (Made one wrong turn, wound up on the driveway of a resort — and realized it was Bakara, in Santa Barbara, where we stayed 6 years ago while Robby went to Michael Jordan basketball camp at UC Santa Barbara!)  Finally caught on that the two highways are often one and the same — and that it really didn’t matter until SLO (that’s San Luis Obispo, for those not quite as CA cool as I am now) anyway.

From that point on — WHOA!  Ohmygod!  How come none of the locals really raved about this drive?  What are they, freaking nuts?? Did they all say they’ve done it — but maybe didn’t really? I mean, come on!  It was like climbing around on Machu Picchu, only in a car.  I found myself saying again and again and again, after every mind-bending hairpin turn, “Holy —-!  You’ve got to be ——- kidding!”  All the legendary names and places — Pismo Beach . . . Morro Bay . . . Cambria . . .San Simeon . . . Big Sur . . . Monterey . . . Santa Cruz — PCH’s  Greatest Hits!   Saw the Hearst castle in the distance looking, I swear, exactly like Fantasyland.  Saw cliff drops of I-don’t-even-want-to-think-about-how-many-thousand-feet.  Saw at least fifty rock formations as impressive as the Arch in Cabo.  Wow.

And now, for one of the most amazing small-world stories ever. (Yes, even better even thanUSC freshman Chloe recognizing our car all the way from East Hampton.)  Amidst the stomach-jolting snake-like turns along Big Sur, I spotted the entrance to Deetjens — a hideaway gem (inn/bar/restaurant) my Laguna Beach friend Kristi told me was worth a

stop.  And it was, absolutely.  I was taking care of Ricky’s 5:30 meds behind the Acura, and a young couple stopped to ooh and ahh over my handsome little friend.  “All the way from Connecticut?” the guy said, checking my plates.  Then he added, “I’ve seen a lot of Staples football.”  Aha — so he’d noticed my Wreckers license plate holder, as well.  Turns out he’s from New Canaan, and said he had cousins in Westport.  Family name?  “Emerson,” he said.  Charlie Emerson!  Played at Staples with my son Greg, then went on to star at Indiana!

They took a picture of me, I took one of them, and I gave them one of my corny BEAGLE MAN business cards that I had made up just for this trip.  A few minutes later, as the couple (Mark and Allison) were backing out in their car, Allison rolled down her window and said, “Do you by any chance know a Jeff Kirsch?”  I was dumbfounded.  Jeff Kirsch, as in my best friend Jeff from

Alexandria, VA — the first stop of this journey.    Turns out Allison’s parents, Robert and Trish, are among Jeff and Joan’s best friends!  In fact, they were at Jeff’s daughter’s Maggie’s wedding; I undoubtedly met them there!  And that Allison knows both Maggie and Katie very well!  And that because of all these connections, Allison already knew about my trip and was already following BEAGLE MAN!!! Double wow.

With the late start, and with all the adventures, I arrived in SF a couple of minutes late (okay, okay, a couple of hours late) for a dinner date with a fellow USC parent, and she had to cancel.  Not being one to easily let go of a plan, I ate at the assigned restaurant — Palomino, on Spear Street just off the Embarcadero — myself.  Very, very cool place.  Loved the bruschetta.  The young bartender, Jeremy, was a good guy, and he was very intrigued by my travels.  At least he pretended to be.  I mean, he’s a bartender.

Spent the last couple of days in L.A. catching up with friends.  On Monday, drove down to Laguna Beach to see the aforementioned Kristi, whom I’d met on one of our earlier USC visits.  Spent the afternoon at her gorgeous house in the Laguna

hills, with glistening Pacific views everywhere you looked.  Ricky got along nicely with her cats, Sparky and Sophie, and her fluffy Bichon, Peanut, eating all their food.  Then we had an absolutely spectacular Italian dinner at Alessa on Forest Avenue.

Tuesday, hung with my Teaneck High School buddy Ilene.  Remember my post from last week (“The Revelation,” Sept. 12) about Cousin Brucie coming to THS to honor our Miss Hill as Principal of the Year?  Ilene was the main mover and shaker who made that happen — even ha

d her photo in the Bergen Record with the Cuz.  We had lunch at Lemonade, a super-cool spot in West Hollywood, where Ricky actually peed on a table!!! (Don’t even ask how this could possibly

have happened!).  Then, some culture at LACMA, a final visit with Robby on campus (who now says he’s coming home in two weeks to see everyone — so why was it I made this cross-country drive???), and dinner with Don, another long-time-no-see THS crony.  Very, very good times.

Oh, and by the way?  After two weeks on the road, it seems I talk to myself a lot now.  Just saying.