Nous voila, Lafayette

            We were refugees from the annual war that the summer sun wages on the Big Valley.  In a summer when park rangers asked visitors to stop frying eggs on the roads in Death Valley because they were tired of cleaning up after them, we pulled sleeping bags, air mattresses and tents from the stifling rafters of our garage and stuffed them in our trunk.  We pulled out of the driveway with the air conditioning blasting and dared not crack the windows to check the outside temperature until after Doughnut Nation in Los Banos, after the climb past the San Luis Reservoir, and after the first grove of eucalyptus trees on Highway 101.  When the boys were little we called the Dinosaur Trees, suggesting that T-Rexes and Triceratops were hidden in them.

            After a do-or-die left turn in front of a Mississippi of traffic that were for some reason heading to that war zone, we followed my brother’s road from pavement, to old pavement, to cracked pavement, to dirt, to the point where I once heard the GPS lady say, “You are no longer on a known road.”  We had arrived.  If Dad were still around he might have said, “Lafayette, we are here,” as he did now and again after a long drive or hike.  Or once anyway.

            We set up the tents in headlights an under a foggy moon.  Paradise.  We slept to the sultry sounds of yipping coyotes and flapping tent…flaps. 

            The following day more and more friends and family arrived with their sleeping bags, their tents, and their food.  We ate in the shade of an oak at my brother’s home, formally of goats and currently of chickens and bees. Ribs, pinwheel sandwiches, grapes, strawberries, salsa, potato salad, and drinks.

            Dominoes were spread across the table and later replaced by a family 60’s table game called Rack-O.  Rack-O is simple; get dealt 10 numbered cards and put them in ascending order.  When someone asked if it’s a number game or a word game, I’d reply, “It’s a filing game.”  Soon it got cutthroat.

            Wine was opened, beer was opened, and labels were studied.  One invited us to visit the brewery of a Hawaiian beer, located in Oregon and another informed us that Gulden Draak Ale contained caramel. 

            After the food was served and eaten, and after several rounds of table games, a forgotten box of fried chicken was discovered.  It disappeared before rumor of it spread to everyone.  Some missed out.

            My brother’s home in Prunedale is a haven from the bitter heat of Fresno.  Each year when they have the Cooldown, we wonder why we live in Fresno still.  Over the next few months I’ll contemplate it, like I always do after visits to the coast.  At some point I’ll accept it or forget it.  Then next summer will roll around.  PG&E bills will skyrocket, record consecutive 100+ days will be recorded, and for the 20^th  time I’m told, we will pack our car and drive up that road that the GPS lady is unaware of and sleep in the cool darkness of the ancient sand dunes above Monterey. 

            Lafayette, we’ll be there.