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Page 13 turned out to be a lucky number for the jolly rovers, as we spent the day driving down through the fertile valleys of Oregon and over the coastal range at Grant’s Pass into northern California. Midafternoon we arrived in Arcada, where we were greeted by friends old and new and were treated to a meal of Pacific Rockfish and all the trimmings, which we repaid with a house concert.
Next morning, we headed south along the coast and then dodged eastward to join the legendary Redwood Highway, where we found a leprechaun, captured him, and took him south. See photo.
Sometime around 4 p.m., with the fog billowing in overhead, we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge into my beloved San Francisco and blundered our way midtown to the Great American Music Hall, once more a completely unprecedented experience.
Ok, it was the favored hangout of the Grateful Dead. I get that. But would anyone in my life have predicted I’d be changing clothes next door to Duke Ellington’s dressing room? I mean his name was still on the door, for godssakes. Sweet, sweet experience, with a good audience thrown in for good measure. Well worth the drive.
After the concert, the boys headed off for Fremont with a friend of Bo’s, and those of the female persuasion sped down the bay to Sunnyvale, where we spent a splendid evening and next morning in the beautiful home (and gardens) of longtime friends Phyllis and Dori.
About 9, the boys showed up, and we were off to Los Angeles down the long central valley, not even stopping for artichokes. The things we endure.
And there’s more.