And so my time in the USA draws to a close. An extraordinary trip across this continent from the clapboard houses and tiny communities of eastern Maryland to the frozen metropolis that is Minneapolis and finally the warm, intoxicating sparkle of Santa Barbara. It has been a tremendous thrill to spend time with such good friends, catching up on decades of life and change, as well as kicking off my epic adventure with a former 1968 marathonier. Driving that '68, rally-prepared Rambler American, and breathing in its rarified and brutal atmosphere is undoubtedy a highlight of the trip, if not my life.
Have spent the past couple of days wandering the streets and buildings of downtown Santa Barbara, and marvelling at the astonishing architecture, flora and fauna. It's a heady place to be, with vibrant flowers lining the walkways and roads - birds of paradise jostle with lantana, bougainvillea, citrus blossom and jasmine, although a sudden glimpse of daffodils nodding their yellow trumpets in the breeze seemed incongruous and a sweet reminder of home. At one point, standing above the town and gazing at the rooftops through the trees, I was astonished to catch sudden movement in the gardenia bushes and for the first time in my life, encounter a humming bird close up. Apparently two-a-penny here, I was entranced as this beautiful little bird darted and hovered above the deliciously fragant blossoms like some huge, blue moth or insect.
Apparently there is a saying about Santa Barbara - 'newly wed, newly retirered or newly dead' (or words to the effect, Trace couldn't quite recall). Sitting amidst the warm Pacific breeze, I can see why folks visit and never leave. Wealthy and expensive, it has a seductive charm that even in February, lulls you into a relaxed state of warmth and sensory overload. Large brown pelicans waft across the water, and working fisherman boats work their way to and fro, carrying crab and sea bass. My friends here appear relaxed and content after the perma-damp of Seattle, though really they haven't changed a bit since I first met them in the 1980s. Hours have been spent mooching along past white stucco'd buildings and in and out of spectacular municipal buildings, theatres and of course the famous mission and presidio, swapping notes and memories, laughing at the daft things we did and said and generally reconnecting after so long. I shall be very sad to move on and say goodbye for now.
A final treat for me (ever the petrol-head) was to drive Tracy's Toyota hybrid last evening, a curious experience of hustling a car along a busy street with hardly any engine noise and no ignition key. The soft woosh of the electric engine slightly unsettling to my 'petrol engine, stick shift' brain, the thrill of manouvering my way through left-hand-driven, right hand thoroughfares, and stumbling at red lights when right turns are legal (the car behind honking to remind me!).
And so the next leg of the marathon begins - a dauntingly long flight from LA to Sydney via Auckland, the loss of February 26th, and the rude, wrecked arrival into another country, the time zone of which will undoubtedly leave me bewildered and befuddled. And that's where the heart of my research begins with many folks ready to give up there time to meet me and share their memories and stories of forty four years ago, when GPS, internet and mobile phones were but the stuff of science fiction.
Can't wait!
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