Anniversary
Copyright© 2026 by Vonalt
Chapter 11: Playing Tourist and Bugging Out
I woke to the sound of traffic. Without a watch or phone, I guessed it was around eight AM. I’d know the exact time back on the ranch, even while it was still dark. Cletus’s stirring would wake me, and the smell of Edna’s breakfast would pull me out of bed and downstairs in time to eat.
This morning would be quick; a breakfast of a granola bar, maybe oatmeal if I could find my stove. I kept forgetting where I’d packed it. My packing skills stunk as I shoved things in wherever there was space, so I had to open every bag and dig until I found something I needed.
I’d given up on finding my camp stove for coffee or instant oatmeal by then. I’d look for it later. Breakfast was a granola bar and a couple swigs of water.
I broke camp after downing the granola bar,. It was simple, really. I deflated my inflatable pillow and stuffed it back into the bag that I thought I’d pulled it from the night before. I shook the dew off my ground cloth and strapped it to the back of my motorcycle where it would dry, ready to use under my tent if I needed it.
With the bike packed, I took one last look around the grassy area with trees that I’d called home the night before. It was then that I realized it was part of a landscaped entrance to a real estate development.
Not wanting to stick around and have the cops called, I pulled my helmet on and pushed the bike back on to the edge of the road. I would start the engine, let it warm for a moment, and then head south toward San Diego.
I waited what I thought was a reasonable amount of time for the bike to warm up, then shifted into first gear. I looked back to see what the traffic was like and waited for an opening where I could safely merge.
I pulled out when I saw my chance, and accelerated until I easily slipped into the morning traffic. Now, I’d be happy if I only knew where I was. My fuel gauge said I’d need to find gas soon, or I’d be walking and pushing the motorcycle with me.
I would stop to fill the tank at the next gas station I came to. I would aske about my location there. I knew that I was getting close to the end of the PCH and would have to merge on to Interstate 5. There was no way I would have survived that part of the trip as tired as I was. I wasn’t too sure how long I’d be on I-5 until I reach San Diego, but it wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours, if that.
I stopped and pulled into the first gas station I saw. I filled the tank there and topped off my caffeine reserves at the same time. Doing both wasn’t cheap. A gallon of gas here cost as much as I’d paid for a McDonald’s Big Breakfast on my way west a few days earlier.
I never would have taken this trip in a car. There’s no way that I could have afforded the fuel.
I looked at my gazetteer while I took my coffee and fuel break, studying the roads and seeing how close I was to San Diego. I planned to stay only a few days before heading east toward Florida.
I finished my coffee and put the gazetteer away before starting the bike and making my back on I-5. I let my mind wander over the events of the last couple of days as I rode, definitely not the best thing to do in traffic.
I had finally made friends on the road, especially one very special friend. Tina was the one that I kept thinking about.
My mind filled with questions. Would we live here, or would we live on the dude ranch with Cletus and Edna, if things worked out and Tina and I became a couple? I’d hate to disappoint them after all they’d done for me. Maybe we could split our time between Los Angeles and the ranch. There I was again, putting the cart before the horse.
Then another worry came to mind. Would Cletus and Edna accept Tina, and what if she didn’t accept them or the ranch’s isolation? She was a beach girl, after all, part of the surf and beach culture. Life on the ranch would be a big change for her. Call me foolish, but I didn’t think that it would hurt to plan ahead. I was probably setting myself up for another failure so soon after Ginny.
The questions kept coming, one after another, each waiting its turn to add to my growing anxiety.
My next conscious moment found me pulling into a parking lot at Mission Beach. I had no recollection of riding through San Diego. I was alarmed that I’d done it without drawing the attention of traffic cops, or impatient drivers, both of which Southern California is notorious for.
I put the kickstand down and took my helmet off. It was late fall and the Pacific Ocean had to be cold. This is the same area where the Navy’s SEALs trained, just on a different beach. There weren’t too many people out. I did see a few surfers. The beach itself was not crowded as there were only a few people out, mostly retired couples walking the beach. I spotted a couple guys waving metal detectors over the sand hoping to get lucky.
I got off of my motorcycle and started looking around. It was pretty from what I saw. The beach continued on into the distance. My view from where I was standing was of the blue ocean, with the waves breaking on to the beach sand. Down the beach from where I was standing what appeared to be an amusement park as there was a large wooden rollercoaster. I would want to check that out while I was in town. As a youth, rollercoasters were my favorite amusement park rides. Hopefully, I would be back and ride it later. The rest of the area was houses, shops and small buildings that housed businesses of some kind. I did a quick look around and decided I would be back later once I found a place to stay and got settled in.
My initial impression was that most of my time would be spent on the beach, walking on the sand and the board walk seeing what the attractions were. I had no interest in spending time in the city center. I want my time here to be spent on the beach or at least near it. The immediate priorities for me at the moment was to feed my empty belly, the granola bar did nothing to fill my tummy and find a place to stay for the couple of days.
Finding food was relatively easy, all one had to do was follow one’s nose and it would lead you to a source of the smell. In this case, it was the scent of hot peanut oil in a wok and chicken bits on bamboo skewers deep frying in hot oil. There was also fresh fried rice and breaded vegetables that were also deep fried. I immediately knew what I wanted and had the works; skewered deep fried chicken and breaded broccoli, and a side of fried rice. I also got a Coke to drink. I don’t think that I had ever had Asian food that was this good and fresh. People here didn’t know how good they had it with places serving ethnic food that was this good.
The next priority was to find a place to stay. I was sure that hotels and motels near the boardwalk would be on the pricey side even if this was the start of the slow season. I guess I would have to ask a local for suggestion on where to find a place to stay.
As I walked over to throw away the trash from my meal, I noticed what looked like a newspaper vending machine. Instead, it was a free publication for visitors that highlighted what to see and do in San Diego. I opened the box, pulled out a copy, and took a moment to look it over. Standing by the motorcycle, I gave it a quick scan. The paper featured articles on what to do in San Diego, where to eat, and included listings of places to stay. Some even offered reduced rates with coupons that could be torn out of the publication.
I found a motel that was reasonable in price and even more so with the coupon. The coupon was worth a fifteen percent discount off a room’s regular price. That was the best deal that I could find so it was where I planned to stay while I was in town for a couple of nights. There were similar deals for meals on another page. I selected one that looked good and decided that would be where I ate that night.
I turned to the ‘things to do’ page and was overwhelmed by all that was available. I was only going to be in town for a couple of days and decided to visit the San Diego Zoo, Balboa Park, more of Mission Beach, and lastly, Hotel del Coronado. If there was any thing that said old San Diego it was the hotel. All that I believed would occupy my time while I was in town. The other sights would have to wait for another time.
The motel I planned to stay at wasn’t far from Mission Beach, so I rode over. The coupon got me the promised discount. I hoped they wouldn’t ask for identification when I checked in. I paid with the credit card Cletus had given me. The whole process was painless, and I received an electronic key to my room. I unloaded the bike and carried everything inside. The room was booked for two nights, providing at least some degree of safety for my gear, though nothing is ever completely secure.
I took a shower and changed clothes after checking in. I consulted a map in the center of the publication and noted that the restaurant I wanted to try wasn’t within walking distance. I used the room phone to request a taxi, which arrived within twenty minutes, and had the driver take me there. The place was everything that I expected, and the coupon I had helped reduce the cost of the meal. I asked the cashier to call a taxi for me when I finished eating and paid. The taxi arrived and took me directly back to the motel, and I returned to my room and turned in after paying the driver.
I played tourist for the next two days, and visited the highlights of what San Diego had to offer. Balboa Park, with its museums and theaters was simply amazing. I would have been lost, overwhelmed by its many gardens, if I were a plant enthusiast. The Hotel del Coronado didn’t disappoint me either. I could only imagine what it must have been like in its heyday nearly a century ago, and the San Diego Zoo brought out the kid in me. I had always loved zoos, and this one didn’t disappoint. I had only been to one other zoo that came close, and that had been in Ohio. Most of my nights were spent walking up and down the Mission Beach.
I stopped at a convenience store the morning I left San Diego to head east toward Florida, and purchased a disposable phone to call Tina. I paid cash as always, and planned to dispose of it before leaving San Diego. I found a nice park near the beach with plenty of open space around it so that I could watch for anyone nearby, especially anyone in a nondescript Ford Crown Vic.
I got myself settled and made a final sweep of the area, checking for anyone who might be taking an unusual interest in me. Nothing. The coast was clear, as they say. I took Tina’s card out of my wallet and dialed the home number she had written on the back.
The phone rang four times and someone picked up as I was about to hang up, and I heard a sleepy voice say, “Hello” after a bit of rustling.
“Hello, Tina, It’s me, David,” I said while smiling, realizing that I had woken her up.
I hadn’t expected what followed, and I quickly learned just how fierce an Italian woman’s temper could be.
“You bastard; you almost got me suspended,” she said, her anger sharp. “I had to go see my Watch Commander the next night when I figured out who you really were, and explain that I’d spent the whole day at the beach with you, and even took you to my family’s restaurant. I got chewed out by my Watch Commander, then the Captain, and it went all the way up the chain to the Chief Deputy in charge of patrol. I’m now stuck on night desk duty until they decide otherwise.”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you who I really was. Would you if you were me? I really like you, Tina DiCarlo, and I hope that we can stay in touch once this is all over. I want to see what we can make of this,” I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. “Besides that, what did your family think of me?”
Tina snorted. “My little sister thinks you’re someone straight out of Mission: Impossible or a Jason Bourne movie. My mother thinks that you’re a character from one of her romance novels who’s totally in love with me, and my dad says that you’ve got brass ones being bold enough to spend time with a cop. What really impressed him, though, is that you have a PhD in mathematics and aren’t just some motorcycle hood. ‘You have potential’, he says.”
“The important thing is what does Tina DiCarlo think?” I asked. “That’s all I’m interested in.”
There was silence for a moment, and I started to get concerned, but Tina then said, “Tina DeCarlo is interested, but you’re reckless and action-driven, and that scares me. I want someone who thinks things through and is honest and trustworthy. I don’t know enough to make a full assessment. Besides, you’ve got competition now.”
My reaction to Tina’s comment about having competition was simple: “Oh?”
“Yes. I found an FBI Most Wanted List taped to my locker with the handwritten title ‘Tina’s Dating List’ after my shift last night,” she said, laughing. I even found it funny.