Yes, we actually go to California. Here are the photos to prove it.
Thursday
It’s 5:30AM – Jimmy picks up David and Tommy in Whitehall, Jack in Bethlehem, and Trains in Easton. Nobody is sleepy tired. An hour and fifteen minutes later we arrive at the long-term parking lot at the Newark airport, which is 250 miles away from the terminal. At 10:15 we depart Newark, have a layover in Phoenix and at around 4PM we’re in Santa Barbara—greeted by Guy and Francesca holding up a “Bobo Party” sign. Who is this “Bobo” person? Certainly it could not be David.
We drive along the coast—at least we tried, but a road was closed. Dumping mud from the mudslides at Montecito? We arrive at Guy’s house. Toast. Bottle opener gifts for all of us, engraved with “California Trip,” our six initials, and January, 2008. (2008? Engraving mistake. So what. We should have made this trip ten years earlier anyway.)
That evening and night we hang at Guy’s house. He and Francesca fix us sausage sandwiches and all sorts of sides and the stories begin. (The stupid stories will go on for three days. The stories are glorious.) We move chairs around the fire pit and are there are more stories until the weary travelers start to fade.
Next: Friday