We start out again. We're behind a different Jensen Healy, this one crewed
by two sisters, I believe. We start winding around the back roads. This
route, at last, we know. The BritCar group is coming fast and heavy now and
we're all waiving too each other and trying to ogle each other's cars as we
all drive by. On a particularly narrow section the Jensen Healy in front of
us stops to let the other folks come by. Karen slams her brakes and we
stop. Sounds of squealing tires behind us and we look back to see the Lotus
Elan almost lodge itself under our rear bumper. Man, that car is low!
Alpines are not known for height, but that guy almost crawls underneath us.
We curse the Jensen for a few moments until the adrenaline wears off. This
part of the trip is particularly nice, we'd done it earlier this spring. I
get a few chances from the top of one hill or another to look back and seen
along string of LBC's zipping up the hill after us. This is nice! Mostly
hills and eucalyptus trees. A few ranches (real ones, not the ranchita
crappola) scattered about. One section of the road has a nasty drop off
that we follow the Jensen through. Look back to see the Lotus take a wide
swing away as the other Alpine behind him drops into it and bottoms out
their shocks. Pass a nice old cemetery, Karen and I have this thing about
cemeteries, we tend to discuss town's relative merits by the quality of
their cemeteries. Pescadero comes out well on this front. The store here
bakes its own bread and makes an enormous deli sandwich. We descend on this
town like a swarm of locusts. This is the picnic supply location. We stand
in line, we joke, we compare notes on different cars. Some of these folks
have been doing this for years and obviously know each other well. Everyone
is made to feel welcome. This is a nice group of people.
After everyone stocks up, the plan is to go to Pigeon Point Lighthouse.
Chaffing from having everyone else setting the pace, Karen jumps to the lead
spot and takes off like a scalded jack rabbit. Maybe it was her
testosterone getting the better of her, maybe she has some unresolved issues
from her childhood, I didn't care, I was hungry. She'd been chatting up the
Lotus and he wanted some speed also. Now that we were on straighter roads
she opens our little Alpine up and we're cruising at 80 (on our slightly
inaccurate speedo). The Lotus is right behind. I don't drive it this fast,
but it does not seem to not mind it at all under her guidance. We're
skirting along the ocean now. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, the ocean
is green with white caps. Lots of cars, mostly parked along the ocean.
Surf is up. Lots of little surfer boys out in the ocean, but my attention
is directed to the little surfer girls in bikinis lining the beaches. Karen
doesn't notice, her loss. This section of coast is nice, but not as nice as
north of San Francisco. We get to the lighthouse and there's a small
convention of Model T and A's set up in front of it. Very nice cars. We
sit and chat with Mr. Elan for a while, until the rest of the crew shows up
and we set down to eat. The lighthouse is in an incredibly picturesque
spot. It operates as a youth hostel and tourist attraction and seems
successful at both. As we eat, we watch the stately flocks of Pelicans
flying by. The weather is perfect today. The crews chat a bit more. We
wander around looking at the sites.
Mr. Elan is anxious for some more road and so is Karen. I'm, not sure if
it's a desire for more road, some wine, or the fact that Pigeon Point has
porta-johns and Bonny Doon Wine Tasting area, our next stop, is supposed to
have flushables. It looks a ways on the map, almost to Santa Cruz. Karen
lets the Elan get ahead of us getting out of he parking lot, big mistake.
He's motivating like two scalded jack rabbits on steroids. Karen stomps on
the accelerator and with a wonderful throaty roar the Alpine responds. She
wraps it up to 90 mph and a little more. We've never driven it this fast
and without a tach I'm nervous, but it's rock steady on the road, the engine
sings a happy tune and we zip along. It's not enough however. One passing
zone and a Winebago that he catches and we cannot and he's gone. We back
off to 80 and settle in for a fun fast little trip down the coast. The car
sounds good at this speed. Pass a Ford Explorer that some kids have driven
off into the soft sand and have mired up to the axles. Smile. Weather is
good, car is running great, temperature staying low, traffic is light, life
is good.
Find the turnoff to the Bonny Doon road and start heading up hill. As we
leave the coast and start climbing so does the ambient air and our engine
temp. Karen keeps up the speed however at a good 65-70. On a strait
stretch a Harley catches us. He can't do the curves, but his ego gets the
better of him and he blats passed us. Karen tails him on the corners until
we tire of his sound and stink and we back off. Starting to ping a little
as the Alpine is laboring valiantly up the hills and around the corners. We
back down to 60. We get to the Wine spot and find the Elan. He's just
getting out, either he was taking a nap, or we did not do so badly. We
don't ask. An Elan Sport is there, they've been there two hours already.
Don't know where they come from but they're waiting for us (and sampling the
products) and the wine folks are expecting us. They've a spot under the
redwood trees in the shade for us all to park. Karen leaves the foolish men
to talk about cars and finds the flushables and the wine tasting room.
This group has been here before and has apparently never embarrassed
themselves as we are made to feel most welcome. This group of people seem
to know all the best spots. The hostess has set out some tables special for
the group, but its not enough and we cart in some more. She's liberal with
the wine and we sit around the table and discuss the various merits of the
different wines, different cars, and other various lies. Some people are
more into it than others and the hostess even sneaks a couple of the
vintages that they don't usually allow tastings of into the mix. This
proves our undoing as one of them quite takes Karen's fancy. I'm with the
other Alpine couple having a nice safe Alpine like conversation, but Karen
is talking to Mr. Elan about his car and how he got it. It was an impulse
buy in Monterey a few years ago. When the topic turns to a fellow in San
Francisco who sells and restores Lotus's I get that distinctive nervous
feeling. Karen is very particular, and I sincerely hope she doesn't
particulate onto a Lotus. I determine that the next time I see her
physician I am going to mention that he either needs to lower her
testosterone dosage or discuss unresolved issues from her childhood, maybe
this will curb her tendency to want more speed, More Speed, MORE SPEED!
Fortunately the red Jensen driver (and a former Alpine owner) comes to my
rescue with the explanation for what lotus means, Lots Of Trouble, Usually
Serious. We escape the wine tasters with only a half case, as we decided to
split one with Mr. Elan.
The rest of the crew is headed further inland, but we'd had our fill of warm
weather already in the drive out of Palo Alto. We decide that its back up
the coast for us, where the air is cool, the seas are pretty, and the path
home is more direct. I get to drive now on the theoretical basis that with
a larger body mass, the alcohol affects me less. I think its really that
Karen has finally taken pity on me and that she is tired of me pointing out
all the sites of interest to her as she's trying to drive. Mr. Elan is also
opting for the same. We scoot down the hill and reach Highway 1. As he's
in front again, I determine not to let him get the same start that he got on
Karen. It doesn't help. I'm able to stay closer for a while and although I
can pass on two lane roads much better than Karen, in a short amount of time
we're seeing him several hills ahead and then never to be seen again that
day. I'm enjoying my chance to drive and am trying out some of the
'sporty' tricks Karen has been using. We pass the tow truck that has just
pulled the Ford Explorer from the sand. We laugh. Pass the lighthouse
where we'd lunched. Come around a corner doing a nice 70 to see a garbage
truck just starting to accelerate across the lane in front of us. We both
brake frantically and the distasteful expression on his face must be more
from the though of all the paperwork he'll have to fill out rather than the
thought of scraping little red Alpine juice off the side of his truck.
Fortunately, we avert a crisis and I determine that Karen is the only one in
the family that has a testosterone problem and settle back to a more sedate
speed.
As the day wears on the sun is getting lower and we're getting tired. The
Alpine is still running great, temperature is down, oil pressure is steady,
ammeter says Lucas, Prince of Darkness is taking a holiday, throaty roar of
the exhaust says that I still have not fixed that hole in the muffler. The
sea that has been rough is kicking up quite a spume and the haze is getting
intense. Karen spots a homemade sign that says "Orchids" and orders a stop.
I try and make it into the dirt driveway by dint of a lot of brake and
little judicious skidding. In no time we're bouncing up a very rutted and
bumpy dirt road. Alpine laughs at the malicious moguls in the road that
would high center us as we weave around them, spin out, and generally act
like two crazy kids on holiday. After finding some plants that we
absolutely could not live another minute without, Karen tells me the bad
news. No, the bank has not cut us off yet, but the new additions to the
family require gentle breezes only, the top goes back up. The orchid
nursery is on a bluff overlooking the ocean and Alpine looks very pretty off
set against the evening sun and the, the haze, the little valley and the
ocean in the distance.
We head into San Francisco. Traffic is messy but not too bad, Alpine does
not like stop and go, but still not a complaint. Make it most of the way
through and catch view of the Golden Gate Bridge, a fog bank is coming in,
the towers are off-set by the Marin Headlands. In no time we're scooting
across the bridge and looking down at the bay and all the sailboats. A
quick run through Marin and stop at the grocery store. After all the
valient work Alpine has been doing all day, we subject it to that ultimate
suburban indignity. We load it full of the week's groceries, glad we've a
Series V's large trunk, and head home like any old family station wagon.
Fellow at a stop light leans out of a junky VW Rabbit, asks what year it is
and proceeds to tell me "I know a guy who has a really cool Tiger", hmmph.
Across another bridge. We're almost out of gas as we roll into the carport.
A good 3-400 mile day over some beautiful country, with good company,
perfect weather, and a nicely running Alpine. What a car!
Patrick (and Karen)
Alpine Series V
Richmond CA
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