It's funny how much I think of my dad as drive 101 from Ventura to Monterey under the sun and occasional canopy of eucalyptus and cedars. He used to take me, Tom, and Joe to Solvang for a pancake breakfast (I often got pigs in a blanket), air hockey they had in the motel Rec Room, and he'd always make a stop at Santa Inez Mission. One year I bought a triptych and a tiny plaque of St. Michael driving Satan into Hell. He loved stopping at Catholic churches in every new city he'd visit. I drove him to Monterey in 1985, three years before he passed, and he loved it and I loved the exclusive hours with him. A great memory from that trip was him unscrewing the cup of a thermos and pouring me a cup of hot coffee that infused the car as I'm driving my green 1980 VW bug on the 101 at 5am outside of Thousand Oaks.
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