Peak Experience

I used to demand a peak experience from each trip and very often got it! It was costly, but worth the price to me. It usually meant going one step beyond the step beyond. I'd go beyond a 'reasonable' time limit, beyond the last dollar, beyond 'appropriate' energy and health limits, beyond cultural limits I could imagine; you get the idea.


I just returned from a little trip that was good without a peak experience. The weather was good. The change of pace and point of view was good. In general it was pleasing and interesting. Not all was perfect. I hit traffic heavier and more long lasting than I had ever seen. It extended from Lancaster to Ventura! I accidentally got on to the 210 freeway which took me into the dreaded hell of L.A. county. At one point I took a road paralleling the freeway and saw what thought was a 'park and ride' parking lot, but it was the freeway.


When I reached Ventura County I felt some home of seeing my long time friend, Lady B. I stopped and dialed her number on my new, but falling apart cell phone. I now know how to call out, but still don't know how to receive a call. I believe I got voice mail and left a brief message. I drove on and then stopped and dialed again and left  another brief message.


Getting into the traffic was my fault; it was my own fault. Not contacting Lady B was my fault, mu own fault. I had made no real arrangements to meet her except for a casual email which contained no dates or times.


I drove on to the town of Santa Maria. There was a lot of traffic on the way, but it was moving. When I got there I didn't recognize the place. I remember eating good barbecue there in the distant past. I also remembered that in the far distant past I had met a remarkable cat by the name of Piston there. Among certain Spanish speakers in California 'piston' means, if not 'drunkard,' then 'great drinker of alcohol.' This cat had no tail, but it was a real cat. It would sit on its square bottom, retract its claws, so that its little paws looked like it had on boxing gloves. Then, if one fought fairly, it would box with you.


I was tired and pulled into the first motel easy to reach from the road. The managers seemed to be from the Middle East, but not Arab. There were no hooks or coat hangers, so rather than throw my clothes on the floor, I put them on a chair. I went to bed and slept well