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LOS GATOS EN LA CUNA 
(Cats in the cradle) 

September 18, 1996:  This was the fiftieth day of a fifty-day business trip to the San Jose area of California, working on a Lockheed Martin proposal bid to construct and operate a facility in Russia for decommissioning ICBM solid rocket motors under the START Treaty. 

     During this time I considered myself a “migrant firm worker.”   I also felt that I was leading something of a triple life.  One life was as the corporate-car-renting, expense-reporting, per-diem-laboring environmental schmo working among a pack of preprogrammed marketing geeks, anally retentive systems engineers, and real--no kidding--rocket scientists.  Another life was as the absentee family man trying to maintain a long-distance relationship with his wife and three children in the Cats in the Cradle mode:  “When you comin' home Dad, I don't know when..."  And, finally as the loner, the stranger, the oddball who spends much of his lunch and before-dark dinner-time hours in the break-down lanes on the freeway web of the Greater Silicon Valley–gathering information on the real superhighway with the search terms being "hitchhiker" + "graffiti."  In this latter role, I was just another roadside distraction to passers-by; one who may be committing some kind of roadside infraction, only we're just not exactly sure what it is.

     But, on this particular day, with my time in corporate purgatory mercifully at an end, I surfed the “asphalt internet” one last time before catching one last flight home from San Jose.  On California Route 17--the freeway which connects bay-side San Jose to coastal Santa Cruz--is the
town of Los Gatos.  Cradled in the eastern slopes of the Santa Cruz Mountains, it seemed to me like an upscale sort of place that had benefited from the computer revolution in the siliceous valley below.

     After checking for hitchhiker messages at the Camden Avenue on ramp, I decided to stop at the nearby Mirassou Champagne Cellars, whose existence I was made aware of by a roadside billboard–what some might say is another, socially legitimized and legally codified form of highway graffiti.  My intent was to get a bottle of champagne for Maureen and me to help us celebrate the end of this cruddy little "distance-learning" chapter of our lives.  The fact that there was a wine-tasting room at the vineyard was an added attraction, I must admit. And while admitting to this, I must also admit that when I left the winery, I carried I had a little of its product in, as well as with, me.

     Working my way back up Route 17 north to the town of Campbell, at the Hamilton Avenue on ramp, I promised myself that this would be the very last stop before heading to the airport and home.  As I pull onto the shoulder of this particularly busy entrance, I noticed a CHP cruiser pull off about ten yards up the ramp from me on the left, opposite, shoulder of the road.  Instead of getting out of the car and going about my typical research routine, this time I stayed seated.  Pretending not to notice the officer exiting his vehicle and walking, hands on hips, parallel and down toward me, I pulled out a map and began looking at it.  This was the first–so far only–time since I started the highway hunt for hitchhiker graffiti, that I felt even marginally vulnerable to legitimate police intervention.  So, because I had a slight Mirassou buzz, I felt that adding on that layer of suspicion, I would be courting the probability of getting an on-site analysis of my blood-alcohol content for which I was not sure I could pass.  I much preferred at that moment to being categorized by the cop as just another dumb, lost tourist in a rental car pathetically trying to find his way to the airport--which I likely would have been after this stop, anyway.

     Across three loud lanes of continually flowing traffic the cop yelled, "Why’d you stop?"

     "To check my map," I responded through the veil of exhaust and din of engine noise in my best dumbshit, "I'm-not-from-these-here-parts" expression.

     "You can't stop there," he growled back to me in his best “getta-fuckin-move-on-asshole” tone.

     "OK.  This the way to the airport?" I pointed, map in hand, in a partially aware manner.

     He nodded either to my question or to just get me the hell along, which he proceeded to emphasize with a quick and jerky counterclockwise rotation of his arm.  Directional signal on, I thanked him with an equally quick and jerky wave and with a look in the mirror and turn of the head-- poof--I was off to my appointment with my flight and my family and a return to some semblance of normalcy.

     How ironic, I thought, being summarily chased from the last pole on the last day of a fifty-day sojourn.  But, that was all right, I thought.  It was different end to my Bay Area roller coaster ride
than I had planned, but I was weary of it all, anyway.  And it sure beat having to beat a .08 blood alcohol reading.

     So, to the San Jose Airport I went.  I did know my way out of San Jose.  If I ever go back, it's hard to say.

     The following are the messages I got that last day of my business travel, all on Route 17 between Campbell and Los Gatos.

            
California Route17-South, Campbell, on Hamilton Avenue on ramp:

     Winnie + Scooter  1/21/85

     Mark Mueller  Sept 3/86

     Dolfie  5-8-83 to Santa Cruz to see my post mistress and my mistress's posterior

     The Jazzman 8-13-91  Tahoe to the Cruz

     Jim West was here 82 July 29
     Buzzed out of my brain

     Hopie Farfan 4/5/81

     Cop done good  8/14/91

     Here I stand in need of a ride
     My backpack by my side
     Wishing I had one to roast
     Cause I'm bound for the east coast
        Drew 2/24/8(8?)

     [Drawn what looks like AAB in a circle]

     Muleskinner was here in the RAW
     11/12/81

     5 years of being a road rat and some punk just flipped me off

     Silvette + Jennys gone with the wind

     Pat loves you Sandy Boyd

     Help!  Did you feel invisible. Then wait here

     III times the continent  Boom `87

     Somebody + others wuz here

     [Drawn peace sign and circle A]

     South to beach

     I love Mary Passamika
     Love Ben Pleske
     Maple Valley, Washington 98038
     [drawn heart with BP + MP inside]

California Route17 South, between Campbell and Los Gatos, on Camden Avenue on ramp:

     Twice removed from yesterday
     Lee + Chuckles   Hayward to Tucson

     Paul Smith
     May every path you travel be righteous

     Flinders   Santa Cruz

     Phillip Watts

     I'm wet and I'm cold but thank God I'm not old
                        [Ed. Note: quote from Sea and Sand, Quadrophenia, The Who, 1973]

     Robert Hand and Scott Staves to Santa Cruz
     I bet this pole has been everywhere
     [referring to the fact that it has been written on so extensively]

     Darrick Williams + Chuck Benesh  7/21/76
     Going to Santa Cruz
     Hope we make it

     Charlotte Songer
     Helene Huston
     Bill Songer
        
     Private Date Box
        Layman      2-2-74     2-9-74        2-11-74

        Nickel       2-2-74      2-9-74        2-11-74

        Newkirk                                       2-11-74

     Barbara Anderson, Veronica McHerney (McNerney?)

     Danny Codingham (Cedingham?) to Santa Cruz  7/25/73

     The Rollen Stones stood here  6/18/73

     John Flynn, Doug West & Todd Muir wherever he is

     Ray Exter  1973

     Arvana Georgette Williams  Mt View to Santa Cruz  3/15/73

California Route17-South, Los Gatos, at Monte Serra-Downtown (westbound) on ramp:

     Don't change dicks in the middle of a screw
     Vote for Nixon in 72        Pat Nixon

     I must be too dirty for the seat covers

     Big Sur Road Trip 91

     Rabbitt Christy & Dave

     The No Nos
     No rides No nukes No cutbacks

     Pig Nixon you're better off dead
     You get no peace of mind
     You're bound to fall
     `Cause you'll never get us all
     And lord we're gonna hang you high

     Mojo Navigator

     Capitol itself is not evil
     When used wisely it can serve as a catalyst for better things
     However capitol is the outward___________ [metal strap in the way]
     and freezes the _______ and numbs the soul

California Route 17-North, Los Gatos, on Monte Serra/Downtown (westbound) on ramp:

     Jean Letellier de Montreal is going back to Santa Cruz.
     There's no place like it.
     
     Visit "The Farm" at Drakes Lane in Summertown Tennessee U.S.A.

     Hoo Bible by Art Kleps.
     [a series of letters and symbols - like ranch brands - written as if in a code]

     Ed “One's Not Enough But Two Is Too Many” Ford
                                 +
     Gregg “A Chuckles As Good As A Laugh” Ford
                            were here

     Doug Malone needs something

     Jon Visage

     Nixon's thru in `72

     David Swim  6-11-73

     No hope
     No dope
     No ride
     We cried

     Ram `87

California Route17-South, Los Gatos, at Monte Serra-Downtown (eastbound) on ramp:

     As humus bean does organic matter?

     Gay pride day  June 25, 1978   All unite

     Boz  5-20-70   Howdy Podnah

     Numpty  7-24-70   wuz here

California Route 17 north, Los Gatos, at Monte Serra-Downtown (eastbound) on ramp:

     Timothy Leary for Governor

     Ben Stennet to Fremont  10/15/73

     Star Fucker   7-2-75

     Apple Jack
      LOVE
       IS
    GOD

     Commander Kodie Lives

     May all your ups and downs be in bed

     Bruce Shell  Hollister Cal 1-16-71

     Robert Sanchez  March 27, 1973

     Manuel Urango was here from Aptos

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