Change is one of the constants in life. Living things are born, sprint through the growth phase of life, enjoy a few days in that ideal state called maturity, then begin the decline to the final end.
Then there are things that just change.
Going home can, at times, be difficult because of this change. Progress and 'improvements' can destroy the nature of those special places we enjoyed in our youth. The changes can even destroy the spirit of a place. Such is the experience I've recently had. Let's go back in time and visit my special place as it existed thirty years ago.
Avenue Two was a quiet little country road that wove through the almond orchards and dairy lands just outside of the developed limits of Atwater. I would drive my car on that narrow road to Merced. Sometimes I would just drive on the road for fun, with not real destination in mind, turn around and repeat the drive in the opposite direction. I'd do it all just for fun. I preferred the Atwater->Merced direction over the Merced->Atwater.
The long, straight approach would begin my run of Avenue Two at maximum speed. In my underpowered MG Midget, that meant fourth gear at 75 miles per hour.
With the almond trees in full bloom, the view to the right was blocked by white and pink leaves and branches of the almond trees. Down through the gears--fourth gear, left foot pushes the clutch in, break hard with the toe of my right foot, slip the gear shift lever forward into third, blip the throttle with the heal of my right foot to bring the engine RPMs up to 4500, clutch out. Repeat for second gear timing it so that at the corner turn-in the transmission would be in second hear with the clutch fully engaged and ready to pass the torque from the engine through the rear axle to the wheels as I speed through the first turn. Once clear of the turn and with the car pointed straight down the road, I floor the accelerator pedal and shift up, take the engine to the 6,000 RPM redline in an instant. Then down to second gear again as I approach the turn. I use the same heal-and-toe dance as before.
As the car approaches the heavily chambered left hand corner, a quick glance over the blackberry bushes confirms no traffic is approaching from the opposite direction and no dairy cows are in the middle of the road. Once the path forward is confirmed clear, I move over the centerline and use the positive chamber to gain additional lateral traction through the left. I can't go too deeply into the chambered corner or the left tires will drop off the pavement and into the loose dirt. The jagged edge of the asphalt would quickly shred the inner sidewall of the Dunlop radials.
At the corner apex I hammer the throttle flat to the floor. The engine RPM rises quickly. I watch for the mucky section on the corner exit. That's where the 1,200 lb black and white milk factories make their twice daily transit from pasture to milking barn. The cows always have the right of way, but leave a slippery road covering that can cause the backend of the car to step out under hard acceleration.
I point the car at the gentle left-right curve complex ahead while accelerating through third into fourth ultimately topping out somewhere north of 60 mph.
Finally it's time to engage the left turn signal and slow to a full and complete stop. I turn left and accelerate normally on Gerr Road and drive like a reasonable person.
But that's all gone, never to be repeated again. The road has been straightened. The dairy cows and milking barn are gone. Most of the almond trees have been removed too. Sometimes going home can be difficult.
Good thing I have those turns memorized. A three dimensional mental map of the turns exist in my memory. I can hear the engine sounds and feel the forces of the turn. I can see the roll of the car as it dives deep into the chamber of that second turn. I can feel the little twitch of the rear as it slides out in the cow muck. I can smell the almond blossoms and the smell from the dairy. I can remember the joy that driving that little car on that short section of road brought to me--then in action, and now in my memories.
Such a loss. I think I’ll call this new road Avenue 2.0.
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