May 12th, 5:57 am

Heading south on the Point Reyes – Petaluma road just past the reservoir there is a three way stop. Straight leads to Olema or San Rafael depending which way you turn at the T. To the right is a curvy, winding, two lane road that has little traffic. It follows a small stream that rages after a winters’ storm. It flows into Tomales Bay and then into the Pacific. The road ends on California highway 1, just north of Point Reyes Station.

It was the late summer of 1990. I was sitting in a brand new 3/4 ton pick-up. Under its’ hood was an engine almost as powerful as god. The sun was shining, no fog today. It was late afternoon. I turned to the right.

Looking at my eight-year-old son, I told him to put on his seat belt. He paused for a second wondering what was to come. His belt clicked in, as did mine.

Sliding in Billy Joel, I turned up the volume until it was blasting. We looked at each other and then straight-ahead. Grabbing the wheel tightly, I floored it!!!!. The acceleration jammed us back into our seats. Our adenine and hearts raced. The turns I had come to know quickly jerked us from side to side. Holding onto the wheel the truck held the curves at speeds I had not taken before. Half way through I caught a glimpse of my son. His eyes wide open staring straight to the road with a smile and wonderment that I can still see to this day.

It was over, what seemed like, before it had begun. I turned down the volume. We both took deep breaths and begin to relax. Looking at each other, “maybe we shouldn’t tell your mom about this”.

He nodded.

I believe I took his hand as we drove slowly the last half-mile home.