Nothing=Something

One of the wineries I shoot for is located in Paso Robles, I live in San Francisco.  I love the drive to and from Paso….down 101, through San Jose, dropping down into the Salinas Valley.  From there it’s a straight shot on the valley floor flanked by two mountain ranges. Stunning really and if I were a good writer I’d go into a beautiful piece of prose right now about the history, the climate, topography etc. of that area.

I’d say the names of the towns like Gonzales, Soledad, King City (it’s not really a city). I’d talk about the farms and farm workers…..and rows and rows and rows of different crops.  I’d point out the billboard that has a picture of Martin Luther King on it with the tagline “Martin Luther King was a Republican”

Instead read Steinbeck.

I’m always intrigued by what lies off the road.  The historical markers, the little towns, the road that winds off into the distance.

One trip back to SF I decide to take the exit to San Ardo.  Don’t know one iota about San Ardo.

I take the exit, drive across the Salinas River into San Ardo.  I see an old guy standing near what appears to be an old gas station.  I drive to the end of town and turn around.  I haven’t seen another human so I drive back and pull into the old gas station and get out.  I try the door. It’s locked.  I’m sort of trying to see inside but there’s a lot of things on the window that blocks the view.

Someone is ambling across the street coming towards me.

It’s the old guy.

He reaches me finally and says “Whatcha looking for?”

I say, “I don’t know”

He says “Well, I’m not going to open up for you then”

“I don’t know what you got. I can’t see inside”

“What do you want?”

We’re at an impasse here so I say “Do you have water for sale?”

“Yep”

And he fishes into his pocket for the keys and in we go.

Old inside, of course; he’s got a pretty random assortment of stuff. What’s startlingly though is running around all four walls are shelves and shelves of baseball hats.  Hundreds and hundreds of them and each different.

So I do what I do best.  I ask questions.

815 hats if I remember but there are a couple thousand in storage

It all started innocently like all these things do by someone giving him a baseball hat and him putting it on a shelf.  And someone gives another, and another and so on.
One of the hats was given by a famous SF 49’er..a football player.

But I’ve done it.  He’s talking and it appears like he likes to talk and we’re going to be there awhile.

I steer the conversation to one wall of the store/old gas station/hat museum/place.  There’s a counter with maybe seven or so stools.  What’s that I want to know.  He’s says it’s a bar but it’s not open right now..only when people start to get off work does he open it. And no, he won’t open if for me right now.

We finally get done talking.  I didn’t get any water, I purchased fruit juice instead.

After I tell Annie my story of San Ardo she remarks “Once again Paul, you go looking for nothing and you find something”

I’ve logged the San Ardo Old Gas Station Store Hat Museum Bar into the memory bank.  Gotta have a drink here somehow.

My daughter finishes school in Santa Barbara and I drive down to collect her and her things. Load up in my car and load up her car and start to drive back.

I time things so we are driving by San Ardo around quitting time.  I make sure that Taylor follows me when I exit the highway.

Drive right up to it.  Two trucks sit outside.

We walk in.  The hat guy is behind the bar.  Two old guys are sitting there as well.

We sit down and I say “We’d like a couple beers”

The hat guy starts in again.

“I don’t sell beer here”

I look at the man next to me.  He’s got a Coors Light in his hand, the man at the end has a Coors Light too.

I point and say “Ok, give me what they have then”

“Is she old enough to drink”?

“Sure is, she’s my daughter”

I don’t drink Coors Light but I'm thinking that’s all he’s got so I don’t push it and take what he’s giving.

We start in on our beers and I tell him how we’re driving back home etc etc.

The man sitting next to me pulls out his wallet…now this is right out the blue mind you and takes out a laminated card and hands it to me.

“This is who I am”

I take it but can’t read it because I didn’t bring in my glasses from the car.  The hat guy who we now know is named Marcel gives me his 1970’s style huge pair of glasses.

The card says he’s a Native American and belongs to the Salinan Tribe.

John’s his name but no he doesn’t have a casino.

The man at end of the bar is Happy.  He’s 88, Marcel and John are younger.  We know this because they’re teasing Happy that he’s the oldest of the bunch.

Happy says it’s time for him to go and climbs down.  From his stool to the door is maybe twenty feet. Happy starts to walk…well, walk is not the right word.  I don’t think we have a word in the English language for this but he is moving across the floor an inch, maybe 2 inches at a time.  I swear it takes him five minutes to go 20 feet.

He reaches the door and I’m afraid he won’t be strong enough to open it and I’m twitching trying to decide if I should get up and help him.  But no, a man doesn’t do that to another man unless you know for sure he needs help.

He makes it out and eventually I see the door open to a truck and he climbs in somehow and drives off.

I ask Marcel about San Ardo….ok, I’ve done it.

He disappears and comes back with boxes of newspaper clippings, flags from the war, medals, and lord knows what else in them..

He’s a talker like I said………..

And once again I go look for nothing and find something.