On The Road With Joe

Some months ago, in anticipation of my return visit home, my father sent me an itinerary via email.  Outlined in the document were key moments like my trip to Tucson to celebrate Christmas with the Funk Family, and All Saints Church’s mission to El Salvador in January.  Also included in the list of blacked-out dates was a three day road trip with my father down to Chico, California; he must have wanted to surprise me.

My father loves to drive vehicles over long distances.  The drives give him a chance to see different parts of our expansive nation at different times, when the season is new or changing.  He likes to pass by cities and towns at night when all he can see is the lights.  He fascinates at sunlight breaking over the crisp white reminders of snowstorms; marvels at the weave and winding way our land has been grooved, cleared, paved and brought under foot.  He especially loves the trains.

The Black Bear Diner in the town of Mt. Shasta, California is a place of comfort for my father.  I have eaten there with him on numerous occasions.  We found ourselves there on both legs of our Chico journey.  On our way to Chico, after having eaten our gigantic breakfasts at the Black Bear, we walked into town.  Near the diner is a railroad crossing which speeds goods through one of the most beautiful areas on earth.  “I hear a train.  I want to see it,” my dad said as we neared the tracks.  I hadn’t heard anything, but I did not doubt him.  “Do you think it has a caboose?” he asked.

With a friendly wave he greeted the conductor in the same manner I expect he greeted conductors as a child growing up in Oklahoma.  How could you not love this man?