Wavecrest Woodie Meet

An Essay:  Wavecrest Woodie Meet

They sat about together or stood in nearby clusters, discussing a prized possession or a remembrance of how it used to be.  The grayed haired men, most sporting glasses leaned in as their hearing wasn’t what it once was as they described an event or a function of their hobbies or fascinations.  Their eyes twinkled with by-gone youth as they savored the moment.  It’s the camaraderie that was clear, as each one had a different take on the same subject. 

The sparse crowds walking through the exhibit seemed mostly middle-aged or older; the occasional youngster held his grandfather’s hand as the wisdom of time tried to explain to the child exactly what he was looking at.  Fascinated by the lines, the style, the color, the grace, and the beauty are all in the eye of the beholder.  If only the child had time and insight to savor what was in front of him.

Some walked by quickly; others slowed a bit, stopped, and reminisced about a memory of the bygone era.  It was all in front of them, built to last, solid, marvels at what man can engineer.  But other than the exhibitors, proud of their possessions, all pushed along past the past then back into the present as they moved on to deal with what they have today.

And the old men stayed, guarding their prized antiques, polishing, shinning, and making sure everything was just right so others could enjoy their goods.  The group of exhibitors had shrunk; there were extra spaces where before someone would be set up, maybe because of lingering COVID concerns or perhaps some of the old guys had passed on or lost interest.  

The men talked about past members of the club, where so-in-so had moved, what had happened to his family, questioning why he didn’t show up to display his prized possession.  Maybe he sold it, maybe the family doesn’t want it, or maybe no one showed an interest in his collection or hobby.   After all, it was his hobby.

So, the Wavecrest Woodie Meet car show in Encinitas, CA this past weekend was more than a club meet or a social event where they gathered with spouses and friends.  It was a time to reflect, to pause, to mark off another year of existence.  Nothing much had changed with their old antique cars: maybe another coat of wax, a tuned engine, or new tires, as the old ones were brittle with age – much like the owners.

But there they were, proudly answering questions of the passer-byers: “What year is this Woodie?”  (A small placard in each windshield supplied the make, year, and model, but some seemed not to notice.)  Or the owner talked details of his restoration with another owner.  One guy has some old parts that he didn’t need anymore; another wanted to sell his car.  Times are getting tough.

But the most apparent was the lack of young owners and not many young spectators.  A couple of skateboarders took advantage of the paved parking lot as they whizzed through; several surfers cut through the display headed to the beach: “Oh, cool.”  “Man that’s rad.”  “Dude… I want one, “was overheard as the young guys passed on by.

The new generation isn’t much interested in car ownership; they are way too expensive to own, a tank of gas costs more than they earn, and many put off getting their driver’s license, opting for ride-sharing to get about.  The Z’s and X’rs use computers and joysticks, not wrenches and screwdrivers.  Most have never changed the oil, let alone changed a tire.  So, the art and knowledge of maintaining an antique car isn’t in their wheelhouse.

Now, the old-timers sat about, with pride in ownership of a gleaming artifact, a symbol of a vital part of their past.  The Woodie struck a chord in their memory; it was more than a cool vehicle to carry a surfboard on top with Beach Boy tunes played on a tinny radio.  It reminded them of the life’s transition:  they couldn’t wait to get a driver’s license – that magical point between youth and manhood, to enjoy the freedom and independence of cruising, and to show off their pride in a machine which turned a head or two. 

But the owners think about the future:  what will they do with their cherished heirloom.  Is there anyone in the family willing to carry on and value the tradition, or is it destined to be like all old artifacts that fade away, only to be remembered occasionally over time.  Maybe the gracious way is to enjoy it in the moment and let the heirs worry about the eventual disposal, after all most don’t value the family heirlooms:  One man’s treasure is another’s junk. 

Through it all, it’s still hard to image a Wavecrest EV (electric vehicle) Meet in the future, showing off an old Tesla, Chevy Bolt, or whatever was the latest fad in EVs during the 2022s.   As it’s currently going, there won’t be any gas available to drive an old Woodie to a Wavecrest Meet!  

 

 

Night Stalkers

 I live in the typical California urban neighborhood, the homes are about 16 feet apart, separated by a 5 foot, wooden privacy fence.  (I use the word "privacy" loosely.)  Anyway, my neighbor was describing unusual nighttime activity occurring on his back fence, the noise of an unseen animal, and a barely seen figure looming in the dark.  

I have a Stealthcam which I've used on trails around our neighbor and have captured images of deer, coyote, and bobcat in the canyons.  I decided to set up the camera on my fence looking toward the area where my neighborhood has seen and heard the unusual activity.  I wasn't convinced that coyotes or bobcats were lurking about.

I've seen coyotes strutting down the street, oblivious to the humans who have taken over his space.  They've rewards us by killing our small pets; we've lost four cats over twenty years at the teeth of the coyote.  I saw on my Ring camera two of them chase a poor cat to our door then savagely kill it. 

So, after two nights of filming the dark, I checked the SD card and was rewarded:

A bobcat peering into the lens of my Stealthcam.

The bobcat sauntering down the fence line toward my neighbor's residence.

The familiar possum walks the fence.

The ghost of the neighborhood.

Wrinkled Earth

My Travel Log: 

Continuing my travels along the beach which stretches from Oceanside to Torrey Pines (my foot travels so far) I have discovered some interesting things, to me anyway.  I've discovered the best beaches (without stones and rocks), I've seen palatial homes hemmed in by tattered and weathered shacks, and I've determined the favorite surf breaks by the number of surfers clamoring for a wave.  I've seen certain spots where excess seaweed is washed up from an apparent underwater seaweed field nearby, and I've witnessed the Snowy Egret feeding along the shore as the wave recedes back to the ocean uncovering a bug to eat.  

Something that is very familiar and obvious is the ever-present sign warning of bluff failure. 

Along our beaches we have high bluffs and cliffs scattered throughout the topography.  Some of them are really high and the dangerous.  The wind and weather and of course the ocean has had a severe effect on their stability.  Through erosion, soil and rock are being dissolved from the earth’s crust and washed down onto the beach.  As the bluffs weather, they become textured and wrinkled waiting for the gradual destruction from the elements. 

Some of the residences along the bluffs are in precarious positions.  Owners and the local governments collaborate to try and shore up the bluffs to prevent their collapse. And walkers and sunbathers are warned of their danger.

But there is something beautiful about the way nature slowly reclaims the land back to itself through time.  I found this spot where erosion from nature is making its mark; what texture, what design and style.  And in time it will all wash onto the beach and be swept out into the ocean.