San Diego Redux

“I suddenly realized I was in California. Warm, palmy air – the air you can kiss – and palms.”
-– Jack Kerouac

I feel it every time I start that long smooth glide past the little mountain town of Alpine down Interstate 8 into San Diego:  The air grows warmer, more kissable maybe; palm trees appear; and I can almost smell the ocean a few miles ahead.

Then, just past El Cajon, my romantic illusions fade in the frenzy of freeway rush hour.  But after experiencing a harrowing drive into Memphis a few weeks ago, I know what to do. I exit the freeway on Texas Street and wind my way down University through Hillcrest to Balboa Park where I take Annie for a walk.