[Seahawk]

In April, 1988 I left San Diego for Patuxent River, Maryland. I was in my 1968 912.

I had a lot of time so I did a sine wave course across the US...from San Diego I drove up through Washington State, down thought Idaho into Nevada, over to Arizona (Sierra Vista), then back roads to Deming, NM then North again.

Even though it is on the Interstate, Deming probably didn't see a lot of 20 year old 912s. Stayed the night in Deming. I stopped at a small diner early in the morning before I headed north on Route 180.

There was a gal about my age with her Grandfather sitting along the window booths that looked out on the small highway where I had parked the 912. When I got up to leave, the grandfather got up and followed me out.

It had snowed, rare for April, overnight so there was a dusting on the mountains north of Deming. The diner had the two door set up where you had to open one door into a small holding area, then push out into the cold.

I held the door open for the grandfather, his granddaughter stayed inside.

"What it is?" was the first question he asked me.

So I told him.

"That car is beautiful."

We spoke for a few minutes. He was a 2nd generation legal immigrant from Chile. He had farmed east of of Deming along the Rio Grande his whole life.

He was one of those guys that are just natty, with a perfect, no nonsense look his his eye. His cowboy hat was white and spotless, his plaid shirt and khakis pressed and fit him like a skinny glove, the brown cowboy boots polished.

It was nippy so he asked me where I was going.

So I told him.

"Wish I was going with you..."

I can honestly say that I watched him in the rear view mirror has I drove away and he never took his eyes off the car. I thought of him a bunch that trip.

Remember those guys, those encounters, when the gum toting, disrespectful douches appear (and they will).

Only way to stay sane.