Imperial Beach, CA bills itself as the country’s southwestern-most city.

Unlike its east coast counterpart Key West, it is not the southwestern-most spot. That honor goes to Border Field State Park a couple of miles further south. Neither has quite the ambience of the southeastern-most claimant but either has a case: Geography is on their side. 

Quiet here today. The season, such as it is, seems over except perhaps
for weekends. After LA, which I return to tomorrow, most parts I visit will seem
quiet from here on out. Don’t get me wrong; I like Los Angeles. I’ve made a number of friends there and have grown fond of them and it very quickly. But as my daughter observed, as a city it tends toward presumption. It’s loud in the way tacky weekend golfing outfits once were. But I’m still going back. 

I’ve promised myself I will stay no longer than the 14th October. I’m thinking I’d like to make Austin before my daughter takes off for the BVI on the 31st. But then it might also be nice to drive back up to Oakland and celebrate my son’s 28th birthday with him, assuming he’s not back on the road again by then.

No matter how you slice it I’m spending way more time in the Golden State than I had thought I would and I’m trying to figure out why. An odd sadness decended upon me a couple of weeks ago when I left Oakland (and Charles) behind on my way south. And when I left LA ( and Mitzi Jo) yesterday, again headed south, the feeling reinvaded my emotions. It was as if I was leaving home. Oddly I didn’t feel that way when I left Virginia and truly have experienced no homesickness whatsoever on the trip other than for these pseudo-homes here on the coast.