As summer comes to an abrupt halt, I was reminded of the 1984 Summer Olympic Games; unless you live in the hosting city, you do not get the sense of greatness surrounding them.
We lived in the Los Angeles area during the 1984 Summer Olympic Games and had no idea how we were to conduct business with the additional 10 million vehicles raining down on the city.
At the time, Los Angeles was not known for its public transportation, so every hotel room, every concert hall and venue in Los Angeles was reserved years in advance; with no public transportation in sight, all car rental agencies were reserved to the max. The trolley/bus of my youth was nowhere in sight as it had been replaced by diesel-powered buses and automobiles. Everyone in Los Angeles was driving and the number of cars on the road exceeded the population of southern California.
There was no way to get around the city and work in a normal manner during the two weeks of the Olympic Games; grumpy and I came up with a marvelous idea.
Since my work depended on visiting architects, contractors, health care locations, educational facilities and other commercial buildings in Southern California from San Diego to Fresno, we packed the car the weekend before the Olympic Games began and headed north, via the 101 freeway, all the way with the Pacific Ocean on our left; it took us to small towns such as Ventura, Montecito, Carpinteria, Santa Barbara, Santa Maria and others. Solvang was in our itinerary, and it was one of the most memorable days we enjoyed. Take a moment to look it up in your computer and you’ll see what I mean.
With our gear, there were fishing poles, boots, jackets, camping gear and other paraphernalia which would allow us to stop anywhere at any time and enjoy the outdoors. This was his dream, to eventually move out of the city and come home to Missouri.
Our weekends were glorious; we took time to visit the Camino Real, where the original Catholic Missions were built by the Spanish settlers. During the week, we worked our normal day, enjoyed the different cuisine, met people and in general had the best working vacation anyone could ask for.
Soon, the two weeks came to an end. The games were over, and the additional people were gone. We came home to our daily routine of working, freeway madness and occasional dinner out in town. It was not the same after fishing, camping, being outdoors for two weeks in clean air and great weather. We had changed; we wanted more of nature, more silence and more peace.
As soon as the youngest child started college, we bailed. We sold the house, the furniture, the dog and everything not nailed down, and started our trip to southwest Missouri in a small truck hauling a trailer filled to the brim. In no time and thanks to his parents, we found a place to live, great neighbors and plenty of work to do to create the home we wanted.
It is peculiar, when we lived in California grumpy would take hunting and fishing trips with his buddies, and as soon as we moved back to the farm, he is never found outdoors hunting. He loves the view from our porch and rather than taking a gun out, he enjoys seeing deer and other critters run below the pasture.
As I remember those Olympic Games, I don’t regret not being in town in 1984 to see the Summer Olympics. Life in Missouri is so much better.