I5

Driving down Interstate 5 seems like a rite of passage for those of us here in The Bay.

I recall the first time my middle daughter drove herself — on her way to Coachella. Made me a bit nervous. Still, I knew it would be the first of many trips.

As a child, I remember stints of car sickness, bathroom breaks, cheap food, rows and rows of orchards, boredom, the stench emanating frim Harris Ranch, and of course, the ubiquitous question: “How much longer?”

I don’t know how many times I’ve been down this highway, but if I could chronicle each trek, the reasons would include: visiting relatives, attending memorial services, a quick getaway, weddings, mission visits, Disneyland, and — these days: baseball tournaments. The latter is the last reason I was on this freeway.

During one of our stops this past weekend, somewhere between Panoche and Harris Ranch, a complete stranger — who identified himself as a “trucker,” said this to me:

“Young man, under my truck, near the wheel well, there is a perfect place for that shirt you have on.”

At first, I thought he was going to comment on all of the junk food I was cradling. But seconds later, I realized that he was referring to the Dodgers shirt I was wearing. Basically, he was saying that he wanted to run over it with is big rig. Once I figured it out, we both got a good laugh of it.

I told him that — as a Dodgers fan — I catch a lot of grief in The Bay.

Before parting, I asked him where he was from: “Hanford” was his response.

My response: “Oh, that’s Steve Perry’s hometown — the lead singer of Journey.” He seemed pleased to learn that anecdote.

And then we went our “Separate Ways.”