30 Years in a Housetruck

Chapter Two - Page Eight: Escape

The "Plan", if there ever was one, was to spend a few days finishing up things before leaving L.A. for Oregon. Woodley talked his Great Grandfather, Marion, into allowing us to bring our trucks to his residence for that period.

We drove away from my old neighborhood, heading west to the Palos Verdes hills, overlooking the Los Angeles Basin, where Woodley's GG lived on a rambling estate inside the gated community of Rolling Hills Estates. It was after midnight when we rolled up to the guard shack and requested admission. Of course, the guard on duty took one look at the two scraggly, long haired youths driving two large and obviously dilapidated moving vans, and told us “no way”. Woodley got the guy to call his GG, waking the old man up out of a sound sleep. Marion was furious that the guard would even question us, and raised Cain with the homeowner's association as a result.

I can remember driving in the dark along steep, narrow roads in near absolute darkness. The community was very rural, and although I knew the route well enough, I wasn't prepared for the last bit into Marion's driveway. The road was so steep that I was literally standing on the brake pedal of the truck, and pulling up on the bottom of the steering wheel for added leverage in an attempt to stop before I came to the back of Woodley's van. It would take only a few more stops like this one to convince me that the truck needed to have a power brake booster added, manual brakes weren't going to cut it, even at very low speeds.

Marion had made a lot of money in the 1920's and 30's by selling lumber and hardware during the building boom in L.A. The house he had built was on 5 acres, had a servant's quarters and commercial-style kitchen, and a guest house. Woodley and I set up our trucks in the large asphalt driveway in the courtyard in front of the house and prepared for our upcoming trip.

Out in one of the sheds, we found two twelve-foot 2x10" boards of nearly clear Douglas fir, which we loaded underneath my truck to use as ramps, leaving my old ramps in exchange. Another useful item was a U-Haul bumper-mount towing hitch, leftover from the old man's hardware rental business. I tried everything I could to try to rent a companion tow bar to haul my car along on the trip but was not successful. Still, the bumper hitch would come in handy later on.

Kim had warned us that the rednecks in Oregon hated "Hippies" and that we'd better come with our hair cut short or suffer the consequences. Sounded like BS to me, but since I would be living without a shower or bath in the housetruck for a while, short hair made some sense. I was never able to get it to grow back as long as it had been then, to the middle of my back. Nowadays, I'd be worried that the extra weight of that length would make it fall out easier!

Since I wasn't able to arrange for the use of a tow bar to take my car along, I would need a place to store it for the time being until I could come back for it. Woodley's mother owned a condo in San Pedro which had an enclosed parking garage underneath with room for two cars, although she owned only one. We took my car over and after removing the battery to use in the Housetruck, pushed it into the parking stall, with the hood underneath an overhead storage cabinet. I locked the car and we drove back to Marion's estate.

Although I don't really recall, a post card that I sent my mother indicates that we pulled out of L.A. the evening of April 21, 1975, bound for Santa Barbara, where Woodley's estranged wife Anne was attending college.

My first night on the road apparently didn't make enough of an impression on me to have a lasting memory. We may have had dinner and maybe drank a beer, but about all I can remember is being parked on the side of a street outside of Anne's apartment.

In the morning, I do remember meeting a couple who were in their late 50's or early 60's who were living full time in a VW bug with a big dog. The seats in the car had been modified to lay flat to create a bed. They had been parked along with Woodley's step van and my Housetruck, so apparently the neighborhood was very tolerant of mobile living.

At some point, goodbyes were said and we continued our trip north on Highway 101.

The Automobile Club map of California shows that its 294 miles from Santa Barbara to our next destination, San Jose. I dont remember whether we made it in one day, or if we overnighted somewhere along the way. The Housetruck at this point had a top speed of 40 MPH, and assuming no significant stops for food gas or recreation, it would have taken 7-1/2 hours on the road to make the trip.

Highway 101 in 1975 was still pretty much a two-lane secondary route, especially along the coast, where the road still had many sharp turns and steep hills. I can only think that we must have stopped somewhere and resumed the drive the next day.

San Jose was the destination because thats where my Grandparents lived in a mobile home park that had been bulldozed out of orange groves on what was then the edge of town. In those days, SJ had a population of about a half million. Today, it has twice that. The interesting thing back then was that the city limits were very far out from the city center. It seemed like we drove for an hour after seeing the sign announcing our arrival in the city limits. Guess thats what you get when the incorporated area is 178 square miles.

We located the mobile home park, and found parking places near my Grandparents trailer. We hadnt been there more than a few minutes before the park manager came by and told us that we had to move or trucks out of the park. When we explained the situation, we were "allowed" to move out of the park and into the large vehicle storage yard off to one end of the park. Woodley and I spent the next day or two parked among commercial motor homes, boats and utility trailers in storage.

(An interesting aside: When I next visited my Grandparents in the Housetruck in 1981, after doing a complete make-over and paint job, the same manager tried to pull the same stunt on me again. I pointed out that I was parked between my brothers and fathers commercial motorhomes, and asked why they weren't being made to move to the storage yard. I also offered him a tour of the inside, and he seemed very impressed. I didnt have to move after that, and made it a point to build the smokiest fires possible in the woodstove during my stay!)

Anyway, we stayed a day or two, during which time Grandma Mace did all our laundry, and we enjoyed the parks hot tub and sauna.