August 11th 1981

posted in: Innocents Abroad | 1
The Pontiac on its way to the garage… again!

A fair night’s sleep, then the same old walk to the garage.  They suggested we be towed in, so they called a tow-truck and I rode back with him, we unloaded some food, and Val and I stayed while he took our car away.  So, once again, we headed down to the beach, and stripped off.  Some comments about nude beaches.  There are more men than women.  Lots of the people do not have good enough bodies to sustain public nakedness.  Nude beaches are not sexy.  Often the sexiest part is to watch someone undress, but they are usually so matter of fact it soon loses its appeal.  On the plus side, nudity is more comfortable and occasionally there are some very good-looking people.

However, I ran up the steps (190 of them) to call the garage at about 12.30.  It was fixed, but cost us $59 (inc. towing) just to replace a wire.  Humph.  Ran back down the stairs, then sweated back up with the gear.  Left Val at the top, then walked back to collect car.  So, finally, we were on our way.  However, needed some ice to go in our cool-box to protect our food, and it was another incredibly hot day.  Couldn’t find anywhere that had any all the way to the freeway, so soon came off freeway + eventually found somewhere.  Then couldn’t find way back, then, when we did get on again, we were routed off again by accident.  I was mightily sick of riding round Vancouver in the heat.

For the rest of the day, till gone 12, we were driving – picked up a fairly boring French-Canadian girl for part of the way.  Still amazingly hot, and I at least was very pleased when we pulled off the road just past Quesnel + stopped.

I knew when I decided to post these diary entries that there would be some I would find uncomfortable, reflecting a person I prefer not to have to confront.  Val asked me whether they were going to be warts and all, and my response was that they ought to be, however embarrassing that might prove.  And so far, at least, the blog has been a verbatim copy of the original.

So, this entry is mildly scandalous, being a rather strange collection of musings about what I called “nude” beaches.  It was forty years ago, of course, and as all misbehaving men of a certain age say, things were different then.  Well, maybe, but wrong all the same.  It’s not even that I can blame my youth.  I was twenty-eight, for heaven’s sake, not fifteen.

I suppose the one redeeming feature is the honesty.  If I thought something, I wrote it.

  1. Pamela J Blair

    No apologies–I think you’re brave to show us who you were then. A note on the nude beach–I’m guessing there were more men than women because many of the men were gay. Did you get that impression? That’s certainly the case at Baker Beach in SF. I keep wanting you to ditch your car and stick out your thumb–although $59 is incredibly cheap for a wire and a tow. I remember similar problems with my ’67 VW van that I picked up in Rome and drove through the Middle East. First it was a bald tire that blew, near Naples, then various other problems, running out of gas, etc., etc. Selling it in Beirut after six months of living in it was hardest–it took me a couple of weeks to find somebody, a Palestinian teacher from the refugee camp who said he’d use it for his students, and then they probably cheated me on the price.

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