Santa Rosa Route Poem by Curtis Johnson

Santa Rosa Route
By Curtis Johnson

The Viet Nam war was over, and Jim Jones was in the news a lot, back in late 1978.
Multiple crises, like the Iran hostage affair, seemed to explode, creating a massive heartache.
The beat goes on; the heat stays on; and America was still getting over the scandal of Watergate.

But everyday life also goes on, and every morning I arose to start my job in the city by the Bay.
Making a few early morning stops in the financial district was okay. But what I really loved was crossing the Golden Gate Bridge each and every day.

Heavily loaded with bags and lots of mail, away I went for long northern drives.
Customer service was job one, and they were always happy when I arrived.
I was a courier man with essential documents, helping the economy to survive.

Getting away, running free, and making a living was what it was all about.
That our customers loved seeing their pictures and getting their payroll, there was no doubt.
Mill Valley, San Rafael, and Novato were the beginning of my delivery route.

Some days got really hot in Sonoma County, but I cooled down when I returned to the Golden Gate. I delivered and picked up photography, bank mail, and deposits; and I was seldom late. For lunch? Yogurt, fresh fruit, and all kinds of nuts were what I always ate.

Owen Spann in the morning and Jim Eason in the afternoon were my favorite talk show hosts.
I drove a lot; I listened a lot; and I learned a lot from Radio 810 KGO. I learned about authors, politics, finance, and even a little trivia from the most powerful station on the West Coast.
I guess that freedom of the road, learning new things, and meeting new people were what I loved the most.

The days went fast as I furthered my route through Petaluma, Sebastopol, Forestville, and Guerneville. I crossed the Russian River in Guerneville, and for just a while I would sit and chill. The river’s crossing was the end of the line for my route in that direction. As I proceeded back toward Santa Rosa, cruising slowly through the wooded two lane winding road was such a thrill.

So on I went to sunny Santa Rosa where the merchants and bankers awaited me. Deliveries in Santa Rosa would be my last for the day, after which I would often locate a shady tree. Under a tree, in the park, or reading books in the library is where for the next hour or more, I would be.

This was a waiting down time for the banks to close; after which I would begin to make my late afternoon pickups. Heading south back down highway 101 from town to town along the way, I picked up overnight mail and bank deposits without delay. I was rushing time line deliveries to air planes and processing centers.

There would be no excuses accepted for traffic jams, accidents, bridge crossings, and toll gates.
We all knew that the planes could not wait, and there was never a need to debate.
It was understood; it was our job; so we did our best to not be late.

Called the Santa Rosa Route, it was just one of the many routes that I drove over a period of nearly twenty five years and approximately one million miles.
cj09172007