“I played hockey with a Canadian guy who lives in Santa Rosa,” Harry said. “He wants us to stop in. Bob’s got oil money, so I’m sure his house is amazing.” This Bug trip was Harry’s idea, and I had promised to go along with whatever he dreamed up. “Okay,” I said, “I’m ready to…

When the Bug crossed into California, sun broke through the clouds. The evergreens thinned out, and sticky chartreuse sprouts appeared on the hardwoods. The temperature gauge crept toward seventy. We hadn’t felt seventy degrees for six months. In Sacramento, we stopped at a Black Bear Restaurant for lunch. Harry parked the Bug in front of…