West Newton

Unfortunately West Newton station turned out to be a strip of tarmac with a yellow line and a concrete bunker beside a freeway. There was no taxi rank, no station building and no clue as to which was was the right way to go. So I started walking.... Eventually I came upon a couple of ladies who told me they worked at a local school and were out for their lunchtime stroll into town and I could join them. We talked for a while as we strolled and I learned that my destination was a mile or so away and that there might be a cab garage down the next hill. There was, and even better there was an authentic Irish pub around the corner from the cab garage and within 45 minutes I was fully replenished and on my way to the company I was visiting at a sedate pace chatting to a local taxi driver who was such a nice guy I stayed chatting with him on at the curbside when after the journey back. This was definitely the best part of my trip to the East Coast. Just gently traveling along, meeting local people, talking about stuff, getting where I needed to be on time and getting back again without any hassle.

Back in the concrete bunker at West Newton Station a lady rather timidly sat down beside me.

She opened the conversation with "Hmmm... Well you don't look like you want to mug me."

"But there is no one else here and who would see."

This was indeed true; a concrete shed facing the railroad tracks with a freeway full of speeding cars behind it. No one would see. I could certainly get away with it. I thought hard, trying to imagine the scenario, but couldn't quite manage it. Then I thought about her mugging me. That didn't work either.

"Hmmm...Neither do you." I commented.

It turned out that this lady was from Pacifica about 40 minutes up Highway 280 from my house and so we shot the breeze about the Election, The City and Santa Cruz and she gave the name of new bookstore I simply must visit next time I am over the hill.