by Mick Rhodes | editor@claremont-courier.com

On Saturday I managed to get my kids up and in the car “at the asscrack of dawn,” as my daughter put it (8 a.m. to you and me), for a drive up to Tehachapi and a day of rural detective work.

The aim was to locate the home my grandfather built — pretty much by himself — in the 1970s on the outskirts of the high desert town about 140 miles northwest of Claremont. That we made it up there in time for breakfast is a small miracle. With summer here, the “kids,” 15, 19, and 23, are all sleeping well into the afternoon, so sitting down at Henry’s Cafe for chicken fried steak and biscuits and gravy at 10:15 was a rare mid-morning victory.

I hadn’t been to Tehachapi — named by its original inhabitants, the indigenous peoples of the Kawaiisu Nation — in 40 years. It seemed a good time to show my kids a tangible slice of their family history. My good intentions were not aided by an address, however, as I had found no documentation of my grandparents’ life there in my typically last-minute Friday evening search through family papers.

I’ve generally tried to avoid living in the past. Nostalgia is a killer, I’ve always said. But families are different. Reminders are everywhere. The sepia toned photos nudge us. Hell, I even live in my late mother’s home. I’ve aimed to keep my focus on the present, but there are unavoidable factors pulling me toward the “back in the day” abyss. I’d been contemplating a road trip to Tehachapi for several months, so I guess now that I think about it my credo is more of a recommendation than an edict.

The Tehachapi I knew, huddled in the California high desert at 3,970 feet, was my grandparents Carl and Dorothy Rhodes’ home from the mid-1970s to about 1985. My grandfather built his third and final house there. The sturdy three bedroom, two-story home and barn lay down a rutted rural dirt road along a small creek. The pitched lot was dotted with ancient native oak, scrub, dozens of fruit trees he planted, and a fairly deluxe chicken coop. Thinking back is heavenly; I can still smell my grandmother’s famous fried potatoes, bacon, fresh eggs, sausage gravy (a theme has developed), and biscuits.

My grandfather built the barn then the house over the course of several years, driving up from Glendora on the weekends. His weekdays were spent at California Panel and Veneer, in downtown Los Angeles, and later at their new location in Cerritos, the same job he held after returning from World War II in 1945 until his retirement. The 108-year-old company is still around.

Saturday’s journey was surprisingly familiar: 210 Freeway west to the 5, 14, and 58, passing through once sparse Palmdale, Lancaster, and Mojave, past the geologic violence of the Vasquez Rocks, and on up to windy, Mojave Desert adjacent Tehachapi.

My plan was simple: drive around until we find a dirt road that looked familiar, show the kids their great-grandparents’ house, tell a few stories, and maybe take a couple photos. I allotted for a few dead ends, and expected it might take some time. But, as is the case with most simple plans, there were unforeseen obstacles. First, the town was no longer tiny; its population had tripled from 4,126 in 1980 to near 13,000. Another, one of the first things I noticed pulling into town was a Walmart and a Home Depot. I took this as a sign that my simple plan was perhaps a little simple.

After driving down a dozen or more dirt roads, seeing nothing familiar, and feeling more than a little disappointed in my slapdash detective work, we headed into town to charge up our trusty electric shoebox, aka 2023 Hyundai Kona, and walk around a little.

Plugging in the Kona, my eye caught a storefront, “Mountain Music.” I’m always up for a small town music store — who knows what vintage musical treasure will turn up? — and the kids humored me. There we were met by the affable owner, Debby Hand, who gave us a tour of the store and her concert venue next door, “Fiddler’s Crossing.” She was kind to the kids, and we made plans to visit her again next time. (I returned home to find out through research for this column that Debby, in the parlance of Ron Burgundy, is kind of a big deal: along with running the music store and concert venue, she co-founded The Tehachapi Symphony Orchestra in 1997, and founded The Tehachapi Pops Orchestra in 2006.)

It’s no surprise that seeing the town brought up some feelings. Places familiar more than 40 years ago — the 1904 Tehachapi Depot, 1932 BeeKay Theatre, and 1956 Burger Spot — were still standing. It was an unexpected blessing to reconnect with these places, the town, and memories of my grandparents. I’m about as old now as they were then, and in the intervening years time has done what it does; most everyone in those sepia toned family photos is gone now.

I’ve come to realize Saturday’s drive was more than a road trip. It was a pilgrimage. Talking to my kids about their great-grandparents is fine, but taking them to the actual place, feeling the car bounce around on the dirt roads and the ever-present hot wind on our faces made it real for them. And for me. It felt important, like I’d done some good parenting.

It’s also true that we were unable to find their ancestral home. But I’m no longer disappointed. Now we have a reason to go back.