The Willow Glen Resident

Photograph courtesy of Cookie Curci-Wright

Good Times: Cookie's dad (perched on the passenger side of the car) and his buddies head out for a joyride, picnic and barbecue in Almaden in 1935.

Remember When

Old cars were made for joyriding

By Cookie Curci-Wright

When I was a kid, family interaction was more than three hours in front of a TV, or surfing the Internet. Hot summer nights beckoned us to take a relaxing after-dinner drive together in the family car.

And there was no better car for the job than Dad's 1947 Cadillac. Those old '40s automobiles seemed made for the art of joyriding. Fashioned with comfortable cushioned seats, chrome spotlights, padded armrests, large steering wheels and wide windows, these cars looked more like vessels of exploration than family autos.

In the summertime, after the dinner dishes had been cleared and Mom had carefully folded away her kitchen apron, Dad would invariably utter the words we loved to hear: "Let's all take a ride."

With Dad behind the wheel of his roomy "Caddie," a drive was more than just a ride--it was an adventure. Dad had a way of discovering and exploring rarely used roads, shortcuts and unpaved drives that made our evening's ride exciting and our destination always a complete surprise.

New Almaden was usually Dad's favorite area of exploration. There were plenty of back roads and hillside drives to explore in this canyon area just south of Willow Glen, between the Pueblo Hills and the Santa Cruz Mountains.

As we drove with the windows rolled down, cool Almaden breezes filled our nostrils with the pleasant fragrances of eucalyptus trees, fields of alfalfa and prune blossoms. Occasionally our noses wrinkled as we breezed past a goat or pig farm.

Local landmarks were all part of Dad's scenic tour. He showed us sights such as the quicksilver mines, the old Casa Grande Hacienda, the Carson-Perham adobe (now the New Almaden Museum), St. Anthony's wood-framed church, the old picket-fenced cemetery and the Baker family's picturesque two-story ranch house on Almaden Road.

The first unknown we usually encountered was the condition of the roadways. Early in this century, few roads in the valley were paved, and during the 1940s and '50s most roads around Uvas Meadows and Blossom Hill were still mainly dirt or gravel. These fickle roadways were washed out by the rains and rutted by the hot sun. So their condition was unpredictable.

Dad never followed a map, asked for directions or followed a signpost. Raised in Almaden, Dad knew just about every back road and turnoff in the area by heart. Suggestions and directions from passengers were totally unwelcome. Besides, where we were going was never a priority. With Dad at the wheel, it really didn't matter where we were going; the fun was in the getting there.

Driving on the back roads of New Almaden brought us past the old homesteads of my grandparents, houses of friends and family, and fields of horses and cattle. Sometimes we just checked out which farmer was growing the tallest corn that year, or the heartiest prune crop, or the beefiest cattle.

When Dad was feeling especially adventurous, he'd take a turn off Almaden Road and head for the back roads of Uvas Dam. Like an early explorer, Dad was spurred on by his curiosity to discover new views. He drove that big Cadillac of his like a Sherman tank in battle, scaling muddy hillsides and narrow dirt roads until finally reaching the zenith of his climb--the very top of the hill.

Our reward: an unforgettable panoramic view of a beautiful valley of produce fields and flowering fruit trees.

I have to admit, however, there were moments when I thought Dad had lost his way for sure. But somehow he'd always come through. Dad always managed to find his way to a uniquely beautiful spot overlooking the valley.

There were other summer nights when our evening ride took us in another direction, to the east side of town and Alum Rock Park. Here, small shallow streams ran through the park and over some of the tiny roadways. In some spots, puddled by the streams, narrow footbridges crossed each ford.

On occasion, like a captain of his ship, Dad would plunge the old Caddie through the shallow streams, much to the delighted shrieks of his passengers.

Alum Rock Park was a wooded area filled with pine trees and eucalyptus groves. Peaceful, enchanting trails meandered through the park. Dark glens, thick with ferns and wildflowers, held the secret caves, according to local legend, of the notorious Mexican bandit Joaquin Murieta.

It was there in the hillside caves, that the legendary bandit hid his piles of gold, or so the folklore goes. As Dad drove the family car slowly through the area, we scanned the hillsides searching for Murieta's cave.

During the 1950s, tract houses began replacing the lovely ranch lands of Almaden, and our drives took a new turn as we checked out these elegant, albeit intruding, homes. Every Sunday the model homes filled with families like ours, curious to see the latest luxury: the two- and three-bedroom home.

There was always something to see or someplace to go on Dad's wonderful evening rides: old homesteads to revisit or friends and relatives to drop in on. Wherever we ended up, it was always fun just to get out of the house on a summer's night and see what the rest of the world was up to.

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