The Luckiest Man Alive Gets a Scarf
M has been making use of his new Pinnacle Chevron Scarf for the past couple of weeks, so I figured it needed to be my next blog post. The weather has actually grown too warm for this Ultra Alpaca scarf, as the almonds and daffodils are in bloom. Here is M wearing it outside in his shirtsleeves a few weeks ago.
M is not a “wrap the scarf around your neck” sort of guy, so I knit it to his specifications in terms of length, which was about 5 feet long. The width before blocking was 7.5 inches and I blocked it to 9.5 inches wide, opening up the rib some but not a lot. It seemed to be what the scarf wanted. The pattern is simply three repeats of Pinnacle Chevron Rib (a repeat of 18 +1) which I got from Barbara Walker but is also in the Harmony Guides and countless other stitch dictionaries. I used size 8 Addi Turbos. The scarf lies wonderfully flat and is completely reversible, which is almost a prerequisite in my book for a man’s scarf. No fuss or putting it on wrong.
My plan was to use up the Berroco Ultra Alpaca I had left over from knitting myself the Aran Pocket Shawl. However, due to M’s desire for only a 5-foot long scarf, I still have 1.5 skeins of the yarn left over. M’s sister does want a hat for skiing in a dark green, so she may get her wish.
Now, M isn’t the Luckiest Man Alive because I knit him this scarf, but I alluded to this title in a previous post, and a few readers wanted to hear the story. For the story to make sense, you need to know about two highways in California. The first is Highway 1, which is the coastal highway. If you’ve ever seen in a movie or TV show a convertible driving along the winding coast with the top down, you’ve seen Highway 1: very scenic, not really very speedy. The 101, on the other hand, still runs up the coast, but is enough inland to be the equivalent of an interstate: not very scenic, but really very speedy. So here’s the story.
M and I had a wedding to attend in Monterey, California, which is a couple hours drive for us. First we drive west to the Bay Area and then head south on the 101 until we get to the exit for the Monterey Peninsula. The wedding was at 4:30, and we planned to get to our hotel by 2:00 in order to have time to change, get a bite to eat and get to the church. Between the Monterey exit and our place on the 101 was one of the “world’s largest” flea markets, and the traffic that Saturday afternoon was at a near standstill. M was driving and getting very impatient. We were 2-3 miles from the flea market exit, and 5-6 miles from the Monterey exit. However, M had had enough, and he took the first exit that we came to; it had no city, town or highway associated with it. I was not amused.
“What are you doing? This road doesn’t seem to go anywhere!” I cried.
“The clutch is smoking and my elbow was burning,” answered M (his elbow was hanging out the window).
“That’s just stupid! I don’t want to be late for a wedding. And I won’t go in my shorts and T-shirt. I have a new silk dress.”
“Don’t worry. You’re with Michael. Everything always works out for Michael.”
I ground my teeth and seethed silently. Soon we were no longer on a road that could be called a highway, and shortly after that the road was no longer paved. We were driving around large fields of strawberries on the little dirt roads the migrant workers use. We could see them picking berries and we were driving right past their beat up pick-ups parked along the road side. I was convinced we were going to dead end around the next field. But after about 15 minutes of meandering around several fields we ended back on a paved road. Just a couple miles farther and we could see a line of moving traffic in the distance. Then we saw the sign: Junction with Highway 1. M was jubilant.
“See, Highway 1 right ahead! That goes right in to Monterey. We’ll get to our hotel in plenty of time.” he said.
“You are the luckiest man alive,” I managed to grind out.
“Yes, yes I am,” he replied with a completely inappropriate (in my mind) grin.
We arrived at our hotel and were able to change, eat and get to the wedding with time to spare. Now anytime we veer from the path laid out by Google Maps, if I suggest this might not be the best plan, M reminds me of his navigational abilities and how he got us to Highway 1 and Monterey. Is it any wonder that I prefer to do the driving?