How places connect (and reconnect) us.

After a particularly contentious custody battle in the 1970s, my mother reluctantly loaded me onto an Amtrak train bound for Monterey — and my father. When I arrived — a mere 350 miles north of our home in Los Angeles — it was as though my eight-year old self had stepped onto another planet. My father was clearly participating in every activity that might come to mind from the time period, none of which particularly…