Serendipity is a beautiful thing. As are classic cars and kind people.

Yesterday, I had elderly guests from Michigan I wanted to entertain, to do something with during their short stay in San Diego -- my godmother, my uncle, and my mom, who was recovering from a broken leg and had just begun to walk again, mostly hobbling about.

They didn't particularly like the idea of going to the beach, but I told them it would be good for them to see something different, so beach it would be; my mother picked the safe beach of Mission Bay Park, which is more by the bay, which would do.

She was a bit argumentive in the car about where the beach turnoff was from Highway 8, insisting that my uncle ignore the GPS and follow the highway sign that says 'Beaches.' I told her those were hippie beaches and she's probably run into bums there. (Bad parking, too). Fortunately, my uncle, who always drives, followed the GPS to Mission Bay Park. She said we should have gone to the car museum in Balboa Park instead; my uncle, who was a retired Pontiac executive from Detroit's glory era, might have enjoyed it.

But as we pulled into the ample parking lot, we did get a beautiful car show.

We drove by the most beautiful blue restored Pontiac Bonneville we had ever seen. It was parked diagonally on two spaces, I presumed because its owner considered it his baby and didn't want it too close to other cars. I later learned it was because the car was too long for the parking space.

We went over it to admire it, later learning it was a 1960 Pontiac Bonneville, long and luscious, loving restored in the most exquisite pure blue with chrome detailing, brass detailing, skirts over the whitewall tires, a pipe holder, restored vinyl seating, a huge curved windshield -- its design spoke to a more luxurious and aesthetic era. Its windows were open, which suggested its owner was nearby. We didn't dare touch it.

And then, coming down from a grassy hill, a woman with dark curly hair and a white Panama hat, wearing a Marilyn Monroe-style sleeveless top greeted us warmly, saying she saw us admiring her car, which we were. 

She was the owner and restorer of the car, and she introduced it to us as "my crystal blue persuasion." And yes, it was her baby, her passion. Its long length made it almost impossible to fit into her garage at night. Of course it wouldn't fit into a tiny beach parking space. The whole car can be viewed here.

Her name was Irene.

She introduced her grandkids, a couple of teenage boys she had been playing ball with, too. She was kind of glamorous except that she didn't know it.

She lived in East San Diego County and was deeply into restoring classical cars.

This one, she explained, was originally from New Jersey. She had thought about buying it, but decided it would be too expensive to transport cross-country. But the car turned up in Poway, not far from where she lived, and its owner wanted to get rid of it. She bought the car and spent three years restoring it, lovingly acquiring car parts and knowing every detail about how the car worked, like a car geek -- which was pretty head-turning in a woman.

And her expertise was all over it -- describing details of the engine, the brakes, the ashtrays, the difficulty of keeping the car cool.

She also was a walking history book on cars and car culture. This one was a 1960 Pontiac Bonneville, of which only 200 were made, probably because the car was so hot and uncomfortable to ride and more comfortable vehicles were coming online. But its beauty was extraordinary. I told her her car expertise was very wonderful to us because my uncle was a retired automobile executive, from Pontiac. She was impressed and asked him which era he came from. He said the early 1970s. "The era of fast cars," she remarked.   

Hearing this auto-geek passion from a woman was, to say the least, intriguing. 

She explained that she was part of a car club where people with similar interests loved to restore and drive classic cars. Her club, which was stamped on the back window in white Gothic letters, was called the "Dead End" car club. They were from East San Diego and mostly Hispanic. They actually met a group of white guys who liked to restore cars with the same gritty name and decided to merge the clubs. At this point, I was getting a Tom Wolfe vibe from her, Wolfe loved to write about car aficionados and their clubs, particularly in Southern California.

My elderly mother approached the car and Irene asked her if she'd like to sit in it. My aunt and uncle told her not to do it, she would have trouble getting up but my mom really wanted to sit in it. She had an answer for that problem -- the car had a lifting mechanism (which my uncle said that in the past would play Mexican music) that was just perfect for an elderly lady to sit in the car and get up.

No one said so, but this was very meaningful for my mom. She has one best friend still alive in Michigan, who once owned this car. She wanted to get a picture taken of herself sitting in it, to send to her last living friend. Irene was so kind and helpful, helping a little old lady relive that very old memory. It was a joy to my mom and we thanked her profusely. 

She was proudly from East San Diego and I wondered if she was conservative, given her throwing in a sour note on the area never being recognized for that identity by city officials, who kept divving the area up "for gerrymandering" purposes she said. East San Diego is famously conservative, so I smiled knowingly. But I wasn't going to ask.

I looked up the Dead End car club and found what looked like an Instagram page for it, given the Gothic lettering. They were associated with low-riders, a harmless Mexican-American car culture that was pretty cruelly suppressed until recently, clearly a violation of the "pursuit of happiness" clause in the Constitution. I wonder indeed if she was conservative. But she didn't bring that up, though if she did, we would not have been the least perturbed. How could we be against low riders after this great kindness, this car tour we had wanted on the way to the beach, and found in her car -- and above all, her?

We did go to the car museum after all. And we were given the most wonderful tour.

Image: Monica Showalter