Steve Cameron: On the road and missing Merced

OMAHA, Neb. -- I've been traveling a bit lately, working on a book project.

You can see from my current location that I've drifted a lot of highway miles from home.

Which is fine, I guess, and it's no big deal.

I've traipsed around most of this country and a lot of the world in my career. No trophies for that, obviously.

My boss, Mike Tharp, has criss-crossed the planet so many times that taxi drivers from Boston to Borneo keep his cell number in their wallets.

So nothing special about this trip, believe me. But the travel thing is on my mind today for a really simple reason.

I miss Merced.

Yeah, it sounds kind of corny. And you're probably warming up all those jokes about how I'm applying for a gig with the Chamber of Commerce.

But I'm not kidding.

The nature of the newspaper business is such that we have to print some bad stuff -- terrible car accidents, meth busts ...

You know the drill.

So maybe it gets lost in the shuffle that journalists have hometowns, too. And more often than not, we really like these places.

I've been lucky enough to live in some unique cities and towns -- from growing up in and around San Francisco to spending three years on the gorgeous north coast of Scotland.

But the spots where I've been most comfortable, somehow, have been mid-sized communities -- Decatur, Coeur d'Alene, Flagstaff.

And of course ...

Merced.

Yeah, I know that a lot of locals make fun of the town. One of my best buddies calls it "Mer-dead" and swears that the city will never recover from the recession.

He's a businessman and I'm not, but I think he's wrong.

I'm still betting on UC Merced and its surrounding infrastructure to outlast the current difficulties. If I had money, I'd invest right at home.

And I'm stare-down serious about that.

Meanwhile, I just love the "feel" of the town.

I haven't been gone all that long on this trip, but even staying in a posh part of Kansas City, I couldn't find a smoke shop to match the Cigar Monkey on Canal.

My man Mike at the "Monkey" seems kind of like family, even though it dawned on me yesterday that I don't know his last name.

I miss meeting Marc and Sam for coffee, having Melissa cut my hair, and seeing folks around town who I've met pretty regularly just doing ordinary newspaper stuff.

I made a point of wearing my Merced High football jersey today, the one a former player gave me. Just to feel a little closer to home, you know?

Whoa!

Wait!

I just realized how that sounded.

Don't be jumping on me from the Golden Valley rooting section, now. I was just about to say that with the weather warming up, I'd love to get out and play golf with Keith Hunter.

Oh, and one more thing: I know this may seem like heresy to longtime Mercedians, but I'm including Atwater and a few other nearby communities when I talk about my affection for Merced.

I wasn't born and raised in town, so I never had to play hoops or baseball or whatever against any of the local schools.

So it's all one big pleasant neighborhood to me.

If somebody asks me to name my true "home" golf course, I'd only be able to whittle it down to three:

Pheasant Run in Chowchilla, Rancho Del Rey in Atwater and Strathlene Golf Club in Buckie, Scotland.

To quote a line from an old Joni Mitchell song: "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

Well, I do know.

And let me tell you, these fancy-dancy business trips are getting less and less exciting.

I'd rather be home, meeting my amigo the judge for breakfast at Courtyard Café.

The rest of the world is overrated, Merced.

Trust me.

Steve Cameron writes for the Sun-Star. He can be reached at stevecameron1000@gmail.com.