ROAD TRIP 1990–1992
May 1991. This road trip began in an era before GPS and smartphones, when paper maps were the only navigation system. This entry covers the afternoon of Day 1 in Woodside, California—a town where cowboy culture still lingered, where a historic local market served as the center of community life, and where sushi, Japanese tea, and classic American road-trip snacks unexpectedly came together in one memorable stop.
Discovering Another California in Woodside
Only later did I learn that the town was called Woodside. Today it is known as one of the wealthiest communities in America, but its roots lie in horses, ranches, and forests. At the time, however, I knew none of that. I only knew that something felt different the moment I stepped out of the car. The first thing I noticed was not the scenery but the smell. The salty air and urban scent that had followed us along the Bay were suddenly gone, replaced by the dry fragrance of grass, oak trees, and mountain air. The smell of the sea and the city had quietly given way to the smell of the hills. Although we had traveled only a short distance, the atmosphere felt completely different.
Even stranger was the sensation that time itself had begun moving backward. Wooden fences lined the roadside, opening onto broad pastures where horses grazed beyond the rails. Streetlights were scarce, and there were few signs of commercial development. It was difficult to believe that one of the world’s most influential technology regions lay just beyond the horizon. Instead, the town felt like a surviving fragment of the American frontier. What makes Woodside remarkable is that it was never simply left behind by progress. The town deliberately chose preservation over large-scale development, protecting its scenery and maintaining its rural character. Woodside was not a place forgotten by time—it was a place that consciously decided to keep part of its past.
A Supermarket That Didn’t Look Like a Supermarket
The building itself immediately caught my attention. Red clay roof tiles, white stucco walls, and heavy timber construction gave it the appearance of a Spanish Colonial landmark rather than a grocery store. It looked more like a historical museum or a ranch clubhouse than a supermarket. Only later would I learn that this was Roberts Market, a local institution dating back to 1889, a general store whose history stretched back to the era of horse-drawn deliveries. Without the internet, I had no way of knowing any of that at the time, but my instinct that this was no ordinary supermarket turned out to be correct.
Inside, the atmosphere was even more distinctive. Massive wooden beams crossed the ceiling, thick timber posts supported the structure, and creaking staircases connected the floors. Compared with chain stores such as Safeway or Bel Air, the difference was striking. The market felt less like a retail business and more like an extension of the town itself. Customers paused to chat with one another, employees exchanged stories with regulars, and conversations seemed just as important as shopping. It was a pace of life rarely found in urban supermarkets.
The America on the Other Side of Silicon Valley
Looking back, Woodside embodied a lifestyle that many Americans dream about. In Japan, increasing wealth often means moving closer to the conveniences of the city. In America, success can inspire the opposite choice. What people sought here was not a luxury high-rise apartment or greater convenience, but space, forests, scenery, and quiet surroundings. Woodside seemed to represent those values perfectly, offering a vision of prosperity rooted in nature rather than urban life.
What struck me most was that horses were not treated as anything unusual. Evidence of that could be found all over town in the yellow road signs warning drivers that mounted riders might cross the road ahead. These signs were not decorative reminders of a romantic past; they existed because horses and automobiles still shared the same roads. In this part of California, the cowboy culture familiar from movies had not entirely faded into history. It remained visible as part of the everyday landscape.
In Japan, seeing a horse is usually limited to a racetrack or a tourist ranch. Road signs are more likely to warn of deer or bears than horses. Here, however, the situation was different. Horses were woven into daily life. Those yellow crossing signs quietly revealed that the local way of life was still connected to a living riding culture, where horses were not symbols of the past but a practical presence in the present.
Searching for Lunch
Eventually, it was time to find something to eat. As I explored the store, I was impressed by the selection. There was an enormous meat department, a well-stocked deli, and an astonishing variety of sandwiches. For a market in a small rural town, the inventory seemed remarkable. One item that immediately caught my attention was a tray of sushi rolls. Sushi was not entirely uncommon in California by 1991, but finding it in a small-town supermarket was still far less common than it is today. Curious, I decided to try it.
In the beverage aisle, I discovered something equally interesting: canned Japanese green tea from Ito En. What surprised me was not the product itself but the shelf label. Instead of identifying the drink as “Green Tea,” the price tag simply read “Itoen.” The tea was being recognized by its brand name rather than its category. Looking back, it was a small but revealing sign that Japanese food culture was beginning to establish a foothold in America.
For the road, I also picked up some Trail Mix and a Tiger’s Milk energy bar. Trail Mix had been recommended by the manager of our apartment complex—a classic American travel snack combining raisins, nuts, dried fruit, and seeds. At first glance it looked like bird food, but after trying it I quickly understood its appeal. It was practical, filling, easy to carry, and surprisingly addictive. Along with products like Tiger’s Milk, it reflected a distinctly American approach to long-distance travel, where portable energy foods had become part of everyday life.
The Real Cowboy in the Parking Lot
After shopping, we returned to the car. I opened the package of sushi rolls and pulled out a can of Ito En tea. There I was, sitting in the parking lot of a small California supermarket, eating Japanese sushi and drinking Japanese tea. Even now, it feels like the perfect road-trip lunch. More surprising was how ordinary it tasted. The sushi was remarkably close to what I would have eaten back home in Japan.
Then an old truck rolled slowly into the parking lot. The bed was stacked high with hay, and it was unlike any truck I had seen around Sacramento. It approached at a leisurely pace and parked directly in front of our car. The engine shut off, the driver’s door opened, and the man who stepped out was a genuine cowboy. He wore worn Western boots and a large ten-gallon hat. It looked exactly like something from a movie. Yet for him, it was clearly not a costume. It was simply everyday clothing.
Without hesitation, he walked across the lot and disappeared into Roberts Market. As I watched him go, I finally understood something about Woodside. This was not a tourist attraction, a theme park, or a Hollywood set built to imitate the Old West. It was a real community where cowboy culture still existed as part of daily life. And as for the old hay truck sitting in front of me, I found myself increasingly curious about it. That curiosity would lead directly into the next chapter of the journey.