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I’m trying to figure out the deeper meaning of getting conked on the head by a San Clemente railroad crossing barrier arm. That the incident is related to a train is definitely part of it. That it’s the only place to cross the tracks to get to the beach from our hotel, unless you take the underpass, would make it more or less predetermined that it was going to happen eventually. That it involved me is what made it inevitable. Nixon’s revenge? That one had my vote when it happened.