We left Phoenix as the sun was setting. Had to break out the sunglasses, but then had to switch back to our regulars before we hit Jack-In-The-Box for on-the-run chicken sandwiches.
Was intergalactic pitch black by the time we stopped to pee in Wickenburg.
It was after ten when we reached Kingman, Timothy McVeigh’s hideout.
Gas was $3.30 a gallon, and a computer glitch was screwing up the gas pumps at a Love’s. An old guy from Tennessee was trying over and over to make one work, cussing nonstop, between bursts of “I can do this all night!”
The next morning we got coffee at a Human Bean that also sold Electric Dragon (lime brigh energy base w/dragon fruit syrup) and Dragonade (black tea w/dragon fruit lemonade). There was also a big billboard for MEDUSA FARMS CANNABIS. Would McVeigh still feel safe here?
The road out of Kingman was a funk shui Mars colony with improvised dwellings nestled into the wind-carved hills. It was studded with signs: GHOST CANYON ROAD . . . HARMONY VILLAGE, JUST BE . . . OLD TRAILS ROAD . . .
Gas prices shot up as we made our way to California. $5.89 a gallon in Needles.
We arrived too late for bear claws at Frosty’s Donut Shop in Barstow, so we had fritters instead. They had an impressive Halloween tableau, the work of the young Asian guy behind the counter. He told us that Halloween was his favorite holiday–he even comes to work in makeup–even though his mom disapproved after converting from Buddhism to Christianity. Another immigrant making his own American Dream.
Then Emily found out about the second assassination attempt on Trump. We have all kinds of dreams and dreamers in America.
Passed through Santa Paula, where my grandparents used to live. It was totally unrecognizable in this century. The high school team is now the Mayans. It reminded me of New Mexico, probably why Grandpa Hogan liked it.
It started to feel chilly. After months of a record-breaking inferno in Phoenix, it felt good.
Then it was north on the Chumash Highway. A sign warned HILL BLOCKS VIEW.
And Vandenberg is now a Space Force Base. Sci-fi enough for you?
Next day it was like waking up on another planet . . . Vandenberg, Vandenberg, do you read? Here we are in Arroyo Grande/Pismo Beach. It’s almost cold; not breaking out my neglected jacket yet–it feels good. We’re trudging along in what Mike called “stop and stop traffic” through crowded, upscale beach communities encrusting the nooks and crannies of jagged mountains.
A donut shop in San Luis Obispo had bear claws.
Then inland where we cruised King City on our way to Pinnacles National Park.
It was tarantula mating season, so we had to watch out.
The pinnacles were spectacular. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few transdimensional portals were pinched between those mossy rocks.
It was raining when we hit Salinas.
We found some magnificent murals.
The Mesoamerican influence is running wild in NorCal.
A peculiar vehicle was in the parking lot of our motel in Monterey. Adventurers are exploring the mutating world in Frankentech machines.
The motel office didn’t open until eight. Getting up early seemed to have died with Covid. Went searching for coffee. We passed a Pie Ranch. I had visions of cowboys wrangling and branding ornery pies. Too bad it was “SHUT,” as the hand-lettered sign put it.
Bean Hollow Beach turned out to be an alien landscape with weather-sculpted rocks,
graffiti,
structures that looked like glyphs,
tidepools,
and birds hanging out.
At a pit-stop I found Salsitas, my favorite chips. They actually taste like tacos. A miracle of our age.
While approaching San Francisco we passed Gorilla Barbeque. At first I thought it said “Godzilla.” That would make for one hell of a barbeque.
Condors flew overhead as we drove through the forest. There’s something about being in a forest, even if you're zooming along in a motor vehicle. The highway kept taking us through areas without cell service–I recommend it as a cure for the contemporary predicament.
The next morning in Fort Bragg, we got scones and mochas at Headlands Coffee House. They have a staff cartoonist, which is a good addition for any business. Some of their customers looked like aging hippies, but they drank their barista-crafted coffees like they were whiskey, and their expressions indicated that they’d rather be listening to some apocalyptic, bluesy, country western tune.
Next to the Inglenook Cemetery was the mysterious Grange Building that looked both abandoned and cared for.
Then forest,
redwoods, the Avenue of the Giants,
the part of NorCal that gets more Middle Earth than Wild West, the gateways to the Pacific Northwest, or as I like to call it, Sasquatchlandia.
There was even an elephant at the side of the road.
We got deli sandwiches in Soctia, an upscale company town dominated by a mill. Across a bridge was Rio Dell, that seemed to be where the workers lived.
Chapman’s Gem and Mineral Shop (and Museum) had raptors out front, more dino sculptures inside, and interesting geological, archaeological, and even political artifacts.
Under the marine layer, we found Eureka, a charming, arty town with murals, inspired graffiti, and fantastic shops where we all bought stuff.
Soon we were crossing the border into Oregon.
