I professed recently that I would be trying to "stretch" a little in my write up of the ten-day, 1800 mile trip up to Oregon and back along the coast, camping the entire way down to San Francisco. That's still in the works.
The last stretch of that mostly campfire tinged adventure found us spending the evening in San Luis Obispo. During the brief time there, I felt my novel based on a facsimile of that bubble town welling up, and once I got my life squared away back in Long Beach (that took eight days) I was off for a week in San Luis. There I pieced together the scenes and themes and character interactions from that story while testing my tolerances against Ryan's active social life. By day, I had my notes spread across the floor like the unhinged whack-job writer I am:
While there I visited places that hold meaning for both myself and my characters in the story. One place I saw that doesn't really play into the book is a lake on the side of town where we all lived together at various times, and by "we" I mean mostly anyone mentioned in this blog with any kind of regularity: me, Corrie, Norm, Tony, Ryan, Marc, Jimmy... That was the Oceanaire House, named for the street it exists on, in the Laguna Lake area of town, itself named for the body of water that butted up to the houses across the street on Oceanaire.
There was a point when the Laguna Lake zone was considered "the other side of town", and that may still be true, the neighborhood being separated from downtown SLO by Madonna Mountain. It's all very small and quaint and close together, and "other side of town" means more in larger locales.
Anyway, the drought has taken it's toll on Laguna Lake:
In case there's any doubt, in the above picture there is no water, only cloud cover. In the below picture, one can see the edge of one of the two puddles that remain. Madonna Road is off in the distance. I used to ride my bike along Madonna on the way home, taking this lake for granted like most SLO-towners.
Ryan said that as the water receded an abandoned car appeared, along with guns and other sundries.
The one issue of the alternative weekly newspaper that appeared had one of my former professors on the cover (for the bummer story that he and the other teacher DJs at the college radio station were losing their gigs):
Go Jim Cushing!
Anyway, after returning home with a new appreciation for our domestic life, there was basically one day before we were off again, this time together and further afield.
Driving away in the darkness on Thursday evening, we set out with me behind the wheel at 11:30 pm. I drove to Vegas, where Corrie took over driving after getting some shuteye during my first leg. She's got a cool karate-kicking a bathroom door into a dude's chest and then being accosted by Crazy Eyes anecdote that may come later. I got some sleep, awoke to catch the sunrise, and took over driving duties about 80 miles south of Provo, Utah. Slept through the tiny jaunt through Arizona that made this a five state drive.
Corrie's family is rather large, and every other year, on the even years, there is a family reunion at the family farm outside of Amarillo in the panhandle region of Texas. The odd years also see reunions, only at the still-working farm run by one branch of the family in southern Idaho. This was our destination, out to see family rarely visited and to celebrate with Uncle H.A. for his 90th birthday. He still works the farm daily, so if you want any ideas about how to live to a hundred years, make sure you have plenty to do and/or run a farm, where the work is never-ending.
High-speeding it up Interstate 15 through Provo and Salt Lake City, we detoured quickly to the great Salt Lake. Antelope Island to be exact, but seeing as how this is summer. it's probably more accurate to label it a peninsula, connected to the mainland by wide swaths of noxious salt flats. Ten bucks got us access, and we spent the better part of an hour looking at stuff and getting sunburned. Needing to touch the water, we hiked down in what could be called "our manner", which means off the path in a non-destructive way. On this day that got us covered by spiders, big suckers, which sent us back to the path. My hand post-lake-touching took about six minutes before it felt dry, stiff, and cracking.
Here's a picture from the Antelope Island State Park, from a hill over looking a salty beach:
I finished up that section of the trip, up I-15 to I- 84 through Ogden, and on northwest to Burley Idaho. The speed limits all through there are 80, which is how it should be. Everywhere. We arrived around 3:30 local time on Friday. Idaho, being in Mountain Time, is an hour ahead of California.
Idaho was very nice, warm in the day, cooled off by night, and we slept in out tent for two nights. The birthday was pleasant, the food good, the people better. I was the "city boy" and together Corrie and I were the "godless Californians." That last part is more of my own interpretation and less any actual phrasing. The Texas side of the family, full of historians and teachers and librarians, a lush or two, and a couple of wild grandkids has generally been viewed as being full of delinquents by the severely pious Idaho faction. These are folks who wear boots and cowboy hats and handlebar mustaches not because of a feeling of connection to some idealized old-west archetype, but because that idealized old-west life still exists.
The Snake River is visible a mile away, and Mt. Harrison and the range is thirty miles out. A bit higher up and this is the view from the kitchen while you do dishes.
Corrie and I walked down an access road on the side of the property, stopped halfway to the river when it got too muddy, and turned back to take this picture:
Beans in front, stretch from the house and cattle pens down to the water. The place is really beautiful. Especially the storms sweeping by slowly in the distance.
I fully enjoyed my time with the manifested archetypes, understanding that my presence is their archetype of "laid-back-Californian" and acted respectfully, trying to leave a good memory flavor of my people. Also I somewhat unsuccessfully tried not to view the experience like an anthropologist...see, I understand that godless city-folk like me need to experience the various modes of living in this vast nation. It makes my understanding that much more nuanced and rich.
The other night, after we'd returned to our tiny Long Beezy apartment surrounded by other apartments filled with minorities, I pondered how one of those cowboys may experience chilling with us for a few days. Sour beers and gin-and-tonics, zooming paramedics and buzzing helicopters...would they partake if we could rustle up a bong load? How would they function on a Sunday morning with nothing to do?
Anyway, it was a great time. Corrie got to say her piece, but always with a smile and a giggle, the disarming weapons in the employ of cute blond girls.
The Idaho farm was less than a half-hour east of Twin Falls, and when we set out with Corrie driving on Sunday (before church) for Sacramento, I got to relive a part of the trip we took back in 1990, the year mentioned many lines before.
Corrie would drive from outside of Twin Falls, Idaho, down US HWY 93 to I-80, turn west and head to Winnemucca, Nevada, where I would drive the last leg to Dan's. This was the opposite direction of the first two days of our 1990 trip. Back then it was Day 1, Sac to Winnemucca, NV; Day 2, Winnemucca to Twin Falls. For us last week on the backtracking it was a nine hour drive.
We stayed with Dan for two nights, the one full day spent hanging out with Norm and Holly and the boys, which up until breakfast that day didn't appear to be a possibility.
When we left yesterday, Corrie drove the first leg, and made it to Kettleman City on I-5. I dropped Corrie off at her evening class before making it home. Corrie drove more miles, but I was behind the wheel for far longer. The tripodometer read 1995 miles when I parked.
Then you get home and try to resume regular life. Cats, sour beers, gin and tonics...somewhere a cowboy is having a funny feeling resembling deja vu, only it's not that exactly. A second self of him is sitting on our balcony puffing on a Pall Mall contemplating Pynchon and sipping a nice Tart of Darkness from The Bruery.
*****
All told:
Ten day trip: 1800 miles. Seven day trip: 500 miles. Five day trip: 2000 miles.
