Last Edit July 2, 1999
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It is 9 hours from San Diego to Fremont - 70 mph speed limit - which means 75-80 mph is the normal driving speed. I was in the slow lane. Especially in LA - where you change a tire at 55. You ain't kidding. At 80 mph, in the #3 lane, I was passed on the left, I was passed on the right. In a construction zone. With narrow lanes. In the dark early hours. Route 99 now has a 70 mph speed limit. LA has a 70 mph speed limit. Slight difference. Route 99 is a wide ribbon that runs straight - or straight for long stretches. Flanked by wide emergency lanes and Oleander-clad guard rails. LA is winding curve squished thin by construction guard rails clad in cement. And lone little warning signs that the road narrows. And sudden round barrels of sand guarding half-formed bridge supports as retro-fit and expansion plods along. Route 99 has no stacked traffic and the only divide is that languid split as it diverts into 5 and 99 somewhere below Bakersfield. LA has freeways stacked five levels deep in science-fiction inspired art forms from some surreal nightmare. But the limit is 70 mph. So the normal drivers do 85-90 when it's at all possible. 75-80 is all that is possible in my little truck - all it can handle. And the cute highway patrol guys had a speed sensor on-line. I got caught at 76. Wonder if they will bother telling me that I was the slow car. Even the 18-wheeler double-tandems were hauling it at 75-80 mph. Fast. Seen them nearly hit each other - causes lots of fishing in the back trailer. Two megaliths in some graceful ballet as they dodge and sway. But then, it's LA. Here, the rule is keep the traffic moving. There are fines for breaking down on the freeway. The rule is drive, push, whatever it takes to get it off the freeway! Reduces gawkers. Reduces shootings. I did see wrecks on the way down on Saturday - at these speeds the wrecks are not restricted to fender benders or bumper-crinkles. They are stupendous. Cars wrapped around in half. Fire. Ambulances. Platform tow. Crumpled, bent and twisted cars. Crumpled, bent and twisted people. There was one fatal. While we were down in San Diego, there were a series of truck mishaps. The fatal had gone over the embankment. You see, they don't slow down for curves. The speed is faster than I remember from four years ago in 1995 when we made the run back and forth every other week to get the house ready for rent or sale. 10-15 mph faster. It's a whole lot different than driving at 2 mph or less to work. But handling a truck at 90 mph on 90 minutes of sleep after doing the Del Mar Fair is tough. The views are great. Open rolling hills. Flattened acres. Almond trees. Apricot trees, corn fields. Cows in massive feeding stalls. Plowed fields. Hay fields. Alfalfa fields. And mowed hay and alfalfa. Mounds of almond shells and husks. Mounds of manure. DitchWitch. The breadbasket is an apt name for the valley. Too much haze to see all the way to the Sierras, but the Grapevine hills north of the San Fernando Valley are lovely. And dry. Very dry. Brown hills. Tan really. Fire season comith. We never take a trip by auto without an adventure. Exploding RVs. On or off the road. Crashes. Trucks spilling loads. Today, it's aluminum ladders. Like, one was on the road. Came up fast. A car dodged - I couldn't. I straddled it the best I could at 75 mph - I put the wheels to protect the tires as best I could. Thump. The undercarriage. No flat. I still had brakes. So at San Juan Capistrano I got gas and crawled under the truck to check. Nothing dripping. Within the next hour, a truck threw a rock. Make that a bolder. I have a 1" diameter crack in my windshield. Bent wiper unit. Ducky. Just a loud whap and a sickening crack. I watched the hole's radial crack to see if it would grow. I have $1,000 deductible. So this is my bill. As long as that's all that happens. Ouch. It is 104 degrees today - the truck air conditioner can do no more than drop the air temp by 20 degrees. That means a sleepy driver (when it is warm, I am a lizard). So I get coffee south of Magic Mountain. Real coffee. Only McDonalds I know of that advertises another unit. Only one with more then 3 bathroom stalls. I have a chicken pita. Its is 9:30AM - breakfast was at 3AM. I suck on a piece of fair-fudge. And I swipe a salt water taffy. I sip water from a bottle. I finish my son's orange juice. He's sleeping. And I have coffee and decaf both. Lethal. I blare country music. My son sleeps on. Except to wake up long enough to demand Jack-In-The-Box Hamburger (I get coffee at McDonalds because their restrooms are (usually) clean and because McDonalds and Chevron are usually situated close together. Saves time. This stop, while we waited for the staff at Jack's to wake up, literally, cost me 30 minutes. I made Fremont at 1PM - having left San Diego Hotel Circle at 4AM. I am upset about the destroyed plum tree at the San Diego house. I find in Fremont - the backyard cherry tree has exploded. God's little balancing act. I didn't even realize that it had fruit. First time. Tons of cherries. Masses of fruit. My son, anxious to try the new ratchet pruning shears rushes out to do just that. I fill a container. Too much for just us. The cherries are excellent. Nice present. Makes up for the damaged plum tree the tenants have ruined. So are all the cover scans of Fabio sent by Tina over the weekend. Now if I can slow down and sleep after the sugar-coffee high I gave myself while driving. But I only get a nap. Melted bones into the sofa. Two hours. Oblivious to everything. Because it's Monday. Red Lobster night. They do 75 crab leg clusters again! I was too stunned to notice. I was focused on keeping my head up. It was Cindy's birthday. The whole staff came to sing with us. Have to sing. I skipped dinner. Went straight for the carrot cake. Comfort. Have to diet after the fair-fudge and taffy are gone. Have to walk after the heat-wave gets under control. |