gasfoodlodging

live, from j's computer, keller, tx.

compiled from notes written on a denny's napkin, needles, ca, 8:02 pm:

the first day on the road was gonna be a bust. we already knew. because my wife's final out appointment from the base wasn't until nine, after which we were meeting friends for one last lunch before set out, and then meeting her family in portland for dinner. we made it a few hours past portland before we were tired and needed gas and just decided to call it a night.

the next day, we made it to ashland, or, the last stop before we launched on what we figured would be our one possible bane of the trip, the siskiyous. we got to know ashland incredibly well. too well. like five fucking hours circling around and around waiting for the pass to open up well.

then we were forced to chain up to continue, so it was 20 miles an hour whilst the car sounded as if it was going to part out, and stopping constantly to make sure the chains weren't destroying our fenders with the unnerving buzzsaw grinding of the semi trucks driving quickly by, the noise of the chains eating a whole into the panic centers of my brain. i have a mental image of me fighting to tighten the chains on my tires when one of the links breaks on a passing truck and blood and carnage ensue...

once we leave the chains-on area, we quickly pull over, yank the chains off, chuck them disorganized into the back, and beat feet out of there, hellbent for leather.

but for some reason, our headlights aren't very bright. again, panic is eating at the joint of my skull and vertabrae as i realize i can't even be sure of which lane i am in.

"maybe the lights are really dirty..." my wife suggests helpfully.

i exit. indeed. dirty. fucking filthy, more like. a wipe with some napkins and the entire world is again brightly illuminated, and the bile taste in the back of my throat fades, and we drive like jehu south.

we arrive in sacramento at the ungodly hour of 2 am.

then into the desert. bakersfield, then across the mojave like lost pagans with the very devil biting our tails.

as night falls, las vegas, a fair hundred miles away and not visible below the horizon, casts its bright lights against the thin layer of clouds.

the siskiyous were not done with us yet. like the ghost of a recently-passed nemesis, they raised one last ugly hand from the grave to plague us one more time.

day dawns sunny and early, motel 6, needles, ca.

our tire is flat.

after getting it off, we discover half a chainlink embedded in the rubber, a full inch deep. a quick repair at the local 76, and we are off again.

the remainder of our trip to date can be described in a handful of words: long. hot. dull. dry. empty.

"i spy, with my little eye, somethiiiiiiing...brown!"

which more or less described the entire panoramic view.

more soon as we leave texas and venture into the deep south.

darth sardonic