... stopped for a fill of gas and, true to form, got lost on our search for a Starbucks to buy a New York Times to keep us occupied on the Interstate. A kind stranger set us right, and then caught up with us before we had the chance to pass through the Starbucks portal with the gift of an NYT she had picked up at the bookstore. It was only Ellie’s insistence that persuaded her to accept the money to pay for it! A great send-off from Ashland!
We did actually find our way without further misdirection to the I-5, and started on the long drive south, with great views of Mt. Shasta to the east.
A thoroughly uneventful journey, otherwise, with a lunch stop in Sacramento, our state capital. The good folks at the café counter where we bought our wrap assured us that we were in walking distance from the capitol, in the vicinity of which we knew that our friend Lia Albuquerque, the artist, had done a major installation work. Finishing lunch outside (thanks to George) in one hundred degree heat, we set out on foot, traversing a long mall and continuing on for several blocks before another friendly informant suggested that the capitol was simply too far fir the walk to be a pleasant one.
We decided to retrace our steps to where we had parked the car, and drove instead up to the capitol...
... and most of the way around it, without finding Lita’s art work. A shame. But time was short, we were travel weary, and the thought of getting lost another time was not attractive, so we headed back to the I-5 and continued on south to Stockton, some forty minutes distant, where we had booked our last night on the road at a La Quinta hotel—more for the convenience than anything. Arriving at our destination, we stretched out our legs, each on our own queen-sized bed, and tuned in to the Democratic convention.
Glad we did. Bill Clinton, we thought, did an excellent job, a righteous balance of Bush-bashing and Obama-supporting. And Joe Biden’s speech made it clear that he was an excellent choice for the vice-presidential spot. He’s able to play the attack dog with intelligence and humor, and his history is a rich blend of the kind of dedication and determination that grows out of the experience of personal challenges and pain. Both he and John Kerry—whose excellent speech we caught a little later on the internet—were gracious in their acknowledgment of long friendship with McCain, along with their frank recognition that he is not, as a candidate, quite the maverick he liked to play as a senator. We thought that the evening went a long way in laying a solid groundwork for the Democratic agenda at a critical moment in our history.
Venturing forth somewhat later than usual in search of dinner, with George in tow, we found that the only place that offered outdoor service was the In N Out Burger across the street. I ordered burgers for the two of us, and fries to share, and watched in amazement as a frenzied production line of neatly garbed young people turned out an endless supply of burgers to the waiting customers. I confess I am unused to fast food outlets, but I could not but be impressed by the sheer efficiency of the operation, and by the vast numbers of people whom it served. For our two burgers and fries, along with a large cup of pink lemonade, I paid just over $6.00—a price that has something to say, I’m sure, about the current state of the American economy, the rising cost of food at the supermarket, as well as the oft-lamented spread of the American waistline.
We slept okay. I woke at six-thirty, ready to go. But Ellie, who had slept less well—thanks to her aching ribs—needed a little longer to get moving. We stopped at the hotel lobby for a bite of breakfast, and at Starbucks for a latte and a New York Times, and hit the I-5 again around eight-thirty.
And drove. And drove. A quick stop for gas at the Los Banos turnoff, and on down for another couple of hundred miles before another pit stop at the base of the Grapevine.
From there is was a grinding climb and descent through the heat. Heavy traffic...
... and when we looked down over the urban sprawl of Los Angeles and its suburbs, a thick layer of foul air. I hate to end with these last pictures, but in the interests of truth, here we are...
... back home! (The view is usually a little clearer than this. And it's good to be home anyway!)
1 comment:
how's George this days??
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