[A/S] TWIMC: SF to SD

["Sandy Noyes" <boojum@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

After spending about two weeks in the (San Francisco) "Bay Area" I set off for San Diego after being 
ejected from Trailer Villa, the campground from hell.  Misreading the paperwork I thought I had 
through Tuesday in the hell hole.  Alas, I should have been out on Monday.  So I scurried back to the 
dustbin to hook up and leave in ignominy.  Next stop: the local K-Mart lot where I spent a quiet and 
free night.

After signing the necessary paperwork for the sale of our home I left for San Diego, planning to stop 
about one third of the way down south.  The road to San Diego requires driving south through Silicon 
Valley to where it turns into farmland south of San Jose and then Gilroy, redolent as usual from garlic.  
The road is a two lane wandering east through the Pacheco Pass.  Once almost a suicide road from the 
number of head on accidents it has been tamed by widening in some areas.  The country around there 
is a jumble of hills and small valleys sprinkled with lovely Live Oak, one of California's more 
beautiful trees.  Like a medusa they writhe with their branches twisting and turning in a rippling 
beauty.  Called Live Oak because they stay green through the mild winters here they dot fields of gold 
dry grasses.  Local folk do not find the gold and green as beautiful as the traveller and describe the 
gold as brown.  I prefer the "gold."

The Pacheco Pass managed to get the transmission temp up to 250F which I consider pretty high.  
Pretty scarey because at temperatures this high the tranny can come unglued.  I had the steel 
transmission fluid lines replaced by Teflon and wire braid with improved connectors.  No heat failure 
but my heart was pretty shaky when watching the temp gauge.  I am taking the truck into the world's 
most honest transmission shop, Tri-City, in Vista, California.  The guy there has passed up two 
chances to sell me a new tranny.  The first time a simple repair did the trick.  The second time it was a 
pat on the head.  This time he says he thinks he knows the problem, and it does not mean a new 
tranny.

Anyway, after descending from the Pacheco Pass to I-5 I slid south quite calmly.  Staying between 55 
and 60 mph I was able to take in the California San Juaquin valley.  Long, fertile and arid it is 
transfused with water exported grudgingly from the northern California water supply.  The water 
would normally have gone through the Sacramento Delta and San Francisco Bay and out to sea.  
Instead it is pumped to the south starving the Delta and Bay of fresh water and threatening its wildlife.  
The farmers buy it at very cheap subsidized prices and sell an ample surplus to southern California 
cities at a fine markup.  California is not movies and software; it is oil and agriculture.  The most 
typical town is not San Jose or Hollywood, it is Bakersfield, home of Frank Gifford.

So, I cruise slowly down this asphalt artery which runs on the flat from the Siskuyou mountains to San 
Diego where it becomes Mexico 1, or Numero Uno.  This north - south asphalt mark runs between 
hundreds of miles of fields.  Fields of grapes, pecans, almonds, peaches, olives, nectarines and so on.  
Hordes of illegal pickers harvest the crops and struggle to collect their pay and stay ahead of the 
Immigration and Naturalization Service.  They usually manage, but not always.  There are legal 
pickers, too.  It is a bitter and desperate trade.  To the west the mountains separating the valley from 
the coast; to the east haze.  I was happy to find my campground at around 2:30.  The sour woman in 
the office groused that I had not called ahead.  This is a partly filled campground; sheesh.  Edie and I 
went for a walk so she could pee and then I hustled over to the AM-PM to buy some junk food: taco 
chips and salsa.  After about half of the two I crashed from about 5 until 11.  I awoke, took Edie out 
again for another pee and back to bed.  I was exhausted.  This was Tuesday.

On Sunday Edie's brother, BG, got out of a friend's fenced yard along with her.  Sweet, boisterously 
friendly and always happy to see me he did not know cars could kill and died in the street.  The poor 
little guy deserved far better than that and I grieve him mightily.  Edie and I have only each other now.  
We both feel the loss immensely.  He was Edie's fraternal twin and litter mate.  They knew each other 
all their lives from before birth.  She whined when I buried the poor little guy while I wept.  The grief 
is receding and Tuesday was the first night I really slept well.  I will miss him a lot for a long, long 
time.  It is a great wound.

So, after a good, well deserved night's sleep I was up at about 5:00 and on the road by 6:15.  By about 
7:30 or 8:00 the crop dusters started swooping up and down and back and forth over the fields.  The 
pilot sits in a tiny cabin behind a long nose loaded with insecticides.  One pilot skimmed across the 
fields at not more than a meter above the crops.  In some areas the fields are edged by many electric 
wires of and phone lines.  These wires are dangerous and almost invisible.  These pilots must be 
clever; and young.  I will bet that not many retire from this business.  Back and forth the skim on the 
early morning when the air is still.  The same time that the ultra-light aircraft fly and for the same 
reason.

By 8:00 it was almost 70F; by 9:00 it was 85F and it was not going to be cool climbing up the Grapevine 
Pass.  Rats!  The ascent is tough and I stopped about halfway up to allow the transmission to cool and 
Edie to pee.  Most stops include a "walk" for little Edie.  I usually drive through LA on I-5 to I-405, the 
San Diego Freeway, and back to I-5 to San Diego.  Because of the LA bus strike I decided to drive 
through the interior on I-15.  No traffic, faster and tacky, tacky, tacky.  This area must house the 
majority of mattress and furniture discounters.  Indeed the Pomona - Pasadena area must be home to 
more tacky discounters than any other place in the world short of Route 22 in New Jersey.  And the 
smog is unbelievable.  Folks drive with their lights on during the day.  I was happy to get south of the 
LA area to where it cleared a bit and then back to the coast.  Edie and I got sore throats from the ride, 
but it is quicker and has none of the stop and go of the old route.

Finally I made it to Del Mar, just north of San Diego and park at the race track which is also one of the 
weirdest RV parks in the world.  Situated behind the track and hidden like a stepchild, with all the 
charm of a parking lot it is the cheapest and most convenient.  On the plus side it has a carney 
atmosphere as the hawkers who work the various shows camp here like gypsies.  And it is close to 
"Dog Beach" where dogs can be let loose and run free.  Edie loved it and ran through the water at 
every opportunity and then wandered across the sand insuring she would carry the maximum of sand 
and debris back to the trailer.  What can I do?  I was pleased that she was starting to come when called.  
She also sleeps closer than she has in the past.  She snuggles up closer on her pillow now.  It is nice as 
her brother was a great snuggler and I miss that.  We give each other comfort in our sleep.

I called Bob Kiger (rhymes with Tiger) and visited him in Oceanside.  A genial host he showed me 
around Oceanside and we snacked and chatted at a harborside watering whole with abundant, cheap 
and good bar appetizers.  Bob calls them pu-pu's from the Hawaiian which he absorbed while living in 
Hawaii.  His classic trailer is a masterpiece of compact living.  The layout is great and clean and spare.  
Bob has it set up marvelously.  I was envious.  I think he has more useable room than I.  Less storage 
but lots of room.  Lucky guy.

He also has a cute little pug-pomeranian pup who has better manners at six months than my dogs at 
four years.  Comparisons are odious, but Edie didn't look good after Mylie.  But manners aren't 
everything so I love Edie dearly still.

More later, it is almost midnight and my trailer will soon be a pumpkin.

L8R