Bucket List Trip

  
     Chronological age was the impetus to return to northern California one more time and check out former addresses.  I'd talked Dr. Doug into driving me to Tiffin, Ohio, last year for a similar trip.  Afterwards, I'd discussed the possibility of the professor, Paleo and I making the drive to California.  But Freeble landed a position at the University of Missouri and Big Cat was called back to a gig in Georgia.
     The job ended under pressure of the recession but he came back with a new F-150.  I began planning the west coast journey, offering to pay all expenses, except the truck payments. It nearly happened in February, but the weather never approached a favorable outlook.
     By March, he was behind in payments and repossession seemed likely, so I mentioned the trip every time he came around.  The deal included taking my dog, if she had enough strength left to jump into the the back seat.  On the 11th, Roger stopped by and I lined half the back seat of the F-150 with an old quilt and three old sheets used to cover the dog's favorite area of my water bed.  Zimba had no trouble leaping into the seat.  Back in the house, I indicated we were ready to go.  Today?  Of course.  I thought you meant next week.  Once convinced, Paleo left to load his stuff and returned just after noon.  By 1:00, we were loaded, gassed to full and on the way.
     Currently, I have no driver's license, but I offered to take the wheel whenever he got tired.  Soon, it became apparent his freeway driving was not conducive to my ability to get any rest in the passenger seat. He was constantly on his phone, talking to a new girlfriend, hogging the fast lane and too often veering into rumble strips on both sides of the roadway.   So with constant pots of coffee and bowls of pot, I kept us both awake all the way to a motel in Elko, Nevada, at 6:36 PM on the 12th.
     In 1977, my wife and I drove I-80 from Ohio to Reno and turned north to Eureka. CA.  This is the route I wanted to go and on the 13th, we got a motel in Eureka.  Although the weather channel had indicated a couple of high pressure skies all the way, the rain started in Indianapolis and it was cloudy all the way to Colorado where we left I-70 to hit I-80.  Snow covered the mountains and after a bit of sunshine, it began to fall, mixed with rain.  High winds and snow continued through Wyoming and Utah.  In the higher elevations of California, snow was two feet deep and by the time we reached Eureka, the rain was steady.
    Tsunami warnings had been issued for the Humboldt Bay area.  We drove to Glatt Street, C Street, Watson Street and the house behind Long's (which is now GNC).  Next morning (14th) we drove to Dandy Bill's Avenue in Loleta, on Hookton Road.  Talked to Jamie and the Buddhist dude who bought the 1/3 acre I used to own.  He allowed me the opportunity to view the campsite and pond I'd dug out of a peat bog, but thirty-years of growth prevented me from getting any closer than 30-feet.
     Bought a half-pound of Loleta cheese, but the bar I used to walk to for a beer was no longer open.
     Stopped at Redway Liquors for beer and continued up Wilder Ridge Road to the eighty-acres on Horse Mountain Road.  When I was camping there, I put up a mailbox on Wilder Ridge (Ettersburg Star Route) which I could walk or jog to on a former logging trail.  I started walking down the trail while Paleo waited in the truck.  Years melted over my heart and soul like coils of soft steel.  Struggling to remember to breath, I saw a house and outbuildings on the slope to my right, belonging to the present owners.  I kept walking and arrived at a sign which warned to go no further "No exceptions!"  It angered me to mumble, "I am the exception, mutha!"  A little further along, I came to the washout that I used to jump over, but it was now eight-feet across and over my head deep, so I turned back.
     Once back to the truck, we continued up to Melvin Longmier's mailbox and I left him a note.  I've written to him over the years but he's never forgiven me for calling him a nigger that time he refused to see me, Kasu and Mark.
     I directed Paleo on to Horse Mountain Road.  The back-up-to-turn-through switchbacks had him ready to quit.  Had him park on the landing where I used to load firewood, and we walked down the narrow path to the site where I had a dirt floor log wall and roof shelter at the fork of two springs.  Floods had swept everything away, including the six-feet diameter Douglas fir stump which anchored the structure.
     Back on the road, we continued towards Shelter Cove.  It took some urging to get Paleo to drive through the water-filled ruts gushing across.  I couldn't admit there was more water than I'd ever seen.  Shelter Cove was overcast, windy and the ocean seemed menacing.    
     In Laytonville, we stayed at the Budget Inn.
     On the 15th, we drove into Cloverdale.  I'd half-intended to look up an ex-wife but it was raining and after I queried a postman who had no knowledge of her name, it occurred to me that her attitude would likely match the somber day so we drove on.
     In Hopland, I looked for the mini-brewery where I intended to purchase another Red Tail Ale shirt like the one the Sweet Baboo bought for me.  The building was empty and The Keg was closed.  I considered stopping at the Blue Bird Cafe for pie, but we continued on to the Russian River to find that house my wife and I were flooded from in Forestville.
     It was still pouring down when we drove into Santa Rosa.  Went to 54 Boyd and 225 Barnett.  Spoke briefly with ex-neighbor Jeff Coors.  I wanted to show Paleo my "vertical circle" running route and drove by addresses on Southridge and Raycrest.
     We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge at 4: 30, drove down Lombard Street and along the cable car tracks and continued on to the Oakland Bay Bridge to catch I-80 east.  Once past Sacramento, the signs began warning about snow-chains requirement.  I suggested a motel to wait out the storm but Paleo insisted he could drive through.  Beware the ides of March!
     At 10.45, on Donner Pass Road, in Soda Springs, California, all traffic was stopped for chains.  $140 for about a half-hour of driving.
     On the 16th, we stayed in Laramie, Wyoming and left the next morning.  By 6:00 AM on the 18th, our relationship had deteriorated to the max (not to mention by, for, and with the maxx).  While trying to hip him to fast lane driving, some important facts surfaced.  He'd messed with the truck's computer and it's top speed was 80 mph, dangerously slow for any real attempt at high speed cross-country 'chinein'.  His eyesight isn't good enough to anticipate traffic switches and turnoffs.   He never drives with both hands on the wheel, preferring a one-hand forefinger and thumb pinch on the steering wheel, with the other hand holding a phone.  He tries to peer down into every automobile and actually thinks if it is a female driver, she is attracted to him.  He complained about dog hair in his $33,000 truck.  At one point I asked if it was worth fighting over and he rushed me with threats, chest heaving and a flutter of hands until I thought he was going to levitate.  Of course, I had to talk him down.  It would have cost too much to return alone.
      In Indianapolis, while I was napping, he missed I-70 to 35 (Chillicothe) and we ended up on the west side of Cincinnati and had to go all the way around to 32.
     Years ago, his wife, Geneva, told me the only thing Roger and I have in common is marijuana.  With that in mind, I stopped getting high on the 19th.  Another item on my "bucket list?"  Could be.    
      Man, I can't do it.  It isn't healthy for an old dude to give up his drug of choice.  I've lost ten pounds.  Eating isn't any fun.  The runs and lifts are bland.  And the dreams which are obviously retarded by toke come in violent scenes of blood and smoke.  Plus I've got the bucks to have it delivered to my door, if I choose, so puffhugginlees, get over it, who the fuck ever of y'all still keeping your distance.  Make it longer.  Hell's fire, I can barely handle the intensity myself. 
      Turned down a finder's fee to finger Paleo's pickup.  Turned him away at the door, last week, when he offered the piece of madrone he got from the Shoaitie.  I first met him on a job for the Steel Breeze, two-stories up on a metal scaffold, painting a brick building white.  I remember putting a free hand on the surface and he pinted over it.  The dude could flat slap it on.  We were next to a parking lot.  He was lifting a section to take the scaffold down and the force pulled him over the edge.  The way he got his feet, and 270 lbs. on 6'4" of height  under the iron framework and landed, still holding it, is still hard to fathom.  His physical prowess is pretty much a small town legend.  I've only seen the last thirty-years of it.  He and I were as close as cut buddies and with this last steering wheel week we end up distant friends.