If You Show Me a Sign
I'm typing this message from sunny Oakland, California -- the city that now contains the editorial offices of the Inter-Ocean Parabolic. And as a welcome to California today (at 11:34 during my third day at my new job), I experienced my first earthquake, a quick 3.4 jolt centered near Orinda.
I arrived here after a three day trek across two-thirds of the United States. I left St. Charles, Illinois last Tuesday morning and headed westward on I-88. Just east of Davenport, Iowa, I merged onto I-80, which was going to be the road I followed for the rest of the trip. Nothing much happened in Iowa (except that the drive through window of the Arby's in Urbandale was out of dog biscuits), until just before Council Bluffs. As I sped toward two slow moving trucks, they both pulled into the left lane to pass an even slower trailer. But just at that time we hit a hill, so the trucks lost momentum. I moved into the right lane, passed one of the trucks on the right, and then squeezed myself in between them to pass the farm trailer. The rear trucker gave me an angry blow of the horn, but I didn't think anything of it. But he also must have gotten on the CB and told some fellow truckers of my crime. About five miles up the road, I came upon two trucks driving side by side at exactly the same speed. I think we went about five more miles before they let me pass.
The rest of that day I spent driving across Nebraska, my destination being the La Quinta in North Platte. My dinner that night was a burrito from the convenience mart across the street.
The next day, I set off across the Sand Hills and tuned into KOGA out of Ogallala. A program called "Midwest Opinions" was being broadcast, and the host tried to get people to call in about the Dubai ports deal or the morning after drug controversy, but nobody was interested, so he ended the show. (Previously, he did have some luck getting people to talk about who they were going to choose for governor in the upcoming election. I was going to call in and be the lone vote for the Democrat, but I didn't have the nerve.)
I entered Wyoming, and soon thereafter, the mountains. For the next four or five hours, the driving wasn't that fun -- because extremely high winds were causing quite a bit of drifting snow and slick spots along the highway. The places I stopped in southern Wyoming (Cheyenne and Rawlins) also seemed a little worse for wear, with run down truck stops and a raw, empty feel. That started to change when I got near Green River, and the scenery changed to spectacular once I crossed into Utah. If I decide to convert to Mormonism, I think I might retire to Coalville, Utah.
I also thought Salt Lake City was quite a nice city, situated as it is on the plain with mountains rising above it on either side. I stopped for the night at the airport La Quinta. I took Morgan for a walk around some corporate-campus man-made lakes, and settled in for a night of pizza and Olympics.
The next day started with a trip across the salt flats. I remembered that my grandfather had told me about them (and how you could drive your car as fast as you wanted across them) when he drove out from California to visit us when I was a child. Nevada was empty and mountainous, but luckily the weather was warm and sunny, so I made it all the way across the Sierras without an incident. Then it was a coast into the Bay area, where I sit today.
Now I just need to hope my furniture can make the same trip. I'm sick of my empty apartment.
I arrived here after a three day trek across two-thirds of the United States. I left St. Charles, Illinois last Tuesday morning and headed westward on I-88. Just east of Davenport, Iowa, I merged onto I-80, which was going to be the road I followed for the rest of the trip. Nothing much happened in Iowa (except that the drive through window of the Arby's in Urbandale was out of dog biscuits), until just before Council Bluffs. As I sped toward two slow moving trucks, they both pulled into the left lane to pass an even slower trailer. But just at that time we hit a hill, so the trucks lost momentum. I moved into the right lane, passed one of the trucks on the right, and then squeezed myself in between them to pass the farm trailer. The rear trucker gave me an angry blow of the horn, but I didn't think anything of it. But he also must have gotten on the CB and told some fellow truckers of my crime. About five miles up the road, I came upon two trucks driving side by side at exactly the same speed. I think we went about five more miles before they let me pass.
The rest of that day I spent driving across Nebraska, my destination being the La Quinta in North Platte. My dinner that night was a burrito from the convenience mart across the street.
The next day, I set off across the Sand Hills and tuned into KOGA out of Ogallala. A program called "Midwest Opinions" was being broadcast, and the host tried to get people to call in about the Dubai ports deal or the morning after drug controversy, but nobody was interested, so he ended the show. (Previously, he did have some luck getting people to talk about who they were going to choose for governor in the upcoming election. I was going to call in and be the lone vote for the Democrat, but I didn't have the nerve.)
I entered Wyoming, and soon thereafter, the mountains. For the next four or five hours, the driving wasn't that fun -- because extremely high winds were causing quite a bit of drifting snow and slick spots along the highway. The places I stopped in southern Wyoming (Cheyenne and Rawlins) also seemed a little worse for wear, with run down truck stops and a raw, empty feel. That started to change when I got near Green River, and the scenery changed to spectacular once I crossed into Utah. If I decide to convert to Mormonism, I think I might retire to Coalville, Utah.
I also thought Salt Lake City was quite a nice city, situated as it is on the plain with mountains rising above it on either side. I stopped for the night at the airport La Quinta. I took Morgan for a walk around some corporate-campus man-made lakes, and settled in for a night of pizza and Olympics.
The next day started with a trip across the salt flats. I remembered that my grandfather had told me about them (and how you could drive your car as fast as you wanted across them) when he drove out from California to visit us when I was a child. Nevada was empty and mountainous, but luckily the weather was warm and sunny, so I made it all the way across the Sierras without an incident. Then it was a coast into the Bay area, where I sit today.
Now I just need to hope my furniture can make the same trip. I'm sick of my empty apartment.
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