On Tuesday, Valerie, Ella, and I squeezed into the Volvo and began the long drive home. We had been in San Diego for over 120 days, and it was time to clean up the yard before the neighbors rose up as an angry mob and took their pitchforks and torches to us.
At 9:30am we left downtown San Diego. It was 60 degrees. Actually, I thought recording the weather might be interesting but it turns out, as you may read, the temperature was pretty constant everywhere we passed through.
At 10:00am we passed through Oceanside. Other than a short pause on the 805 in Sorrento Valley, we averaged around 70mph through the county, and about 10mph faster through the Marine Base. The immigration check point was closed, but we actually saw what I imagine was an illegal alien being detained in the middle of the freeway next to the dividing fence, so I guess the signs that warn drivers against running down folks running across the road actually have a reason. It was 62 degrees.
At 10:30am we hit the 405/5 interchange in Irvine. It was 67 degrees and there was no traffic. We decided to take the 405 north.
At 11:15 we passed LAX, where it was 69 degrees. Readers will find this hard to believe but there was no traffic. I don’t think I went under 75mph through the whole of Orange and LA Counties. On the negative side, I’ve noticed on my past few trips through LA that the graffiti is back in force after some years of decline.
At 12:15 we hit Gorman. The temperature was 56 degrees and there was some snow on the top of the mountains. As always, I saluted the Gorman Sizzler, where I once ate 100 shrimp (plus the steak and potato that came with them). Previously, in El Centro with my cousin, I had managed this Olympian feat, only to have the cunning shellfish escape in mass a few minutes later as we walked back to our hotel. My then girlfriend now wife Valerie was witness to my Gorman ‘Cool Hand Luke’ moment, and since we had only been dating a few weeks, I can’t imagine how impressed she must have been with my indifference to the basic tenants of modern civilization. She must have wondered what I was up to when we walked in and I noted ‘you may need to drive’.
Normally, I prefer to take the 99 north. Everyone always says the 5 is quicker, but I don’t buy it. The 5 is mostly 4 lanes (2 on either side) and every inch of it in the central valley is taken up by 1 truck going 55mph trying to pass 5 other trucks going 54 mph. I haven’t had a math class since I was a high school sophomore in 1986 and got kicked out of geometry so my numbers might be slightly off, but by my calculations at all the speeds mentioned above it takes over a hundred years for the passing maneuver to be completed.
Furthermore, even if you were alone on the 5 and able to take it at full speed, can anyone drive out into that big pile of empty space for some 3 1/2 hours without going stark raving mad? Along the 99 there is at least the saving grace of being able to mark your progress against various towns and cities, but on the 5 you may as well be sitting still looking out some window in Kansas for hours on end until finally you realize the person who has been screaming for the last ten minutes is you.
And yet we chose the 5, in order to test whether it was actually faster. And I’ll admit I was driving very quickly at that point because I’d started the trip with half a tank of gas and the red light came on at the north end of the grapevine. Since I refuse to pay the bloodmoney required by the thieves and pirates who own gas stations at the base of the grapevine I had basically jumped off the high dive without checking whether or not someone had taken the water out of the pool. I thought it would be just a couple of miles to the next station, but it turned out to be more like 20 sweaty minutes. And while the so called ‘experts’ say you should drive slower when you don’t have much gas left my natural inclination is to go full throttle hell for leather.
At 1:45 (57 degrees) we crossed into Kings County. At 2:00 we crossed into Fresno County (2:10 we passed Harris Ranch and 3:00 Anderson’s Pea Soup). At this point I’ve been flipping radio stations for about two hours because, to put it mildly, the selection leaves something to be desired once you leave Southern California and before you reach Sacramento. And of course we’ve already had the required conversation about how there can possibly be a market for fifty Spanish speaking radio stations that appear to my ignorant ear to play exactly the same music (note: I’m of the controversial opinion that there is actually only one ‘station’ it just has fifty different places on the dial). Since I happen to like traditional Mexican music I generally leave it on this station until I get the stink-eye from Valerie.
At 3:30 we reach San Joaquin County, which is 55 degrees. And at 4:15 we are home in downtown Sacramento.
The trip took 7 hours, almost to the minute. Virtually the same time I can make when I take the 99. We consumed one full tank of gas. And in the 120 days gone I only had one plant in the yard die.