rough it

Okay I'm in Houston and Rebecca is helping me figure out what, exactly, to write here.

Like, I'm a week behind or so, and what should be included?

Rebecca says that I should absolutely include the name of the muffler repair shop in El Centro, CA: Desert Muffler, motto, "No Muff Too Tuff." The man, Freddy, said to go to the restaurant two blocks down and he would call me there. I did, and he did, after I ordered a footlong breakfast burrito (chorizo, cheese, potatoes).

The muffler is fine, everyone, have a little faith. It was rusted from when my uncle owned the car and lived in Boston and the salt splashed up and ate it away.


I walked to the library, didn't update this blog. I think I just enjoyed being on the internet.


The ultimate irony is that El Centro, California, is the center of nothing at all. Not cultural or geographical.

I drove through Imperial Sands something or other, where they filmed the desert scenes of the original Star Wars pictures. This reminded me of Wylie's friend Charlie, who is a big Star Wars fan. We stayed at his house in Georgia, once, and we stayed in the Star Wars room. I have my own memories of Star Wars but Charlie came up. Wondered, Has he ever visited Imperial Sands? He should. Look at where the tall dunes meet the sky and expect C3PO and R2D2 to beep beep over the hills.




I spent the night near some petroglyphs in Arizona. I was supposed to pay $8 but I didn't, and I was paranoid. The wind was so incredibly strong that I couldn't pitch my pathetic childrens' tent. I slept in my car and that was okay, not great. I don't do well sleeping on a hard surface, though I wish I could. This night also marked the first occasion where I misplaced my keys in a serious way.

They were in my bra, in the end. But I was worried. I thought I had an extra, but I tried it out and it was for another car, my parents' Accord. So, shit.

Other times I have misplaced my keys:

-In the desert at White Sands National Monument. I found them on a hill where I attempted a sand-angel.
-In the trash in San Antonio KOA. I accidentally put them with a head of lettuce I was disposing.


You have to understand that this is pretty good for me. I lose things all the time, and I'm in the habit of checking for keys, wallet, phone each time I change locations. But still it's not enough. Well. I do okay. The key to life is just knowing your own limitations. One of mine is this: sometimes I put my keys in my bra for safekeeping and then completely forget about it.

I tried to cook the cactus at the painted rocks. But the wind was so strong that when I poured the gasoline into the cooker, the gasoline flew all over the cactus. Lucky that it didn't spill onto me, I guess. But it ruined my cactus!

There was a bathroom nearby but I tried to rough it behind a rock. I really wanted to. But the only place that provided enough cover from the two other RVs was located adjacent to a hole in the ground that looked like it might house a brown recluse spider. No roughing it.

Days are a mix

The man at the Honda dealership directed me to a body shop where they could better look at my car. He even printed out directions, so, thank you, man with your Honda button down tucked into your khakis.

The directions led me to a main drag in San Diego, not downtown, but where lots of things were happening. The body shop had four or five broken down cars in the parking lot, but it looked fine. By broken down, I mean totally dismantled. The man was super friendly. I did my best to articulate what felt wrong in my car. We took it for a test drive. I sat on top of piles of maps and discarded In-n-out straw wrappers.

The drive was enjoyable and I was surprised that I didn't feel as shy as I usually do. He said the car was fine, and what I was probably feeling was a change in the shape of the car. Specifically, the bumper is a little lower and pushed out on the sides, by like 1/2 inch. Also there is a small gap where the hood meets the car, but he assured me the hood would not fly up. He looked at the engine, looked at the tires, and declared it all right. He charged me nothing, said I looked like a smart girl, and shook my hand the way I imagine men shake hands.

I drove with a renewed sense of purpose. I visited Balboa park, which is a gigantic urban park, housing musuems, sculpture gardens, exhibits, the San Diego Zoo, fields, trees, gardens, restaurants, and thousands of school children wearing matching shirts. One group of children had tags around their necks, like, furniture tags on cotton string. Love it.

Parking is free, the trolley around the park is free, and so is the botanical garden that I had read about. It supposedly had an amazing orchid exhibit. But it was closed on Thursdays, so I had to settle for a picture of the exterior.



Here's a sign to ponder. "Don't Abandon/Dump Any Animals in the Pond." What is the slash there for? Is it possible to dump but NOT abandon an animal in the pond? Like, if I took my pet fish to Balboa Park and dumped him in with the intention of picking him up later? Someone wrote this sign. Someone thought about what to write.



I did visit the museum of photographic arts, which was empty and great. I do love good photos, especially since I can't take them. Here is one, and I hope posting it isn't illegal. It's called "Sea of Hats"



When I visited the rose garden, I found it difficult to get "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden" out of my head. Then I went to the desert garden and had to wrestle out the mutated version I invented: "I Never Promised You a Succulent Garden." Desert plants are creepy, and I took some photos, as well as a brief video.



My brief video tour of the succulent garden.


The rose garden was lovely, as expected, and some of the names are better than the flowers.



And here is a brown recluse spider, one of the thousands I saw on my journey.


The free trolley featured a wonderful, lively, androgynous driver named Kathy. She told us all about the history of the park. I got in my car and drove east, eastbound and down, homeward, through the mountains. The views were absurd.



Here is a woman walking a sheep. Hello!


I took a detour to Julian, CA, a weird old westerny town that is famed for its apples. A recommended bakery served a crazy delicious slice of apple cherry crumb pie.

The main drag through Julian. And a specialty store!


Cats, cats, cats and more? What possibly more could you offer? OR NEED?

The detour to Julian went on a winding road upwards, and though I felt comfortable with my car, I did not feel comfortable speeding on turns posted as 15 mph. A black pickup full of Mexican teenagers tailed me the entire way down the mountain. I talked to them as I drove. "Boys, I am not speeding here. I am going to fly off the road. I know it's possible. You'll just have to hold on. I know you want to add a few inches to your manhoods. You'll have to find another way." They didn't and instead passed me, on a double yellow, on a tight curve around a mountain, going at least 50 mph. I had some brief high horse fantasies involving coming across their crashed pickup and dialing 911. Yes, I am standing here at the crash site, no one looks seriously injured, though I can confirm that they are not smart people, even for teenagers, and you may need to slap their parents in the face."

One of the mountain roads to Julian, up so high. The woman who gave me pie assured me that the town was not on fire. It was just a cloud.





Happy chug a lug, and then right at the exit for Jacumba, CA, my muffler fell off, solid gold.

A gas station was less than 500 feet away. I stood there thinking about what to do. Parked across the street was a tow truck, and the driver just sat there. I walked up to him and said, "Hi, my muffler just fell off. I was going to call AAA." He said, "I have a call I gotta go to. Here's my business card. Call AAA and give them this number." The card was black around the edges with car oil. Okay, so, let me get this straight? You have a call to make and the reason you're sitting at a gas station is?

I called AAA and the nicest girl I have ever spoken to got me a tow truck, the very same company. I hoped whoever they dispatched would not be sitting idly somewhere, killing time. The tow truck came quickly and the man let me push the lever, the one that pulls my car up onto the ramp, while he held my muffler up into place.



We had an awkward ride, 45 miles to El Centro. We listened to pop music, so let me be the one to tell you the oddness of riding with a man who does not know where Baltimore is while lisitening to the Fray and Beyonce.

He took me to an Econo Lodge where the parking lot was full of pickup trucks equipped to carry sheets of glass, you know how they look. The man at the register was unnecessarily creepy--like I could tell he was amping it up. Why do old men do that? I even wore my hoodie and stuck my neck out like a raptor, so I would be less attractive (damn my good looks). It was nighttime, so I washed my filthy feet and went to bed.

When I was leaving LA I realized the reason everyone drives so recklessly insane is because 1) the road system is confusing and changes are sudden and 2) everyone else drives so recklessly insane. It's no big thing to pull an illegal move that in another town might get you jail time, or at least a ticket. So when my exit was suddenly three lanes over I understood that it would not work to sit there with my turn signal on-- "hi there will someone please be kind enough to let me in?" I cut in front of a pickup and swerved onto the exit ramp at the last minute, a triumph.

I stopped at a farmers' market and bought 3 fuji apples (to replace those taken by the fuzz), a bag of snap peas for $1, and two cactus pads, de-prickled. The woman told me to grill them and eat them with cheese and cilantro. Yes! I love any combination of cheese and cilantro, even if they involve a cactus.

I stopped and got In-n-Out again, because I was afraid it would be my last time. Always so crowded there.

Then, my belly full of animal-style burger, I went to the beach. There are many beaches in California and so they aren't crowded. I walked out and fell asleep on the sand. I took a picture, probably, and that will go here.



I took the Pacific Coast Highway down to San Diego.



The car felt funny, still, especially at high speeds. I drove through Laguna Beach and remembered the times in 2005-2006 when my roommates and I watched it, against our wills. We could not stop. For those who don't know what it is, Laguna Beach was a fakeish reality show about rich high schoolers living in paradise, sitting on their daddies' back patios talking about boys. They always started conversations like, "So now that it's the morning after the beach party and we just saw LC at the surfing boutique, what do you think about how she was flirting all over with Jason?" This is exposition through dialogue, and it is one of those most awkward techniques in modern storytelling. Later when they graduated some of them moved to Beverly Hills and MTV aired their trials and tribulations as "The Hills" and I showed this new show to Wylie who thought it was an ironic statement on society.



Anyway, it's nice in southern California, so nice you don't have to worry about weather or other external factors so you are free all day to obsess about your toenails.


By the way, I usually add photos after I write these entries so if you prefer to look at photos, or you are illiterate, check back later.

I enjoyed the night I spent in San Diego. Downtown has tall buildings, looks like New York, but emptier, and not everyone hates you. The Hostel where I stayed was awesome, three floors, huge lounge areas. I met a girl from the British Isles who was traveling alone through the US and then going to Peru. We talked while I looked on the internet for a nearby Honda dealership. It was time to have the car looked at.

You are cool in Los Angeles

On the way to Los Angeles:

Lake Havasu


Terrible.


Sunset near the Arizona/California border


In the morning Adam ran through a list of things we could do. But quickly we got on the same wavelength when I admitted I was perfectly happy to do nothing and eat burgers.

In-N-Out specifically. The best fast food restaurant in the nation, the universe. The menu is simple, but if you know how, you can order from the secret menu. For instance. Ordering something "animal style" makes it extra delicious. They put it on the receipt, too, and if I find the means I will get that receipt up here. Adam and I went to In-N-Out twice in one day. Thankfully the crew had changed. Here is food from In-N-Out:



We did do touristy-resembling things. We went to the Santa Monica pier. Adam drives his car quickly and with confidence. And he was especially forgiving of my gasps and shrieks. Then:

the beach. Adam was talking on his phone and I wanted a picture of that. For some reason I didn't. I got distracted.


me standing in the Pacific ocean. Posture rather like a shocked penguin.


pinkberry frozen yogurt


people watching



leaning on the railing over the pier and talking


a tour through town, including backalleys


this sign. When we passed this, Adam calmly pointed at it, then said something pithy, like, "welcome to California."


Okay here's what I thought about Los Angeles: It was sort of like if everyone at my middle school moved together and founded a town. That's the sort of feeling. I don't know if that makes any sense. Everyone thought that they were being watched; and they were all watching. I remember being in middle school and thinking as I took my tray up to the trash can that everyone was watching my every move. Then I went home and my mom called me out on it; she said, "Honey, no one cares."

Well, Los Angeles cares. The sunglasses, the black leggings, the drink in your hand. Everyone was sitting and waiting for the director to yell, Action.

bad snow

Oh reader, so much has happened. I have left you in the dark on purpose while I decided what to write about. First.

When I woke up in Gallup, NM, in a Walmart parking lot, my car was covered in snow. At first I thought this was great because I could change clothes in privacy. But then I tried to drive on the roads and it was nasty, a solid sheet of ice. We crawled along the freeway at 20 mph. It wasn't slow enough, and I slid around, spinning three times before gently bumping into a guardrail. I sat in shock as an SUV drove past me. The driver looked at me, a blonde woman, and I looked back at her. We said with our faces,

"I just spun around three times."
"I know."
"It was so scary."
"Should I pull over?"
"I don't think you need to."
"I would probably just crash into you if I tried to brake."
"Yeah I understand."
"Okay, little girl with the Maryland plates. Good luck."

I got out and my car is a miracle beast. Some scratches, a new shape to my license plate, the front bumper a little lower than before. I got back in and drove away.

I thought, no need to tell anyone, because they would just worry, and I probably called that. I drove west, determined to reach Los Angeles by evening.

I stopped in Flagstaff, which is one of my favorite towns thus far. Everyone was so incredibly friendly. And of course it's beautiful there. But it's beautiful everywhere out here. Even dump towns have mountains as backdrops. I wish I could have stayed longer in Flagstaff, or Arizona in general. The German had yelled at me for driving with such purpose, not seeing the Grand Canyon or anything except the road to Los Angeles. It's true, I should have stopped and seen something. But I figured I could always see the G.C. when I'm older and have a family and I take my children on a miserable car trip, if cars are still around.

As I neared the California border I went south, taking the road to Lake Havasu, which is just about the weirdest town around. Here Arizona looks a lot like how I imagined CA would look, and I kept thinking I was there. The town is on a bright blue lake, the color of what-the-hell. Everyone there is a bad driver, reckless and entitled, which worked out all right for me as it gave me practice for California. Lake Havasu also has something called London Bridge, which as far as I could tell is a fake London Bridge going through town.

I drove through Parker, AZ, where I picked up some jerky for Adam. I got three kinds: sweet & hot, teryaki, and teryaky. I called him to say I was in Parker AZ, right near the border, and would be there soon, and he let me down quickly by saying it'd be another four hours or so. I called him from a scenic overlook, near the Havasu dam or something or other. picture here.

At the California border the agriculture police took away my macintosh apples (fruit, not computers) and then I drove through a giant cloud of bats, so yeah, welcome to California.

The sun set and I tried to get a photo but the camera insisted on focusing on the salt on my windshield. I drove over a hill and suddenly a glittering--no, really, it was glittering--city lay before me. Los Angeles! The city of angels. Actually it was some other town but it looks good. And this kept happening. I'd go up through some dark winding hills, and then at the peak the view of a city, feverish, plugged in. My jaw would drop, I'd claim, "Los Angeles! The city of angels." And then I'd see a sign that said, "Bumdiddly Fark City Limits."

The driving got more aggressive, slowly. I didn't notice it at first. The car was doing fine but I noticed that at high speeds, the steering felt off somehow. Or the car just didn't feel the same. No noises, no smells. I had concerns but I kept them to myself, which worked out fine, because I was alone.

Adam is a frequent commenter to the blog and my host in Los Angeles. He lives in the city, proper, and gave me directions to his gated community. I felt safe and secure. When he met me on the street I practically fell out of my car: After one near-death-ish experience and 14 hours of driving, 3 hours of which were in the greater LA area, I was ready to take a good shower and collapse on the floor, all the while mumbling gibberish. He let me do so, and I even borrowed his conditioner, which was coconut, the standard of excellence in hair care scents.

Also, I passed through a town, can't remember the name, and it was the Flagstone capital of the world. And as for the most frightening thing on the road, the winner that day went to the road itself, for covering itself in ice and bullying me around.