Day 1 (Carlsbad to Flagstaff---503 miles)

Is it all *really* going to fit? Bryan literally measured to fit everything in the back of his Nissan Frontier. There was a hole precisely big enough for my suitcase in the back. It was a gray and dismal day. Perfect for moving away from California and briefly forgetting the idiotically consistent beautiful Mediterranean climate. After we packed up the last of his things, vacuumed his apartment (with a vacuum cleaner I could loathe even more than my old upright---the bag kept exploding out of the cover. Tough as it was to leave, this item ended up in the alley behind his apartment.), and UPS shipped an antique bench that simply would not fit in the back of the truck, we took one last turn around the block and had one last look at the 101 and the ocean.

I think I'm going to be 'homesick' for California, too. This is the first time in my life we have not had some blood relative living in southern California. I'm going to miss having a good excuse to go out there on vacations. Beautiful place to live, but expensive as all hell. Bryan really had a great deal on his apartment only 2 blocks from the ocean. It was probably only a matter of time before the already prohibitive rent went up even higher.

I got to witness some of the goodbyes Sunday when I arrived. Even those few were painful to be around. And I only saw one afternoon's worth. Bryan had been doing this for weeks. Along with pulling up stakes and preparing for a cross-country move. No wonder he was emotionally and physically exhausted.

I didn't see this until I got back home, but it sort of choked me up.

We both found the strength to have a few pitchers of Pizza Port's brews with his best friend Sunday night, though. And have a nice leisurely breakfast with another good friend Monday morning before we started east.

One thing that struck me within 100 miles of starting is the homogenization of our country. East of L.A., every so many miles, we saw a nearly identical cluster of the same big box stores, the same chain restaurants and gas stations. In the middle of some very butt-ugly country. In between were large patches of cookie-cutter housing developments. Looked just like around here, except for different terrain. We could have exited the highway, gone into a Target or Home Depot, and not been able to tell where in the country we were.

All that soon gave way to some of the most godawful desolate country I've ever seen. There are some parts of the country it's just better to fly over. It seemed to take forever just to get out of the state of California. Several times we remarked on what the first settlers must have thought when they first saw this land. I guess if they hadn't said 'shit!' and turned the mule train around by the time they'd gotten that far west, they must have been pretty damned sure they were about to hit an ocean to keep going through that.




This isn't even the height of the desolation we drove through. It's downright cheery here. This is where I took over driving for a while. I remembered how to drive a stick without a problem. I only stalled it twice on the whole trip.



Toward evening, the the light entered that magical hour just before it gets dark. This is somewhere about 100 miles west of Flagstaff. It was also about the time Oliver (more commonly known as 'The Ole') began a steady meowing from his cat carrier that began to sound exactly like a newborn baby crying. He'd been meowing on and off all day, but this was starting to get on our last nerve. We were all tired and hungry. But at around 8pm that night, we pulled into our motel and then went in search of Beaver Street Brew Pub and along with beer, salad and soup, had this:




It's called an Enchanted Forest pizza. Melted brie, portobello mushrooms, toasted walnuts and basil leaves, among other things. Delicious.