From Veeduber@aol.com  Fri Sep  8 01:59:54 1995
msgnum: msg15335
Date: Fri, 8 Sep 1995 02:55:48 -0400
From: Veeduber_at_aol_dot_com
Subject: Hair-ball Run, D+1

                       Hair Ball Run - D+1
                                
                         The Long Valley


I finished the needed repairs this morning and got a late start
from Bakersfield, where I discovered that without a motel
reservation you must pay either too much or not enough.  I chose
the latter and ended up at the Singh Motel, where several members
of the extended Singh family were evicted when the management
realized I was serious about renting a room for the night.  

Heading north, I kept my foot out of it, put the thing on
autopilot and let everyone except bicyclists go around me.  It
was a long to Redding.  The engine temp was a little hotter than
a good water-pumper should be, even in the 100 degree heat.  I've
a hunch old age has caught up to the water pump.  Or perhaps some
critical passage between the heads is corroded.  I ran the air
conditioner, but kept it down to the Mild Autumn Day setting
instead of the Arctic Blast that had proved too much for the
system the day before.

The car is equipped with an AM/FM radio and cassette tape player. 
I had no tapes to play but fiddled with the radio.  It took about
a hundred miles to figure out how to work it, which proved to be
wasted effort.  I don't have a radio in my bug, nor in the bus
either.  Neat factory plates in the dash; no radio ever
installed.  In Baja there isn't a lot to listen to, and when
you're south of the Line the sound of the engine and tranny is
worthy of your full attention.

The airwaves were filled with people talking, mostly to hear
themselves talk.  What music I heard was country & western & not
especially good.  Some of the commericals were interesting. 
Apparently several laws of physics have been repealed, along with
fundamental changes in basic economics.  After listening for less
than thirty minutes I found myself hoping the engine would blow
up, just so I'd have something to do.

It didn't.  I sat there, moderately cool and totally bored.

At Turlock I refueled and found a gentleman struggling with the
telephone.  He was Hispanic and had a serious speech impediment. 
I used his AAA card to call him a tow truck, something he'd been
trying unsuccessfully to do for more than 'uyn owrahaha'.  Nice
guy; offered me money.  I bought him a coke.  It's the real
thing.  Friendship, that is.

I grew up around Turlock.  I like to think the man wouldn't have
had to spend an hour in the hot sun struggling to express himself
into a telefono back when I was a kid.

Things shrink as you get older.  Turlock had shrunk.  Parts of it
had vanished entirely.  The only things that were larger than
before were the prices.  I fueled up, restocked my bagel supply
and continued north.

Soon after the confusion of Sacramento, where you must turn west
if you want to go north, I saw Mt. Shasta ghosting on the
horizon.  There be mountains to cross, with the engine running a
mild fever.  Mt Shasta and I kept an eye on one another for
better than two hours; it's a fourteener, a shield volcano and
not an especially good climb.  But magnificent in its snowy cloak
from my simmering viewpoint on the valley floor over 60 miles
away.

I broke my journey at Redding where I discovered the Bates Motel
was more than a movie set.  But the price was right and the
security was excellent, since it was impossible to open the door
without hitting the bed, and the parking lot enjoyed a constant
patrol, half the population of Redding having mistaken it for a
city street.  In the lobby, I interrupted a heated argument
between a Rancher and an Indian, judging by their costumes. 
Water rights?  Rustling?  

"I tell you Ferman (sp) blew it!  O.J.'s gonna walk!"  

I bought a box of .45 ammo from the vending machine and eased on
out of there, not wanting to become embroiled in the local range
war.  (I'm the only person I know who has never watched a Simpson
episode, trail or cartoon.)

Tomorrow, some mountains.  And maybe supper in Portland.

-Bob