I'MMMMMMM Baaaaaack!

Just like the Terminator or Edward Scissorhands, I am. Have been spit up from the (lovely) bowels of the South Coast, into the sun-drenched, nubile-bodied, plastic-modeled, super-cool and outrageously expensive civilisation of San Luis Obispo County. I've found a couple of towns I decided could be turned into home-just by driving through them. Probably costs a couple of thousand to make an appointment to SEE a real estate agent; so I'll just put them on the long list.

Where do I start? Back near Salinas and the earthquake. Made it to a campsite just before dark, tired and hungry from taking the "shortest distance" route picked by Guida. Well, Damn! I didn't figure she'd send me on old stage coach roads through ranch country where the only form of transportation other than horses is a 4-wd pickup held together by rubber bands and prayer and driven by nuevo-vaqueros tossing beer bottles and waving whips out the shot-out back windows. I'm only guessing at shot-out. They were probably broken out so that bottles could be easily chucked over the shoulder into the bed; either to prevent litter, but more likely as a savings account toward the next case.

Oh, The Earthquake. Anyway, I was just leaving the porta-potty when the floor felt spongy. I thought. "This isn't very well planted." and closed the door from the outside, pushing, only to find that it was firm and solid. I figured I must have had jelly-legs from driving so long looking over cliffs and fighting the urge to regurgitate. Back at the picnic table a minute or so later, I felt the ground shaking back and forth, heard the RVs near me shaking and creaking, and watched all the pretty campsite lights dancing on their strings. My first instinct was to do as Mom had taught us on the other end of the San Andreas Fault: Get under a table. Then I realized that the only thing likely to fall on my heas was THE PICNIC TABLE and then only when it tumbled into the chasm that was going to swallow it. That's when I really got scared. Anyway after an hour, the five second 5.4 quake was over. (You scoffers-look at your watches and contemplate disappearing into the bowels of California for five seconds, then talk to me about fear)
The radio later said there were no serious injuries-Great! It also said that there was no serious damage-Bull! I suffered the loss of a full 20% of my skivvies-Salamat sa Dios, I wasn't in the porta potty.

The next morning, it was drive-thru-fog until I reached Big Sur. No wonder all those writers and artists flocked there, along with the hippies. Had I stayed in Hashbury back in '66 when I toured it with Jeannie G., I might have wound up there. Wonder what the world would llook like now...? Anyway, with three great kids and the life I've lived to this moment, I really think I made the right choice.

So I drove through listening to Joan Baez singing Dylan songs; grooving on the beauty, stopping frequently to capture scenes I want to paint someday. Lots of curves and switchbacks mimicing life and playing out to songs that seem so appropriate, no matter the year:
...You were right from your side and I was right from mine.
We're just one too many mornings and a thousand miles behind...

So last night was spent at San Simeon State Park, a cel/wireless/light-free zone where I found that the ground squirrels didn't like the curry and Biryani rice you provided, Peachy. I did, and they ignored the leftovers which got left out. I cycled in the dense fog this morning, breaking 3700 miles for the year. 4K, here I come. On the road in a few minutes, off to visit Joe K. in Venice Beach. Next edition will be from there.
Love to all!