12.3.2002

At 8:15 we leave the Days Inn. Around 10:30 we drive through Texas Canyon, which is actually in Arizona. It’s an amazing area where large boulders lie piled on top of one another in haphazard formations, many looking as though they are ready to topple over. We sigh in amazement, but do not stop.

12:00 – We see our first Dust Devil spinning along the roadside. We also begin to see saguaro cacti. I have never seen these things before, other than in documentaries. In the distance the land heaves and buckles. Germany and I are impressed, and promise ourselves that we will stop more on the way home.

At 1 PM we approach Phoenix, and begin to see the first signs directing us to the Los Angeles area. We begin to get excited. The destination is near, at last! Phoenix is beautiful – or at least seems so from the highway. At some point west of Phoenix Germany and I switch places for the last leg, so that I can drive in LA traffic. I realize that I have lost my ability to do simple math: If I have 320 miles to go, and am traveling 80 mph, how long will it take to reach my destination? If a car leaves Omaha Nebraska on Sunday traveling an average speed of 70 mph, and a plane leaves New York on Tuesday traveling at 500 mph, will I meet Viggo Mortensen in Santa Monica? Think carefully about your answer. Show your work.

2:30 PM Pacific – we cross the California state border. I declare that I am not transporting produce or plants, and get a map. We soon pass the smoldering wreckage of a truck - unrecognizable until the cab becomes visible. Germany realizes that she is definitely getting sick, and begins to pop Vitamin C pills in an attempt to head off whatever it is. Between Blythe and Riverside we pass a field of windmills.

5 PM – we enter the LA area. At rush hour. Of course. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger…

6 PM – we see the first signs directing us to Santa Monica. We whoop in excitement, and relief.

Between 6:30 and 7 we check into the Cal Mar Suites hotel, having found it without a wrong turn. The hotel looks as though it was once an apartment complex, and our room was obviously a one-bedroom unit. We explore closets and bring in bags from the car, and quickly decide that we can’t bear sitting any longer. We hit the streets of Santa Monica in search of food.

Santa Monica is beautiful. Even I am taken with it – and I have lived in Southern California previously. Our hotel is located very close to the Promenade and to the beach. On the Promenade we pass many street performers as we look for a restaurant that will suit us all and, as with the desert sites that greeted us earlier, tell ourselves that we will stop later.

We settle on an Italian restaurant for dinner, and sit at a table outside. We eat. We get a free impromptu show… After dinner we go in search of cold medicine and reading material. We find both: Tylenol Cold for $6.95, and The Nation for ~$3. We pass more performers on the street. Some make me think that there is something to be said for Midwestern stoicism, but I remind myself that I would have felt very differently ten years ago. Germany and I are both captivated by a group of musicians calling themselves Seis Cuerdas, and I buy a copy of their CD for each of us.

When we arrive back at the hotel we fight over beds while my daughter makes coffee. I settle in and listen to the noise of the street below, which I find oddly comforting, and plot never to return home…