Blogging the move, day the first
So it's Tuesday night and I'm in Burbank--left San Francisco around three, didn't really hit traffic until the Dublin/Pleasanton area on I-580, and then again on the early part of I-5.
There's not much traffic on I-5 in that part of California, mainly because there's not much up there, short of eighteen-wheelers and signs that say "It only grows when water flows" or something like that. On the back of one truck, someone had written in the dirt, "Flash the driver, he's bored." So was I. There's not much to look at, not that I could spare much time to glance about.
A fourteen foot U-Haul truck handles like a pregnant water buffalo to begin with--add in gusting winds and little or no room for error and you've got a challenging drive ahead of you. To top it all off, gas in that area is more retarded than most places--I drove the truck until I was down to an eighth of a tank just to avoid paying $2.79 a gallon. I settled for $2.49 when I got desperate, and I'll gladly pay the $2.33 from the gas station across the street from my, ahem, hotel room.
I'm getting ripped tonight, no question, because I didn't plan this part of my trip adequately. I didn't know where I was going to stop, don't know where anything is, so when the woman at the counter told me the price I said "What? Okay," with about all the resistance Rush shows to oxycontin (knew I had to sneak politics in there, didn't you). It's a shitty little room at the Quality Inn--bed, tv, wall-unit a/c. The sign on the door says "Executive Room," as opposed to hourly rate room. I exaggerate--it's not that bad, well, except for the wine cork sitting in the straw basket that holds the coffee makings for the morning. No bottle of wine to be seen, but maybe I'll check beneath the mattress for the hooker just in case.
The one major plus is that they have wireless internet, and it's free, so at least I can bitch and moan about this to everyone out there.
P.S.--remember that moany little blog piece about my ankle? Well, I resprained it yesterday, only much less severely, more of a relapse I suppose, and then had to load the truck, with the help of Amy's cousin Matt and my Steg buddy Jim. Thanks guys--you helped me more than you could ever know.