I leave at what my dad calls the "crazy hour," which is somewhere in the 3-4 am range. I guess it's crazy because you have to wake up super early, but you miss both the Bay Area and LA traffic, so it works out good. The first couple of hours are darkness, and there ain't much to see in the dark:
I downloaded a couple of albums onto my ipod for this trip, and I saved playing them until I got out on the road. One of the albums was Bruce Springsteen's "Nebraska." If all you know about Bruce Springsteen is "Born in the USA," then you're missing out. I'm glad I saved this album for playing on the dark highway. You totally have to try that.
Leaving at the crazy hour gives you the opportunity to see the sun rise:
And the blossoms on the roadside fruit trees were all alight. Much prettier in real life, but picture-worthy nonetheless:
Is that snow on them thar hills?
I hate driving in the rain. About 10 years ago I was driving the treacherous Highway 17 out of Santa Cruz and got myself into a nice 3-car fender bender--in the rain. I was actually on my way to the hospital to get my broken ankle checked up on--what bad luck that winter. But anyway, now whenever it rains I drive around like an old lady, white knuckles and all. I swear that at any moment I will lose control of my car and spin around and around until I wind up in some nasty tangle. People in California have no concept of the rain. They drive around in their giant SUVs during downpours like nothing unusual is happening at all. Oh, is that water falling out of the sky? I wouldn't know--I'm on my cell phone and who cares cause I drive a giant hummer. LA is a desert after all. Why would they know what to do in the rain? Once I was driving out of LA and there were so many accidents I lost count. Really bad ones too--you would think that one accident would serve as a warning to everyone else, but no. Anyhow, my point is is that I hate driving in the rain, but I've decided that I hate driving in the snow even worse. Seeing the mountain all covered in snow in the early morning light didn't put me at ease at all. As I approached the Grapevine, I asked the mountain to let me pass without incident. Luckily the snow had stopped falling, and lay beautifully on the side of the road:
Fortunately the mountain let me pass safely. Thank you, mountain.
When I got to LA, I tried to nap, but I was so wired from coffee that I couldn't. Eh, who needs sleep, right? The dinner was the same night, so I got gussied up. Now, when I packed for this trip, I figured I'd wear my suit and a nice greyish t-shirt (Gap favorite tee--a wardrobe essential). But when I got to LA I had some time to kill, so I was like: well I'm in LA, and this is the land of malls, why don't I go and get myself something more fun than a boring grey t-shirt. You must realize I am such a hopeless shopper. I should never go shopping for "fun" things unsupervised. I should never go shopping for "fun" things period. I walked through a bunch of stores and saw tons of stuff, but none of them were what I was looking for. I'm not even sure what I was looking for. I have a bad habit of getting all the way to the store and I just skim the racks. Like if there's a shirt I don't like on a giant rack of clothes I'll just walk away without even looking at all the other clothes on the rack. Hopeless, I'm telling you. Finally I found the Ann Taylor store, which usually is a tad bit too fru-fru/expensive for me, but I figured I'd been everywhere else already. And as soon as I walked in I looked over and there it was! My "fun" shirt, sitting folded on the shelf. It called out to me. It said "Kathryn! Here I am! Buy me!" I loved it. I didn't even think twice about it. It was exactly what I wanted:
Can you believe it? It's the same damn shirt but only in a new "fun" green color. Hopeless, I'm telling you. Jeezus!
The restaurant was pure carnivorous gluttony. I loved it. Check out the meat:
They wheel that cart around and ask you how raw you want it and then they slice off a big chunk of it. My brother wanted his so raw they had to go into the kitchen to find a piece raw enough for him. I swear I heard his piece moo. I could only eat half of what was on my plate. So good though!
Have you ever had creamed spinach? I recommend it. And the Yorkshire pudding. Boy my dad sure knows how to put on a dinner. My parents loved to go out and eat, and since we were commemorating the 100 day mark of my mom's passing, we did it in style. My buddhist friend said that you go put the dead's favorite food on their grave, but I know my mom would have thought that a terrible waste and would have wanted us to eat the food instead. And eat we did. All 44 of us!
Afterward, my old college friend Mary and I waddled out of there and into the cold Los Angeles night. It's been a cold winter this year. Whenever I think of LA, I think of it as a warm place. Or relatively warm. Somehow Mary and I are always out there shivering in the dark. That's how it always was, she and I, haunting all the dark places in the cold.
Let me remind you: I left at the crazy hour, and leaving at the crazy hour means getting up insanely early, which for me was something like 2:45 am. But really, my eyes popped open at 1:30 am because I was scared I'd oversleep. By the time I got out of that dinner, I was exhausted. We drove around LA, and wound up at the sea, where we froze for a bit before moving on. She and I always wind up at the sea. I only get to see her every once in a long while, but I think that almost every time we get together, we somehow wind up there. Then we drove around some more, me trying to keep my eyes open, and she trying to find a place for us to go. We ended up in the UCLA area, and we found a pub with sporting events playing on every TV. It was nice because all the other bars were teeming with college kids, but ours was relatively mellow.
You gave me permission to post your pic, right Mary? That's her. And that's me. I think she took half a dozen pics of me and I'm wearing the same expression on every pic. I think I must have been napping with my eyes open.
I think she kept me up for more than 24 hours. Quite a feat if you ask me. So worth it though.
No trip to LA is quite complete without a visit to the best French Dip sandwich joint in the world. It's a place called Philippe's and it's been around for like a hundred years. (Ok, 98) My Dad is a true LA native, and he knows all the good eats.
They serve coffee for a dime and have sawdust on the floor:
And the apple pie--to die for.
And as we left LA in the rain, there was the gorgeous view of city hall, or whatever that building is.
I drove out of LA at the crazy hour. It was dark, but the moon was full.
And the skies threatened rain and finally delivered 100 miles from home. So beautiful.
And I wanted to save the best for last. You get to see a lot of truck grafitti on I-5, but this one was my favorite. It's message was so primal, yet at the same time so concise. It was as if the grafitti writer didn't want to waste time on poetics or lame metaphors or even take a moment to show off his artistic side with a drawing. The message, simply:
Boobs!!! And then, as if you didn't get it the first time, he wrote it again, but instead of the 3 expressive exclamation points, he resorted to the understated underline, again, 3 times. Boobs. Yeah, that's what I say. Boobs.
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