Los Angeles. A Gucci-clad emptiness in the California desert...or is it? Behind that mirror-slick facade of sunglasses, BMWs, and surfer accents, is something going on here? Is there any meat on those tanned, toned buns? We'd been here for three days, and we still didn't know. Oh, sure, we knew that pockets of LA were as real as it gets -- the Residence Inn chief among them -- but we had no feel for LA's totality, its essence.
So, we went to Starbuck's to look for it. Coffee always helps, and if we can support a bully corporation famous for targeting their franchises right across the street from independent cafes and then undercutting them on prices, well, that's just ducky. "Anyway," as Kristanne likes to say, "they do make good coffee." Whatever gets you through the night, Kristanne. Whatever gets you through the night.
The coffee, predictably, was good, as were the bagels we picked up next door at Bruegger's. We considered heading across the street to Seattle's Best Coffee for a biscotti, thereby completing the Triple Crown of Upscale Chain Cafes, but ultimately decided against it, afraid our heads would explode with designer coffee overload. Instead, we headed down to the beach for one more visit with the beautiful shores of Corona Del Mar (Spanish for, "Daryl's Town").
Then, there was nothing left to do but face the pain -- LA traffic in all its smog-belching, road-raging, ragged glory. San Francisco lay to the north, six hours of interstate distant. By now, you know that traffic time is Kristanne time. She thrives on adversity, finding sport where others find only frustration. After a quick rubdown and pep talk, I strapped her into the driver's seat and we bugged out, ready to do battle with the elements.
Oddly enough, the elements bagged out on us. Turned tail and ran. "Buncha wimps," Kristanne scowled. "Spineless turkey-necks." Traffic was actually pretty darn good. We didn't have to slow down more than once on the drive from Corona Del Mar (in Orange County) all the way up through the grapevine on I-5. Kristanne kept the hammer down as we hit I-5, stopping only once in the Central Valley burg of Los Banos (literally, "the bathrooms") for the Conoco Gas Station's "Trucker Fare" menu (deep-fried burritos and a pack of Marlboro wides). Thus fortified, we hit the Bay Area, back with a vengeance.
Yup, back to San Francisco. Back to the Inner Sunset. Back to Vince and Jen's place. Back to the 'hood. El barrio. Kristanne took in a movie while I tried to find a parking place for the van, and then we all went off to sleep. Especially me -- I had the distinctly unpleasant task of waking up early for work ahead of me. You guessed it -- real commuting tomorrow, with rush-hour traffic and everything! Rocking!
We leave you with one more picture from the Southland, a pleasant panorama of Otto and palm trees. Enjoy it and we'll see you tomorrow.
Total Miles for 8/17 = 450