The Great Escaper

essay

Saturday July 17 2010

It's 3pm and I'm in the cool hippie town of Garberville, stopped because they have a free WiFi (out of the 342 locked ones). Are you noticing the same trend I am? Should I rename this trip Operation: WiFi? Let's wait a bit before resorting to something so drastic. Let me take you back in time to this morning, and the reason for today's post title.

In what is becoming more the norm than the exception I arose before sunrise. It's not that usual since I'm hitting the sheets before midnight and I've rarely needed more than a few hours sleep in a row. With nobody in the camp awake at all I saw no reason to hang out and so packed up and left. Nearby was the famous town of Mendocino, truly a Northern California original boasting lots of interesting architecture and lots of pricy restaurants, and no sidewalks to speak of. I began to set up my breakfast service in a vacant parking lot in the middle of town, but in 10 minutes time there wasn't a space available -- seems I chose the parking lot of a popular eatery, which hadn't yet opened when I stopped.

So as not to take their business away I drove instead to a nearby 'Coastal View' stop, again alone in the lot, and began prepping my breakfast meal. No sooner were the onions and peppers diced than a hitcher walked up to me and said, "It's my birthday… what's for breakfast?" He looked like what I figured a northern Californian should… long hair and beard, mismatched and unkempt clothing employing every color on the wheel. On another road I might have been worried.

Here however I said merrily, "Let me kick the oven on and I'll bake you a cake."

He snarled and said, "So you think that's funny?" pulled out a Luger and shot me between the eyes. I died instantly, regretting my stupid sense of humor as he rolled me over the cliff and took my rig.

Fortunately it wasn't 'turn my thoughts into reality day'. What he actually said was, a little surprised, "You got an oven in that thing?"

"Hah, just pulling your leg. Grab a rock and have a seat. I got an omelette and bacon rolling."

We spoke as I prepared. Turns out he was employed as a farmer, it really was his 58th birthday, and he wasn't really going to horn in on my breakfast. I protested that I had plenty of food and could use the company. We talked as I prepared, but when I cracked the eggs he excused himself. "There are people waiting for me at So and So's Restaurant. They're throwing me a party."

I smiled knowingly. "Happy birthday, Clovis." (His name wasn't Clovis-- I think it was Mike) I realized that the other parking lot where I began to set up was the restaurant where he was headed. Small world!

I finished, cleaned up and left, heading for blue skies. The low clouds which had been hounding me for three days made the temperatures comfortably cool, but gray and depressing, and I was ready for a change. I checked the map and realized in a couple of hours the 1 would be veering inland and would be swallowed up by its big brother, the 101, so I planned that route into the GPS girl and let her talk me through it. She wasn't helping much, though -- she really needed an unobstructed view of the satellites to do her job correctly, and the thick fog wasn't helping. So instead she kept telling me to take a sharp left at hairpin turns high on cliffs. I ignored her obvious murderous intentions, preferring to take the road in front of my eyes.

I still wanted to sit by a beach, even in this overcast condition. But I passed, of all things, a McDonalds! I haven't seen one of those for a hundred miles, so postponed my desire. Free coffee here I come!

"We can't give refills if you've left the restaurant, sir." She was young but already had the disapproving look of the farmer's wife in that famous painting.

I grumbled and shelled out $1.09 in dimes and pennies. 4 dimes and 69 pennies. I got my coffee and sat in back. That's when I noticed somebody using WiFi on their laptop.

WIFI! I ran to the computer and sure enough I was connected to the world. I sat inside, surfing the net without getting wet, drinking coffee after wonderful coffee until that same disapproving girl came up to me and sternly pointed at a sign: No Loitering-- 30 minute limit.

I checked the time. I'd been there for 32 minutes. "Wow," I said. "I didn't know you owned the place."

"My dad does," she clipped, and tapped the sign impatiently.

I smiled. "Well, then let me order something." I already had breakfast, and they were now serving lunch, anyway. "I'll have a strawberry sundae." I handed her another $1.09… this time I made her count out all 109 pennies.

I stayed for another hour and then left… my stomach was feeling floppy. Karma can be a bitch, but mostly she's right. Or maybe the owner's daughter had put Metamucil in my ice cream. I found a beach just a few miles outside of town and decided to take a nap. It was cold and gray, but the obsessed Northern Californians were romping about in swim trunks and bikinis like they were sweating in 120 degree Vegas, but I rolled myself up in blankets and grabbed 20… six times.

Finally feeling more normal I got back on the 1 (now called Icicle Highway… at least by me) to its inevitable conclusion, ending at a town called Nowheresville. Actually Leggett was the name… but being amidst ten million million trees, it only resembled that remark. The 1 had meandered away from the coast, climbing the mountains and then descending the other side, and the temperature had changed drastically. Plus, I could now see the sky and Miss GPS could too, and knew exactly in which direction she was heading. "Go back to the coast… please!" she begged, but to no avail. I was heading somewhere and nothing would stop me!

I thought the road along the coast squiggled incessantly, but it didn't hold a candle to here -- I swear, at one point I went around the same redwood six times. Either that or I just got confused because It was a 'giant' redwood (yes, we were in that part of California now).

From Leggett it was a short 23 mile hop to Garbersville, which of course took an hour because of all the near-death scenarios. At least there was some degree of disguise along the coast so that when I was approaching a dangerous cliff or a bit of recently 'repaired' road it wasn't immediately obvious. Not so here -- here I could see the toothpicks and Jenga blocks used to rebuild a vertical 200 foot washout of the mountainside where the road once was, and is again, immediately. Okay, it's the Army Corps of Engineers and they build the most durable and huge constructions… but it still looked scary dangerous, as if a single stiff breeze could blow its base of playing cards away. If it happened at all it happened after I crossed and I wasn't looking back, nohow.

Arriving in Garbersville I immediately noticed several things. 1) I had to pry my stiff white knuckles from the steering wheel; 2) the temperature had gone up even more and was now hovering near the boiling point of lead; and 3) we must have crossed into Humboldt county, because everyone was wearing tie-dye. Especially grandparents. Even the bikers seemed mellow -- they had put mufflers on their Harleys so they putt-putted along like go-carts. I lie about that -- they were as loud as ever, but the noise resembled the encore at a Grateful Dead concert. I lie about that, too.

I was driving slowly through town like a police cruiser looking for pot users. I had a different motive of course… I was looking for free WiFi and when I did, I parked, triumphant. Sadly the only available parking spot was in the blazing sun, and over the course of the next hour my left arm browned like a Christmas turkey. No matter. I made all my contact calls, uploaded several days of posts and watched interesting people walk past, usually holding a beverage of alcoholic nature. Not judging… I was THIRSTY.

I called my contact to the north. He had mentioned he would be incommunicado for a couple of days. I of course recited the Brian Dennehy line from '10': "Where's Communicado?" After he stopped not laughing he said he was taking his kids camping for a couple of days, so I knew I couldn't reach him, but I figured I could leave a message and he would call when he heard it. The message? "Remember I said I had your address? Turns out I only had your IP address." Oh, that computer humor.

Well, he didn't answer as I expected, but moments after I hung up he returned the call! "Wow, you have reception in the woods?"

"I haven't left yet."

We talked a little bit and it turns out he was leaving in a little while. I told him where I was and he bet I could arrive before his departure time, so I took his address and accepted the challenge. I got into town exactly one minute before deadline, drive up to the address… and stared at an open field.

A more paranoid person would assume that he gave me the wrong address on purpose, that he was blowing me off in the rudest possible way, that he had no intention of allowing me to stay at his place for the weeks or months we had talked about earlier. An insecure person would agonize over giving up their life back in LA over a sham. An apoplectic soul would have become enraged at that moment and set fire to the town.

I am none of those. I called him and said, "I'm here… where's your house, pal? I'm standing in front of an open field-- is it built beneath the ground, or is it perhaps invisible?" He repeated the address. "Yep, that's where I am."

"I'm gonna walk out into the street," he suggested. I looked left. All signs calm. I looked to the right. A tiny figure was standing down the road.

"Is your address in the 500 block… or the 600?" I said when I drove up to him (that tiny figure WAS him).

He looked sheepish. "I keep doing that," he admitted. "After all, I don't write to myself."

We hugged hellos, all of us. His kids had grown, and his son's voice had changed with advancing adulthood. My friend showed me around the house, said, "Sleep anywhere," and left with a wave, shouting, "We'll be back in a few days. Make yourself at home." Then they were gone.

Alone again, naturally.