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It is 6:42pm. We are following 18 wheelers on the 152 Highway where 128 people have died so far this year. That's over 20 people per month. Almost one every day. Larry thinks most of them died drunk, at night, or during rush hour. I'm thinking maybe some died making love at the wheel or epileptic fits.
We just passed a flame engulfed Chevy van on the side of the road. Numbers 129 & 130? Possibly. Big body of water to the right.
The trip across the nation has begun. We started by seeking moral support and a motivational performance from the Grateful Dead, Sunday night and we were not disappointed. Even though I had a bad trip on the way home, in The Cad, with Rachel and some pathetic, loser, groveling, Dead family.
I came to think that I was in a car full of Satanic Cult members and they were all in a conspiracy to enlist my soul to the devil. Even Rachel. I though they had all been working on me for years and it had all come to the crossroads on Highway 17 heading back to Santa Cruz. I was convinced that I was in a life or death decision. Either I could stay in the car and be taken into the Santa Cruz mountains and have my heart cut out in a blood soaked orgy by these people or I could jump out of the car going 55 mile per hour around hair raising curves. I wound up gritting my teeth.
We were supposed to leave for the Grand Canyon, Monday, but having stayed up all night talking about Trust and Truth and so forth and not having cleaned out my apartment like I was supposed to, we were delayed. Donn, woke us up in the morning angry at Larry for taking his jacks.
Larry went off and spent the day with The Beast, (a 1977 International Scout, rusted to the core with about 419,000 miles on it, the odometer doesn't work). Flushed the radiator, took the carbuerator apart, looked at the rear end, worried about the transmission, the water pump, the oil gaskets, the alternator, the lack of low beam head lights, the need for a new tailpipe, the tires, and the seven splinter crack in the windshield. I cleaned the apartment ALL DAY. Shampooed the carpet etc., etc.
Then we ate at Sizzler for three hours and stayed the night at Anthony Ponza's
house up in the mountains where I'm storing The Cad. Tuesday, that's today,
we got up, ate pancakes with the Ponza's, started "running a chinese laundry"
in their basement, according to Mrs. Ponza. We disposed of the toxic milk
that Larry and I have both derived colds from. I drank water from my Absolut
Vodka bottle as I have been doing for the past two sleepless nights. We
stormed Sears with Larry's card, yet again, this time collecting blank tapes,
batteries and a water pump. Yesterday it was two cases of oil, fishing poles,
a flourescent auto lamp, fishing lures, mosquito repellent and 5 tapes at
$4.99 a piece;
Heavy Metal?
The plan at this time, before any deviations occur, is to reach the Grand Canyon and camp tonight. We will then hit Truth or Consequences in New Mexico. "Camp by the lake, fish, live like Americans," according to Larry. Then, Austin, Texas and Friday night New Orleans, then Panama City, Florida, South Carolina in search of Himmy Jimmy and we need to reach Maryland by the 27th to visit Larry's Dad. I'm just along for the ride. To see what there is. To meet the people. To have my picture taken with the fattest women we can find. To meet a black girl who speaks French in New Orleans. And to say I did it.
I'm going to stop writing now as we head into the smog belt of the San Jaoquin Valley on I-5. The Dixie Cups are singing, "The Chapel of Love"
