Driving to Los Angeles
If the drive to LA would have been lined with spectacular light
displays like the Las Vegas strip, the rest of the trip would have
been easy. Unfortunately, the land between Vegas and Los Angeles
is mostly desert. I ended up behind the wheel of the car and as it
worked out I remained at the helm for the rest of the journey.
Staying awake was a very hard chore on this stretch of highway.
Even signs along the road suggest sleep. There are all sorts of
hotel signs, which isn't so odd. Those are easy to ignore. But
there's one exit along the highway called Zzyzx Road. How can you
look at that many Z's in one word and not get sleepy.
When we reached the Nevada/California border, we had to stop at an
agriculture inspection station. It seems that California is too
good for certain kinds of food, animals and house plants. The
state agriculture officer at the check point asked if I had any
fresh fruit or exotic pets. I hesitated and wondered if I should
rat out the apples my sister-in-law Julie had given to me 7 states
ago. I looked around and didn't see a patrol car and considered
making a run for it. But in the interest of not being a fugitive,
I told the guy about the apples. He thought about it for a moment
and then said he better look at them just to make sure they were
okay. The apples were in a bag, on the floor of the back seat. The
back seat area was full of clothes and suitcases and various other
things I was carrying across the country. After a few minutes of
tunneling through the junk in the car, I found the fruit and
showed them to the officer. He was nice and said thanks for my
trouble and rubbed my head and tossed the apples back to me.
I couldn't help but let my mind wonder about the secret life of a
California State fruit inspector. I wondered about what kinds of
jokes he must endure from everyone driving across the border. I
bet he's heard them all, like "I don't have any fruit, but this
fella I'm driving with is a nut." I wondered how many times he had
been slapped across the face after asking a female driver if he
could check out her melons.
We got to Barstow, California around 8 am. We figured it was the
last chance to get a bite to eat before the gravitational pull of
Los Angeles started sucking us in. We had no idea of where to eat,
but when we saw the sign for the "Bun Boy" restaurant, I knew
exactly where we would park our buns for breakfast. The Bun Boy is
your standard family style place, sort of like Denny's, but good.
The place had these great coffee mugs with the Bun Boy mascot, the
"Bun Boy", stamped on the side. I bought a couple of them for
Wendell and myself.
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