Transcribed Notes: Waiting, Waiting...

BITBAA:
Back In The Bay Area Again

Friday July 11th 2003, Sebastopol California

We're sitting in the East-West Cafe, gonna have a comforting breakfast before going back to Kaiser (Santa Rosa) for a biopsy from Maureen. Been kinda eventful the last couple days.

Had a birthday party for Beth and Ginny at home, I think that's who it was, yeah, on Tuesday. So we spent all Tuesday cleaning up the house, getting ready for that. And collapsed exhausted Wednesday.

Then packed up early Thursday, yesterday, ready to come down to Kaiser (Santa Rosa) for the medical stuff, and then the cat went walkabout, and spent a couple hours chasing down the cat, caught her just at the end of our window for getting to Santa Rosa on time. We WOULD have made it on time, in 3 hours even, and we made it in 3 hours 15 minutes, but spent 10 minutes waiting for the drawbridge on Hwy 12 at Rio Vista, and another 10 minutes in heavy slow miserable fucking Hwy 101 traffic in Santa Rosa, so we were late.

(Confession: I drove fast and dangerously, even slipped-thru railroad-crossing gates as a train slowly approached, and ran some stop signs, and cut-off some tedious traffic, and otherwise did all I could to minimize the time. Bad boy.)

But we got into Endocrinology at a slow moment, and they took her in and Dr. Minkoff checked her out and wanted to do a biopsy, but she'd been on Ibuprofen which causes blood thinning and bruising. Rather than getting the biopsy dropsy yesterday, especially since we had a party to go to last night, was able to squeeze in the biopsy for today, so that's were we're headed.

Meanwhile after Kaiser yesterday we went out to the coast, to the Compass Rose guest-garden in Bodega Bay for Terry and Hal's birthday party. Much of: fine food, fine wine, fine people (many winemakers), fine music (a few anglos playing fine latino jazz), many wonderful conversations. Overall, much like Terry Wright's usual parties back in Forestville, except MORE so, many more people. Much more food and wine and a few more geologists.

So now we have a little time in Sonoma County and if we get the biopsy results quickly or not, we'll figure out what to do from here. We stayed in Portugese Beach last night - some friends of Terry's offered us a spot in their driveway for us to park in, which was most appreciated. So calm and quiet out there, foggy and cool in the morning. So HOT in the Central Valley right now, and even in Santa Rosa. Being on the coast was a nice respite.

Depending on how things work out here, since we don't have any obligations except to be in Jackson next Wednesday afternoon, we might end up heading towards the Mendocino Coast today, we shall see.

Some Preliminary Results, Almost

LATER: Just before noon Friday, we're outa Kaiser, biopsy went smoothly, we won't get results for a week or more, so we're off for the Mendocino Coast. The word for Maureen is, she's borderline diabetic. This is a "shot across the bow." She will now go on to a more rigorous diet. And so will I. So, beginning a brave new life here... officially.

Meanwhile she's in the Kaiser (Santa Rosa) pharmacy getting some drugs that may help with the thyroid. So, not to worry, Keep the stress down.

OOTBAN:
Out Of The Bay Area Now

Traversing Lower Mendocino County

LATER: Rolling between Yorkville and Boonville. To do: Write a guide on HOW TO ACHIEVE ENERGY INDEPENDENCE WITHOUT HARDLY BREAKING A SWEAT soon. Get the numbers for how much oil the US imports daily, how much oil is used for power generation daily, and what it would cost to put solar panels on a house to power that house - get the current prices from REAL GOODS online. Also get the amount spent on the US military annually, and the costs of new nuclear and coal-fired and oil-fired and gas-fired energy plants, the construction and maintenance costs. Should be able to get some of this info from Amory Lovins' org, what's that, the Rocky Mountain Institute. Might even be able to get the whole argument there, already laid out. I also need the numbers for households in the US and energy consumption per household.

Boonville, home of an invented language and a rad journal and a weird populace, sure looks increasingly yuppified. Lots better than the redneck pisshole it was a few decades back.

(Disappointment: We stopped at Gowan's Oak Tree outside Navarro, meaning to buy some fruit. But it's no longer a deal here, not a dollar per peach or apple. Those are New York City prices, real yuppy produce here.)

But it's a gorgeous day to be crossing the Coast Range. Beautiful temperature outside. As we leave the Anderson Valley and once again get on the track of the Navarro River, as so many times before. Greater Navarro looks very prosperous, but I don't think it's just because of all the wineries in the area. There's a lot of dope money here too, a lot of pot plantations off in the hills. I was told last night that Garberville, further north, which had been fairly depressed 10 years ago, is just a lively booming place right now, 'cause of all the dope money that flows from the nearby hills. Very interesting what dynamics arise from prohibitions, eh?

Rolling Thru The Navarro River Redwoods

We're going thru the Navarro River Redwoods State Park, the area where 35 years ago I used to camp out with a bunch of hippies, smokin' dope, drinkin' wine, layin' around naked. The usual. Some of the greatest fun ya can have around here while sober and clothed is lying in the back of a pickup truck, looking up as ya roll under the redwoods. That's even better if yer naked, long as there's no cops around.

The sky is clear blue overhead, trees are dark brown and bright green with the sunlight running thru the needles and leaves. A very music-color riot down here as we whiz along the twisty asphalt. (I don't see the high-water-mark signs from the '63 flood any more - those were always the clearest indication that it's not a good idea to camp down here along the river in the winter.) A thousand shades of green, all the leaves and grasses and ferns and shrubs. What a lousy place to be, ha ha.

We'll have to get back here midweek sometime, when it's not all overrun by weekenders. Sometime soon maybe.

And at last we come out of the redwoods and into the brushy lands near the river's mouth. We camped out at the mouth of the Navarro a couple times, a couple years ago. It was rather chilly. Even on these warm summer days, the nights drip. And as we approach the last rugged ridge before the sea, we see fog and clouds out there. Warm inland, cool and foggy at the coast - good thing we brought appropriate clothes.

OOTMCA:
Out On The Mendo Coast Again

Friday Evening, Mendocino Coast Already

Ensconced at good old Camp Kibesillah, looking out through the gray fog at the churning surf on the rocks below, ah they've blocked off part of the old road thru here so it's not quite as great a place as it used to be to camp but it's still tolerable.

Earlier, we strolled around Mendocino, I played guitars and charrangos and mandolas at LarkInTheMorning, bought nothing. We cruised the coast thru Ft Bragg, now we're up here again. We realized that the cabin batteries in the RV are just about gone, time to buy new ones, and this probably isn't a good place to buy'em. So who knows what we'll be doing tomorrow or the day after? Maybe heading towards a WalMart for new batteries, and then what? Quien fucking sabe.

But now the fog is thick. The haunted house on the hill behind us looms darkly thru the heavy haze, glaring its bloodshot (no, blackened) eyes at us. The surf's froth is like soapy foam. The air is so thick and wet, my glasses are starting to drip. The sea of course is a pale gray green - I don't see any seals' heads popping up thru it, just birds jetting by.

What we call Camp Kibesillah is just north of Sunrise Creek and Tenmile River here on the coast, a dirt-gravel road that parallels the highway for a couple hundred yards, and I see now why it's been blocked off. The section of coast that this little piece of old road is on looks like it's about to slump down into the ocean before too long. So, the blockading is a safety measure. So it's ruined, no not ruined, diminished as a campsite but it'll still do for our purposes.

Saturday 12 July 2003, Mendocino Coast

Saturday morning, Camp Kibesillah, Mendocino County. The fog's out now, the fog's rolled in'n'out a couple times during the night, I woke up earlier to piss and the full moon was glaring balefire down on the Pacific, the fog bank was out a few miles and lit like glowing evil, the surf and currents and swells and waves were roiling in high contrast.

Now the fog's out although there are some puffs of mist over the hills eastward, the sun shining thru'em. It's WARM out here now, a little after 7 in the morning. The colors are of the usual intoxicating intensities. Looking south, the lines of breakers swooping out of the benthic blue into the summer-burnt brown of the continent's edge, white lines moving across a penciled seascape with organic irregularity.

Just a little dew on the mustards and grasses here at the world's verge, mustards and grasses and little thistles and berries, blackberry barriers. Wild radishes and yerba santa and other yerbas, the usual California coastal roadside riot. Some hairy bush-lupines and rock-peas, short daisies and asters and dandelions. Some belly plants that I don't don't have the strength to get down and crawl to and identify, but they're these great roseate clusters on the ground.

Just offshore, big rocks, those with a skin-top of thin greenery a buncha seabirds so there's guano down the sides, the gulls going from islet to islet yelling at each other while little waves push thru the rocks like fast-growing amoebas. On littler rocks, sharp spires or blustery footstools or black fragments.

Oh and the bugs, the noseeums here, well maybe it's time to go back inside.

Outside again: paintbrush and yarrow and squash vines and wild hemlock, the rasberries are blooming. We're down on a little slurp of land above the laughable beach access here, a cliff fragment that's just about to slip away into the ocean, and it's topped with this verdant coastal garden, absolutely fabulous. Behind us on the landward side of this slumping sliver, everything is brown, dried out. Just this doomed patch is so wet and green, beneficiary of capricious moisture.

Wandering along we see lots of horsetail fern, used in the past as a potscrubber because there's silica in the strands. The wild grasses out here are tall, wild wheats and ryes. There a chunky coastal juniper too. And just over the edge on some rocks straight down the cliffside are a forest of blue asters, just like the desert asters only cooler, eh?

Some of the offshore rocks are near-intact remnants of these coastal cliffs, eroded into separation from the shoreline, still tall and flat-topped. These have the grassy flowery coverings like vegetal crewcuts. Smller others are just spikes sticking up, needles from the ocean to the sky. There's a myth or two in there...

Coupla little fishing boats sitting out beyond the rocks. And beyond them: horizon, clouds, Japan, all that stuff.

And back inland a little more, between the old road and highway, a damp sump filled with cattails and ferns, reeds, rushes, the swampy area that Jake used to like to snurf around in. And up above that there's that mysterious house, and beyond that the Coast Ranges looming like a sleeping giant, et cetera.

Just south of Camp Kibesillah is Seaside Beach, Seaside Creek, day use only. Looks like it was maybe a former mouth of Tenmile River. Many newish fancyish houses on the clifftops between Seaside and Tenmile. Ready to feed the erosion. South of Tenmile it's all McKerricher State Beach, no houses. Erosion rules. Just miles and miles of dunes.

Saturday evening, Mendo Coast campout

Saurday evening, 12 July 2003, two days before Bastille Day, Camp Kibesillah. I'm walking back in the road-slump zone, the fog's back in. We hung around Ft Bragg all day wandering thru shops, spent a lot of time in just a few shops talking with proprietors about our experiences. Lunched on multiple salads at the Depot diner. Eventually we found a good deal (at NAPA auto parts) on RV coach batteries so we're still in operation, we can just hang out here for a few more days if we want.

Too bad the Cleone-Inglenook-FtBragg Grange isn't doing their monthly breakfast tomorrow morning, we could sure go in for pancakes and coffee, but Maureen's new dietary guidelines preclude such. So we'll depend on our own coffee and granola. We devoured half a Safeway roast chicken tonight, the rest tomorrow, but that may be our last of such — too fat.

Now that we have battery power again it's a slow easy ride to wherever we want. Up on the clifftop looking thru the flowers, down below it's the rocks and the ocean, the seabirds and the foam, the guano, the greenery atop the flattops, the turbulence at their bases, the wet wind in my hair, the usual.

This isn't really a foretaste of what it'll be like when we go traveling long-term. The idea there is to drive a few miles, stop for a day or two, walk and bike around, drive a few more miles, et cetera. See a lot of turf and not have to RETURN to anywhere at a specified time, as we do now. [redundancy deleted] And we'll hopefully be a little better organized than we are now, of course it always takes a few days of shake-down to get things straight.

A flock of birds are circling over one of the offshore flattops looking for something good, No fishing boats visible now, they all headed in, can't see the sun or even the sundown, it's just grey and foggy, late in the evening, a bit after 8PM, anywhere else it'd be early evening, nowhere near sundown.

I don't really know what I feel like when look at the ocean like this. Don't know what in me wants to drown, what I have locked up, what's lying away, what's just sitting there. I don't identify with the foam or the birds or the rocks. Not an identity thang, just an external environment. That's all.

Some more guides to write:

• * How To Become A Seagull & Fly To The Horizon Without Breaking A Sweat
• * How To Turn Into Your Favorite Vegetable And Take Root Without Hardly Breaking A Sweat
• * The Complete Moron's Guide To Pissing On Bushes
• * Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Staggering Drunkenly Down A Hillside But Were Afraid To Ask
• * If Idle Philosophizing Is A Game Then Here Are The Rules
• * Don't Jump Out Da Window, and 57 Other Rules Of (Sub)Urban Survival

I'm always willing to fulfill the demands of the self-help book market, eh?

Sunday 13 July 2003, Mendocino Coast

Early Sunday morning, Camp Kibesillah. The fog is in, can't see the ocean or the rocks; can't see the ominous house on the hill; just the plants around, the highway not far away, Can hear the sound of the ocean; I think there's some traffic sounds out there somewhere; but it's a socked-in experience. Birds, motorcycles, wind, nothing else.

So what to do this Sunday? We went over to the Skunk Train - $40 each for a half-way ride. I think not. No, the Skunk has become a rip-off. Welcome to modern America. Ah hell, at least we can stand in front of the station and pretend to be loggers. Reclaim our focking rugged pioneer Western heritage. Delve within for our organic choppers. Right.

Sunday afternoon, Mendo Coast campout

LATER - Sunday afternoon, another day of knocking about Ft Bragg, looking into exotic shops, buying nothing. So foggy this morning but it burnt off, brilliant all afternoon. Up to Pacific Star Winery for a few bottles, then back here to Camp Kibesillah to sit out over the ocean watching the world blow by, sipping on old red. And I just found our receipt from PSW from 3 years ago, and we bought just about the same stuff then and now. Curious...

Yesterday and today the dead spot in my left leg has been not so dead - it's been shooting pains, electric heat and shocks, zapping strongly. Not good.

And for many years now I find myself making strange sounds and doing whatever - I'm thinking of something foolish I did in the past, ah so many things, and I make an odd sound, a grunt, a groan, a little wail - I shake my head, shake my body, try to shake it away. And I wonder: do other folks do this too? Do they utter animal sounds and shake, trying to shake away their stupid pasts? Groan it away? Submerge it under little sounds of pain and embarrasment, humiliation?

The seabirds fly by; they cry; they're probably not crying away their pasts, just shouting at the present. For me the present is always just a prelude or a product, foretaste or aftertaste. And the ocean keeps rolling on, the tide's out again, there's a little beach down below that usually isn't there. The wind feels good upon my sweat. The sweat feels sticky on my body. My body feels heavy on my mind. My mind feels nothing at all.

I'm reading DRIVING MR. ALBERT: A Trip Across America With Einstein's Brain. A couple quotes: "What keeps the old alive is that we learn to be evil." --Wm. S. Burroughs. "I'm Hung Like Einstein And Smart As A Horse!" -- Anon. bumpersticker

SLTMCB:
Sadly Leaving The Mendo Coast Behind

Monday 14 July 2003, Bastille Day, Calpella CA

Well, we asked the question, Just How Much Of That Gorgeous Beautyosity Of The North-Of-Ft.Bragg Coast Can We Take? And the answer was, That Much. So we stomped around town a bit more, had another multiple-salad-abuse lunch at the Depot cafe, then headed inland across the Coast Range again into Willits for fuel. The Skunk Train station in Willits is now closed, it's a model railroad store.

At the cheap gas station the guy in the pickup at the pump next to us took off without bothering to remove the nozzle and hose from his gas tank first - pulled'em right off! Woops. His svelte passenger came over to inquire about our cat while he was in explaining to the management how he screwed up. Don't know if they charged him for tearing the hose off. It could be that it happens a lot 'cause after they left I looked and the hose was reattached.

Warm day but not incendiary, only 85°f in Willits - why, that's hardly warm at all, there. So now we're past Redwood Valley and Lake Mendocino, heading towards Clear Lake and the Central Valley and the Sierra Nevadas and we shall see... Maybe Quincy, or Bucks Lake, or whatever.

We crossed the Russian River back just this side of Hwy 101, not much much water in it and what there was was pretty scummy. Now as we climb towards Clear Lake thru these volcanic hills and oak woodlands, the countryside would be remarkable if we were from elsewhere and hadn't seen it before, but we've only lived in this environment for decades. And that makes it hard to see with fresh eyes, hard to see with a fresh voice. Oh yeah, THIS shit again...

In DRIVING MR ALBERT the author, an eastern journalist, talks about driving across the vast emptiness of Arizona and about how as he goes further into the country, deeper into the country, he goes deeper into himself. And I'm thinking, what a load of crap. For an Easterner who's never been anywhere, yeah, he's gonna be surprised by the landscape, but this author is no naif. Arizona isn't all emptiness; the West isn't 'deeper into the country', it's just elsewhere. And if one wants to use those metaphors for exploring one's own neurosis, well, fine. Have fun. Just don't bother the rest of us with it.

Coming up to Clear Lake we passed walnut orchards and llama ranches and fuzz farms, and so much stuff that we don't even see because it's so familiar - the land, the trees, the mountains that are just background because we've seen them so many times before. And then there's also the Indian casinos we don't stop at, the various parks and resorts we ignore, all the attractions that just don't attract us. We don't stop at any of these now, not that we would anyway. All just background noise to our journey.

There's the LAST CHANCE Antiques Store - then after that there are all the other antique shops. Well, what does that say about CHANCE, last or otherwise?

North of us, the mountains that become Mendocino National Forest. Up there is Snow Mtn, turf we've visited once or twice before, would like to return again, but not right now.

Leaving the Clear Lake basin now, the earth around here looks so sandy and tawny until you see a freshly-exposed cut or slippage, you see it's bright red, like blood, like AN AXE HAS CHOPPED INTO SOMEONE'S HEAD! And AW MAH GAWD, THERE'S A RED GASH THERE! AW MAH GAWD, THE BLOOD, THE BLOOD! At least, that's how I see it.

Today's highway sequence, maybe: 101-20-45-162-70-89-49-BINGO!

NOTE: We DID mail the cellphone back to AT&T this morning. If we're going to have a phone that doesn't work at our place, might has well have the old paid-for phone that doesn't work, rather than buying a new one that doesn't work there. We hope we've mailed it to the right address. We shall see.

UITSNA:
Up In The Sierras Nevadas Again

Tuesday morning 15 July 2003, Bucks Lake California

Yesterday driving across the endless Central Valley with digital gratification, through Oroville and up the canyons and ridges, up here at the lake at dusk a gang of 20 Canada geese trundling along the shore looking at me closely. Now in early morning I look across the blue lake, blue sky, the bright sun coming up at a low angle, here early in the morning. Very crowded here even post-weekend, post-holiday, I imagine that the vacationers are out in swarms.

The wind-waves thump against the fibreglas hulls of the moored motorboats. Some boat motors roar in the distance, or are those trucks on the distant highway? And definately aircraft too, props and jets disturbing the airspace.

Some morons in the campground think the THERE ARE BEARS HERE - KEEP ALL FOOD AND COOLERS STASHED warning signs don't apply to them. I walked over across the dam to take pictures of light and shadows, and on returning ran into a woman complaining that a bear got her cooler last night. She yells at her husband, "Hey! A bear got our cooler!" A fucking moron...

GOOSE FRENZY!!! What was THAT all about?

By midday we've had all the Bucks Lake beauty we can stand wo we head on, into Quincy for Safeway deli sandwiches and glop, then down Hwy 89 up the Feather River headwaters, into Sierra Valley, across Little Truckee Summit, down to Prosser Creek Resevoir to camp. It's not really skanky, just un-lush, but it'll do for tonight. Of course compared to some of the desert sites where we have camped and will camp again, it's fucking Garden-Of-Eden, eh?

Wednesday 16 July 2003, Truckee California

In Prosser Creek Campground and Resevoir, 2 miles north of I-80, 5 miles north of Truckee California, much too close to the freeway, won't camp here again. This is the final day of this little journey - down the mountains, along the foothills, to Jackson, and then home.

Now it's 9:30, Big Bend California, over Donner - drove thru Truckee, nothing happening there except for crowds of Central American men gathered downtown waiting to be selected for work. We came on thru on the old Donner Pass Road, along Donner Lake, beautiful as usual of course. And then up the switchbacks, UP TO THE TOP! to Whats-its-ass Point, where Petrushka was out running around on the rocks. And we looked down below on the patterns of boat wakes on Donner Lake, and the sun beaming down, burning our eyes out almost. And down past bicyclists and climbers and gaggles of folks atop some rocks.

Continuing along the old Donner Trail as far as possible, alongside whichever river it is here that crawls beside the road. I've been wanting to come on this route for years, years and years, ever since we started crossing the Sierras here. This is the first time we've taken this old route this way. We traveled part of this in the other direction, from near the summit down into Truckee, last year, but this is our first time this way. All these exfoliating granite roundrels and high-altitude pines and firs and cedars. And always the river cutting thru the rocks beside us. Life sucks! Ha ha.

We're listening to THE HAWK radio station out of Reno, 92.5 FM - CLASSIC ROCK'N'ROLL, NO TALK - yeah, not even identifying what they're playing. Half of it's good'ol'rock and half of it sucks, but that's life. And now we're at Cisco California where the old road ends, it's back onto the nerfway, but down in the water below us, a loon floating along. Corrrection: red-headed duck.

The reason we're crawling the Old Donner Road is, because we have time to! This is about the first time we're headed in this direction where we don't have some imminant deadline for being somewhere quickly. Oh yeah there's a deadline, we have 4 hours to travel 2 hours worth of distance. What to do, what to do? Something that'd be fun would be taking time to wander around Frye's as long as we want, but the time and temperature today aren't right for that. There's just something about having all the time you want to wander around some big store that has lots of goodies, like Sierra Trading Post, or Best Buy, or whatever. And just palpate everything.

Now we're rolling under a mostly clear blue sky, past Yuba Gap, past Emigrant Gap, but not past The Gap. Yet. Not much traffic this Wednesday morning. A clear day, an open road, hopefully only mildly incendiary at lower elevations although it's pretty warm up here already. From a high vista point, looking straight down on a big meadow with asphalt rolling across it, that's Hwy 20 down there, heading off to Nevada City & Yuba City & Winters City & Willits City & Mendocino City, onto the coast. But Wait! We were just there! Why AGONIZE over it?!?!?

DOOTSA:
Dropping Out Of The Sierras Again

Descending At A Breakneck Pace, Almost

It sure doesn't take long to drop out of the Sierras on I-80; from the crest down to the lowlands in about an hour. 120 years ago physiologists wondered if the human body could take such rapid altitude changes, or if we'd just be squashed like bugs. Apparently our bodies can take it, but who knows about our minds? Everyone rolling down this descent could be sloughing-off brain cells like crazy!

We're rolling thru Auburn, the Old Town is right next to the freeway - see the notes from a few months ago, from our last trip here. That big silly gold-panning prospector statue; the Mexican restaurant where the food tasted good but it slid right thru us; and immediately below Augurn, the flatlands. At least, relatively flat. 8600 to 600 feet in an hour.

Off the freeway finally; we've scouted-out some business areas of Roseville, located Trader Joe's, have cruised backroads and dashed across the BEAUTIFUL American River at Folsom where it's a GREAT ROCKY GORGE! Have to go back and explore that sometime soon. And now, into Folsom.

{ Look up etymology of Ione - I think it's Greek - verify - prove I'm right! }
{ Is Ione named for a Greek muse - please, prove I'm right! }   [WRONG!]

Having fueled up in Folsom we see that we went 254 miles on 28.6 gallons of gas, which I roughly mentally compute as 8.7 MPG. Which is pretty good considering that it's from Oroville via Bucks Lake & Quincy & Truckee, etc. Not bad fuel efficiency for this big RV going up steep mountain grades. HALLELULAH!

A little after 1.PM, Jackson California - we went thru Ione takin' care of business, day's almost done, about fucking time... After reaching Jackson I dropped Maureen at PT, went to do chores. Then looked around the RV for the housekeys, it was EXTREMELY HOT, I am TIRED, that just pushed me over the edge. I didn't find the keys until we got back home. As soon as we got home, I remembered where the keys were. So now I'm rolling down to the Post Office to clean out our PO box. And I'm so hot and miserable, I shall SCOFF AT THE LAW! I AM scoffing at the law! I'm drinking beer while driving! (slurp ... aaahhh...) Starting off with a Coors I found at a Donner Pass overlook this morning, that should get me to the Post Office, 5% Original Coors. Coming back I'll suck a Natural Ice, 5.9%. I should be very relaxed when I get back home. I don't mind confessing this to the world because, by the time anyone reads or hears this, there'll be no evidence. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!

But now for awhile it's back into the old rhythm of voicemail & email, surfing & nerfing & cursing, plotting & jotting & totting. These last 3 days have involved a lot of driving, I think I have a right to be tired. 7 hours & 6 hours & 5 hours. No pictures processed on this trip. What a waste of a week!