A Quick Road Trip

     

Crater Lake

     Gayle and I got home last night after almost a week of allowing our dog, Dakota, the opportunity to “mark his territory” from California to Oregon.  He’s very particular on the spots he chooses to honor with his markings and business cards, which I’ve never completely understood.  He has to sniff around to find the exact spot that deserves his consideration.

            So now Crater Lake and the Burney Falls area have been notified of his presence.  Kind of like the marking, “Killroy was here,” if you are old enough to remember WWII.

            I sometimes get so “rummy” driving for hours that the female voice on my GPS begins to sound seductive.  You can pick the voice you want on those things.  Like most married men, I’m accustomed to being given instructions in a female voice, so a woman’s voice seems natural.  I also like one with an accent.  But when she says, “recalculating” it’s too much like Gayle telling me I loaded the dishwasher wrong again. I hear the recalculating thing a lot, because I’m not good at following directions. 

Burney Falls

            Watching for deer and elk is one thing, but watching for morons texting while driving is an even greater hazard.  Some people must be incredibly lonely to find it necessary to “let their fingers do the talking” while careening down the highway at 80 mph.  I don’t get that texting thing anyway.  I’ve been with people having a great conversation while someone sits there texting, reading emails, or whatever else they do with those hand-held demons from hell.  This affliction is most prevalent in young people.  I think it’s rude and somewhat pathetic. They are more interested in reading nonsense on facebook than interacting with human beings.  But getting back to road trips…

            I remember when I was young, it was no big thing to hop in my car and drive straight to Canada without a break.  I can’t count the times I made that trip when I was in my twenties.  I remember one trip when I actually left at 3 am and was stopped by the highway patrol going 120 mph.  At least that’s what he said. 

Crater Lake

            The poor cop was shaking so badly he told me he couldn’t write the ticket.  He said, “Look at my legs.”  They were actually quivering.  Somehow we developed a rapport.   He thought I was a criminal on the run, evidently, and had been trying to catch me for several miles.  He asked me where I was going and when I told him I was going to Canada, he said that if he gave me a ticket I’d probably never return to California, so he let me go with a warning.      

            When Gayle and I got back last night, we were shot.  Today is catching up on things, including emails…oooops.  Come on – even old guys get emails.  But I still don’t know what “texting” is all about and I consider my ignorance in that regard a blessing.