The 8, the 805, the 5, the 405, the 101 - this chant was with me when I left Marty's yesterday morning, heading north to Salinas.   Matilda and I were back on the road.  It was a beautiful day. And I followed the signs and roads with ease, coming upon traffic but not so much that I couldn't keep my speed at 70 for most of the way. After getting out of SD and on the coast, the Pacific was on my left until I got near LA, and then reappeared briefly. Surfers were out trying to catch the waves. There were three huge oil rigs out in the ocean, standing like robots.

As I passed Camp Pendleton I was reminded of a couple of things. First, my brother Dick went to boot camp there, and I remember one Easter when my sister, Marty, sent him a couple of big Hershey chocolate bars, and some hard-boiled eggs she had colored especially for him. His superiors had a field day with these wonderful gifts, making Dick eat everything thing sent all at once. He wrote home to Please, Please, do not send me ANYTHING! He and I recalled that story when I saw him in May, and we had a good laugh. The other memory I had was of Bob and I going past Pendleton going north, and I gasped and said that there was something moving in the fields - there sure was. The Marines were having some kind of maneuvers and camo-clad men could be seen, if you looked carefully, crawling through the brush. I still look for them, but haven't seen anything like that since that day.

Approaching LA you can see the layer of brown smog on the horizon. I don't know how people get used to it. I never have, in spite of having seen it many times.  On the 405 I missed LA itself, going around it on the western side.  Ocean on one side, houses clinging to  hillsides on the other.  I wondered if they would soon be among the countless homes sliding down the hills after a long heavy rain loosened up the soil.  Small, but pricey, towns ran together as I drove north, all with their beautiful views and beaches.  All along the road were signs for directing you to the public beaches.  The 405 became the 101.  I drove through Santa Barbara, and saw signs for Lompoc, where Phil and Gihan got married.  I gassed up in Bealton, and continued on passing some of the small towns we visited on that wedding weekend.

Into the brown rolling hills of Central California, and its valleys of vegetables and workers, I drove.  As I neared Salinas, I passed tractor trailer trucks loaded down with boxes of lettuce, artichokes, and vegetables all moving from the field to the markets, some of which are 3000 miles away. As the fields are picked, they are plowed up, readied, and planted anew.   Long white fences marked off horse farms, ranches were in abundance, as well the vineyards, now picked of their fruit, and becoming burnished acres of golden leaves.

The eight hours spent on the road, I listened to a book being read, about a woman doctor in the 1100's, who is helping to solve the murder of three or four children in England.  It is not finished yet, and I have two more stories about the same doctor, which are a trilogy.  Fascinating stuff, and I could listen to it, as well as drive along enjoying the scenery, and the day.

I reached Salinas about 6:30PM, got to the Best Western, called Marty to tell her I had made it!  And then I vegged out.   I watched CSI=Las Vegas, a little gory this time - and went to bed and read my book about Renoir by Susan Vreeland, a wonderful author.  And yes, I did my exercises, and as soon as I close this, I will do them.  Then I am going straigtht to the Aquarium in Monterrey where I plan to spend most of the day.

Life is good!

Adieu, Adios, Mahalo,
I love you all,
Sally