LA/XC-2 DAYS NINE, TEN, AND ELEVEN: NEVADA; OAKLAND, CA; PALO ALTO; SAN FRANCISCO
Day Nine mileage: 509
Day Ten mileage: 27
Total LA/XC-2 mileage: 3,622
New states today for Beagle Man: 0
I drive 3, 589 miles to Palo Alto — and this is the way Barkley, Woods, Lee, and Co. play???
I’d been hearing the sports talk radio gurus all week long billing the
Stanford-USC game as an “upset special.” Blah blah blah. I wasn’t buying. I never for one moment believed we’d lose to “the Cardinal.” (Comes on guys, get over yourselves and use a plural name!) But the Trojans stunk up the stadium, and were down by a TD late in the fourth quarter. Still, cockeyed optimist that I am, I thought they’d grab victory from the jaws of defeat, right up until 4th and 40 on the final play of the game. (They didn’t.)
Well, at least it was a spectacularly beautiful day in the Bay area. And at least I got to sit with Robby at the game. (He and his crew had driven up from L.A. Friday night.) And at least Robby got to lay eyes on Ricky for a moment before the game — before Ricky went dashing off with his new best friend, his cousin Bruce.
You met Bruce in My Pals in late July: He’s the 2-year-old black Lab belonging to my niece Patty and her husband, Teddy. The Herman clan and the Stollers (Bruce’s family) figured the two dogs would get along, because they’re both very peaceable, and neither needs to get all alpha on you. But their camaraderie exceeded all expectations. The visual of Bruce loping around the apartment with this huge dinosaur bone (okay, maybe not a dinosaur bone — but huge) in his jaws, and Ricky in hot pursuit in a fast and furious game of keep-away might well be the highlight of the trip so far. I owe Patty and Teddy — and Bruce! — big time for taking Ricky off my hands while I was at the game; it was the first time he was out of my sight since we left Westport 10 days ago. It felt a little like a holiday, I gotta admit. (Earmuffs, Ricky.)
As you’ve no doubt gleaned, we’ve finally made it to the west coast. Landed in Oakland Friday night and had dinner with Matt’s girlfriend Lauren’s mom at the oddly named Boot and Shoe Service, a hipster hangout on ultra-cool Grand Avenue. Our waiter might have told us a little more than I needed to know about the wines, the beer, and the entrees, but we are, after all, in the foodie capital of the universe, so people care about these things. Deeply. Will say this: Everything (spaghetti puttanesca for me; pizza with clams for Dianne) was delish. Great food, great company — a nice reward for a 509-mile day.
Both because I was running way late for dinner, and because the speed limit
in the lunar landscape and straight-as-an-arrow speedway that’s I-80 West in northern Nevada, I topped out at 100. At 85-90 I wasn’t even passing anyone! You’d think I might have been more cautious: A day earlier, on a sinuous stretch of I-93 in Idaho, I got a warning for repeatedly drifting over the double yellow line. I told the officer I’d been looking at my Garmin, which was true. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d also been fiddling with my iPod, my cell phone, my mini-recorder, and other amusements. I know, not a good idea, but when Garmin said, “In .2 miles, take ramp right. Continue 413 miles,” I had to find something to do.
I promised in my last post I’d fill you in on the blanks, from Denver
Colorado to Thermopolis Wyoming — a two-day stretch of wild mood swings. On Monday Ricky and I were cruising along I-25 North from Parker, Colorado, where we’d just had a tremendous visit with my good friend’s daughter, Kristen, who’d recently had twins. But it wasn’t just Kristen and the adorable kids. Her husband Dave and their two other kids were there. Dave’s friend Nate and Kristen’s friend Maureen, and Maureen’s two little kids were there, too. And Kristen’s three dogs and two cats. (Did I already tell you this was a kid’s birthday party?) Lots of fun, but not exactly . . . relaxing. So I was looking forward to a quiet evening as I headed west to Denver to visit my old high school friend — and junior prom date — Lucy. We’d have some dinner, some wine, and talk about the glory days. Her goldendoodle. Charlie, would keep Ricky occupied.
Except that my wingman didn’t hold up his end of the bargain. Ricky developed an upset stomach and pooped twice on Lucy’s beautiful empty-nest carpets. He also refused to take his meds or eat his food — which was downright scary. And Charlie, a hyperactive 2-year-old, was all over Ricky — when all Ricky wanted to do was curl up in a corner and sleep.
What the hell was I doing driving cross-country with a dog? At that
moment, I solemnly swore never to think of doing this trip again.
But Tuesday morning was sunny. We were pointed north, en route, eventually, to Yellowstone. I decided to give myself a break: I’d drive as far as we could be 5 PM, and then call it a day. Ricky was frisky — and ravenous. He gobbled his food and pills. He slurped his water. He was fine.
Ah, road tripping — just me and my dog. Best thing in the world.
“As far as we could” looked like it was going to be Casper, Wyoming. I called ahead for a room. Nothing — no rooms. This was getting serious. It was beginning to look like Ricky and I would have to sleep in the car. God, why do I do this ridiculous trip? Never again.
Then my wife called with some good news. She’d been working the phones and had found a pet-friendly room in Thermopolis, Wyoming, right outside Hot Springs State park. Eureka! Isn’t this road trip thing just the best?
Thermopolis turned out to be a very welcoming town: The people at the Hot Springs Motel couldn’t do enough for me. Same thing at Stoplight Pizzeria. But after my overnight, while saying my goodbyes to Deanna and James, the general manager and her right hand man, I realized I couldn’t find my camera. I tore apart my carefully packed car, threw everything on the parking lot pavement, and lost 20 valuable minutes in the process. Never again will I do this trip!
Turns out the reason I couldn’t find it was that it was in the slot in the driver-side door, right where it belongs. What a crazy place to leave it!
Yesterday, after the USC-Stanford game, Patty, Teddy, and I went out for dinner at Bistro Vida in Menlo Park. Excellent meal. Excellent evening. Later I was catching up on notes, until 2 AM. Just before I got ready for sleep, Ricky climbed up on my bed and s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d. At least I thought he was stretching. Actually he was peeing. Exhausted as I was, I cleaned up the bedding, took it outside, and went to sleep on the floor. One hour later I woke up to find Ricky having a seizure — his first of the trip. I got less than 3 hours sleep that night.
But today — Sunday — was gorgeous. Ricky had gotten himself back together. I drove into San Fran and met Robby at Pete’s Tavern, a sport bar across the street from AT&T Park. We had a great time watching every NFL game simultaneously. Despite the Jets losing (tough weekend for me, football-wise), it was a good afternoon.
The bottom line on all these ups and downs? Cross-country road tripping with your dog is pretty cool. Except when it’s not.
No photo of Lucy? Just her pooch?
BM….For a guy traveling cross country with a dog (and one with an obvious delicate metabolism), I must admit you are doing a very good job of running into nice looking women. But then, dogs are known babe magnets. I am enjoying your posts and all the best the rest of the way.