The Tequila Diaries

Day 99, Wednesday, March 23rd:

After going to bed shortly before midnight, had a not particularly restful sleep. During most of the night, Marcus, our host's, Nancy’s/David’s adopted cat, insisted on inhabiting our bedroom. When I got out of bed to go to the bathroom, around 3:00am, by my alarm clock, he had spread himself, to the full, on my pillow by the time I returned. I gently rolled him off, re-settled myself and as soon as I had done so, he proceeded to curl himself around my head, purring like a 150hpr outboard!

After tossing and turning and moving Marcus, unceremoniously, after awhile, up at just after 7:00am when we heard Cactus in kitchen. Quick showers and then a mug of David’s wonderful brew. I had yogurt with a sliced banana and mandarin sections for breakfast. We chatted about their coming trip to Vancouver and environs this summer and then David left ofr work about 7:30am. I walked down to the street with him, taking a few bags to begin re-loading process. We embraced, I thanked him again for lovely dinner/stay, and waved goodbye to be in touch, via email, to finalize dates for their visit.

Back up steep driveway to do last bit of packing and once I’d loaded cooler, replete with Cactus’ wonderful bagged lunch bags for the road, we set off, mouthing silent goodbyes to Donna Florida who was still asleep or trying to sleep, upstairs, at just after 8:05am. Slight, constant drizzle as we made our way down Ashby to the I 580, making for Vallejo. Traffic was light heading out of the Bay Area, bumper to bumper coming in, shades of the I 880 yesterday, so pleased to be going against the heavy flow. Past Vacaville and the California Medical Facility, a male-only state prison located in the city, and the California State Prison, Solano, the other state prison there, (making sure not to pick up any hitchhikers!), where Garmin Boy directed us to follow I 80 towards Sacramento. I was still asleep at the wheel otherwise I would have taken I 505 north through Winters to catch the I 5 just below Dunnigan. Six of one, half a dozen of another, I suppose.

At any rate, by skirting Sacramento we had to cross the Sacramento River, somewhere just past the Sacramento Airport, I believe, on a mile long bridge, if not more. Supported on a series of fairly closely spaced pillars, it spans the width of a huge flood plain. We have crossed here many, many time over the years we have visited the wonderful, wonderful wine counties, (EL Dorado, Amador and Calaveras: Bruce would love this region if you don't already know it!), in the Foothills of the Sierras, and this was the first time that we have ever seen it in full, raging flood. It was quite something, if not unnerving to observe, Dear Reader, the swollen river, dirty with carried sediment, laced with small whitecaps, roiling swiftly and angrily along, beneath TG and almost as far as the eye could see in every direction. I almost wanted to hold my breath until we reached the end of the bridge, more of an elevated highway, really, and the safety of dry ground!

We did, of course, and sped our way past Williams, saddened because we felt we didn’t have time to stop at Granzella’s, (for olives or mustard or a hundred other wonderful things), and Willows, Orland and Corning, (pistachios from Perry’s in the good old days), Red Bluff and then Redding itself. Rain intensified as we started to climb towards the first bridge over Lake Shasta and we were amazed at the high level of the water. Little could be seen of the banks but a thin ribbon of rusty red coloured rock. Like the Sacramento River, (each time we crossed a bridge over it, on our approach to Redding, we noted the level to be, seemingly, right at the top of the banks, the river engorged to bursting), Shasta was filled, almost to over-brimming. Of course, we have never been through at this time of year before. Our usual visits occurr in the summer or late fall. At these times the lake is much, much diminished and often looks more like an open pit mine than a magnificent, liquid turquoise jewel.

But more was yet to come, Dear Reader, for as we crossed this first bridge, I noted to Cora Lee: “There’s snow in them thar hills!” At first only a light dusting of icing sugar on trees and mountainsides but as we continued to climb, it started to snow quite heavily and I was very pleased that I had my tire chains along, as I knew we were probably in for a lot more white stuff before we reached Mount Ashland and descended into Medford. Fortunately, the snow did not stick to the highway and a number of snowplows had just been through, (we passed them coming the other way, further along, fountains of snow spewing from their blades as they scoured the highway), so surface was relatively clear, if exceedingly wet. Six inches of slush lined the shoulders, bordered by increasingly large snownbanks as we continued to higher elevations.

Concentrating, as I was, on the conditions and traffic, (not overly heavy but passing semis was a tad nerve-wracking with all the spray from their 16 wheels and worry about skidding, either them or me), I really didn’t remember any of the details of the changing terrain, (I know this route, literally like the back of my hand, having driven it so often), or any of the landmarks along the way. Futhermore, the falling snow was almost blizzard-like and we literally couldn’t see anything on either side of the highway and not much more than a hundred metres ahead, at times. No sight of mighty Mount Shasta and before we knew it we were approaching Weed. Stopped for gas and had to be careful about puddles of melting slush as I waited for tank to fill. Although there was still light blowing snow here, it was not uncomfortably cold in my T-shirt/vest and shorts.

After filling up TG, ($4.09/gal, most expensive gas to date! O for the Pemex stations of Mexico!!), we resumed out travels and a few minutes later we drove into clear blue sky on a bone-dry highway. Much pleased with changed weather conditions, we zoomed along past Yreka, waved goodbye to California half an hour later and were soon cresting Mount Ashland, (7,532 ft (2,296 m), sun still shining in an almost cloudless sky. Some evidence of snow beside the highway but nothing compared to what we had passed. Quick descent and just past Ashland pulled over to let Cora Lee pilot TG. I was feeling a bit sleepy and wanted to nap for an hour or so. It was 2:00pm when we made our way through Medford and I dropped off for about two hours, not even knowing that we had come through some heavy rain between Medford and Grants Pass.

Stopped for gas and a bathroom break at Cottage Grove and I resumed driving while Cora Lee read more of Crow’s Feet. By the time we hit Salem, it started to rain again and it was pretty heavy slogging with the right-hand lane packed with one semi after another. Both the rain and the almost bumper-to-bumper traffic continued all the way to Portland. It was almost 6:30pm when we crossed Columbia into Washington and I still felt very alert and comfortable, after twelve hours of driving, so I stayed at the helm to push on to Vancouver. Past Woodland we ran into another heavy downpour before Kalama, (must be some sort of micro-climate hereabouts as I’ve encountered similar torrential rain through this very spot in the past), and maddening, increasingly frustrating precipitation dogged and plagued us all the way to Olympia. Started to clear up by time we reached Tacoma and it was smooth sailing, I am glad to report, Dear Reader, for rest of journey. We whizzed towards Seattle, into Express Lanes at 9:30pm, and made for Everett, (joking about staying with Melvinator and Amy and kids for the night), stopping one last time for gas, ($3.859/gal), in Mt. Vernon, before arriving at border shortly after 11:30pm. Only a few minutes to wait and then we handed over our passports. Customs official asked where home was and how long we had been away. I gave him a much, much compressed, zipped version of the Tequila Diaries, (to Coriandre’s obvious relief), and he said: “Quite a trip!” I agreed and then he he asked if we had purchased more than $1,500 worth of goods. I shook my head and replied that we had not. He handed me our passports and wished us goodnight and we drove back into Canada!

I had not, Dear Reader, been worried about our declaration, (other than the fact that we were slightly over our duty free liquor allowance, (five bottle of wine from Zenaida and two 700ml bottles of Ron Matusalem Rum, Cuba, from Costco in PV), but I was quite prepared to declare and pay duty on overage), but dreaded having to unpack/repack our car, should things come to that, particularly at the end of such a long drive. So, pleased as punch, we sailed home to click open the gates of our garage at Harbour Terrace at 12:10am, roughly 18 hours after we waved goodbye to Cas Vicente! Collected a few essential bags and knocked on Durston’s door as Dusty had said, when we spoke by Blackberry earlier, that they would be up until midnight. He answered door in his jams, sans teeth, and we exchanged a few words, he lisping! Clara had already gone to sleep and we said goodnight, making plans to see them both on the morrow. Chloë was still up and so we greeted her warmly. Maggie came to sniff us and then we decided to bring a few more bags into the apartment. Once we had started unloading, thought we might as well bring everything in and so did just that, having to catch Maggie a number of times as she escaped into hallway whenever we ferried another load inside. Emptied TG by just before1:00am. The Island Inn looked like a train station or airport, closed by natural catastrophe or warfare, refugees’ luggage strewn everywhere. We visited with Chloë, shooed Maggie away from open suitcases and finally went to bed, after glorious showers, just after 2:00am, sinking blissfully into our own bed after a little more than three months On the Road and numberless hours of slaving over The Tequila Diaries!

                           The End! (Shouts of relief from most readers, Dear Reader!)