The Californian Odyssey: The Highway to Hello Vacaville!

The Story continues from the; Californian Odyssey

Summing up so far;


1. The Ford Pickup is living up to it's reputation as I knew it; It's a piece of shit

2. Also, It's a rolling death trap.

3. Crater Lake was really beautiful, when we finally made it.

4. I was becoming a very good cup holder while dodging the shifter between gears.

5. The trailer seemed smaller for some reason.

6. We're still pumped for California!

After a day enjoying the sights of the southern Oregon Cascades we continued down the highway. Up very early the next morning, it was dark and I was very sleepy, Jeff a zombie. This was the point where we really missed not having the pickup to crash in (so to speak!). Jeff and I were going to sleep in the back on early mornings or late nights. If we did however, we'd go to sleep and probably never wake. Instead we all piled into the truck at O'dark thirty and hit the road.


Again, my stomach held on ok, despite the early morn and long miles of travel with the excitement of getting there, I did not vomit. Considering what was coming, that may have been the highlight of the days journey.


We made it across the border, into Disneyla... I mean California without any troubles. Oh, how I wish it would have remained so. Talk about lots of nothing but rye grass, rolling hills, sage brush and scrub oak to meet the eye. Northern California looked more like a sunny side of the moon.

As we rumbled along, we started to take note of the heat of the day. Now I don't recall actual temps but let me give you an idea what we had to deal with. Remember me saying something about the hot floorboards? The frying pan comparison when considering the climate we were driving through? On one of our rest breaks as we crawled out, Mom grabbed the little plastic bucket with towels (My roadside puke kit) off the floor, but it was sorta stuck. All I recall is her prying it off and holding it up to see the bottom melted, part of it around the edges I could actually see through. Our holey religious bucket! (and as about as useful). I noticed a burnt plastic smell then, but hard to tell over the fumes in the cab as we rolled down the highway. Even with shoes you felt the intense heat. What a sight we had to be, crammed in the front of the truck with up to 3 pairs of feet on the dashboard.

Try doing that straddling a big gear shift. Jeff sometimes stuck his right foot out the passenger window to save room, like that was any cooler. We passed small towns; Weed, Red Bluff, Redding on the way. Nothing but long stretches of baking hot pavement in front of us. We'd make the occasional stop for refreshments and bathroom breaks. I have to say, pulling a small rolling house had it's advantages. It even had A/C, but did we ever use it? NO!! We couldn't along the side of the road, but we didn't even when in a trailer park. Mom and Dad said they hated the noise. Apparently heat stroke was a better option??

So, we're making good time. We planned on stopping in Vacaville for the night, but that was a long ways still. We tossed the bucket and climbed back in. I guess that was a fitting end to that bucket. Considering all the times I tossed into it, I hated it. Even the sight of it made me ill. It met its death on this trip. No more did I carry a puke kit until I had my daughter! Dad noted the great gas mileage we were getting after we got back out on the road. He pointed to the gas gauge showing half a tank. He said it hadn't moved for some time. I only noticed how $&%@^#! hot it was getting in the middle of nowhere.

The smile of delight on his face drooped into a frowning scowl as the truck started to sputter, then die. We rolled to the side of the road and stopped. Dad let out one of his huge, patented sighs and tried to start the beast but it would not wake. The engine turned, Dad's foot pumped, the engine whined, Dad cussed a few damn its.

"We can't be out of gas!" He exclaimed.

"I thought we were getting great gas mileage?" I asked.

"We're out of gas, George." said Mom.

"SIGH"

This is an actual shot (not mine) of Hwy 97 near Weed CA. I do have to say, Mt Shasta was a beautiful sight.

In a look that would make Satan cringe, Dad glared at me before lifting the door handle and throwing his shoulder into it. I remember looking at Mom, in complete silence I could see her holding her patience. In words I cannot remember, she then expressed her displeasure at the choice of vehicle we had to tow our trailer to California. I do remember that she wished we still had our CHEVY pickup. The A/C would have been nice traveling across Hades. There we sat. No cars, no one, nothing but the sun and the endless pavement through desolation. I remember feeling being about as far from civilization as I could ever recall.

A moment later, Dad appeared at the drivers side window, in his tan tank top, slightly red faced, vein pulsing in his forehead and rather sweaty holding 5 gallon jerry can. He popped the cap off and began to fill the tank with gas and the cab with fumes. Once drained, he climbed back in and fired up ol Rusty. Yep, we ran out of gas. Great gas mileage my sweaty ass! What I gathered from the conversation, Williams was the next town on the map. Doing the MPG math we were at the outer limits of our range with the five gallon gas can.

We were going to need some great gas mileage to get us there. So, we had to slow it up a bit. Just the ticket when you are trying to get through smothering heat. Our 2/65 air conditioning became 2/55. It may not seem like much but after being squeezed in between three very hot and sweaty people with their feet up on the dashboard because of the hot coals underneath. I was ready to climb into the fridge in the trailer, even though it wasn't on at the time. ANYTHING had to be cooler than that sandpaperish bench seat in the dastardly hot sun with hot air blowing on you as skin on skin contact felt rather slimy.

Slowly we moved, counting the miles and hours. Hot didn't even come close to describing the weather. Damn hot gets close. Sun surface gets a little warmer. Then there's riding in Rusty in Northern California in the middle of summer. Finally we made it to Williams and the truck was still running. The gas gauge read half tank all the way. We were getting great mileage after all!

We got off the highway and found a gas station but had to wait in line so we nervously turned the truck off. Luckily it started again and we rolled into the pumps. Dad filled the tank, the jerry can and the cab with fresh fumes again. This time he had to note the odometer mileage since we had no idea how much gas was left in the tank, other than half according to Rusty. Filled up and ready to go, we decided to find a place to eat and cool off. It took white hot heat and nearly being stranded on the highway in the middle of nowhere to actually get Dad have us eat out with our trailer still attached to the truck.

Here's Rusty in Williams CA, just before he dropped his tail pipe.

Dad found an A&W and we piled out and into the restaurant for ice cold root beer floats all around! It had A/C! YAY, WE WERE SAVED!!! We never wanted to leave but we had to get going. Warm, but refreshed we pulled out of the A&W. Mom commented on how lucky we were to make it here considering the troubles we were having with Rusty.

"At least the tail pipe is still attached", Dad said jokingly as we gained speed before a horrible "CLANK" rang out from underneath the pickup and the engine rumbled like a race car, no kidding. If I hadn't been there to see it, I would have not believed it. Now a metallic dragging sound followed as we rolled to a stop. Dad climbed out and grabbed a pair of gloves from behind the seat. We all climbed out as he looked under the truck to see the muffler hanging by the tail pipe bracket, detached from the rest of the exhaust.

Dad uttered some colorful language that I had never heard him utter before. Something about this Ford and it's lack of durability, and that it really was some type of red Dodge. He crawled back out covered in sweat and grabbed his tool box (I have to admit, the guy came prepared!) and crawled back under and removed the tailpipe from the bracket. Dad was kind enough to narrate the procedure as he struggled to break the tailpipe loose.

After a fit of blasphemy we climbed back in the truck & took off. Jeff and I thought the truck sounded really cool as it rumbled down the road like a race car. Dad had other thoughts. I don't recall much from there until we got into Vacaville in the early evening. Another decent trailer park with a pool to cool off in and Jeff and I took advantage of it. What a day. I learned some new words, lost a few pounds and started to notice how small our trailer was.

Here's another postcard home:



Mom says "getting hotter". Technically true. You could say a blast furnace is hotter than room temp too. But more importantly she says "on to S.L.O.!"