Road Coast

Static over the palm sized walkie. A plume of dark smoke emits from Vals van on the road to Redding California. Looks like a pit stop.

Its pitch black through the open sliding door, the sky a predawn blue, the sound of a foreign soft electronic beeping sounds in my mind. No one stirs, not the dog, no one. The sound persists. I lay there nearly unconscious before the sounds starts up again. This continues.

It stops and starts again, am I hearing things, I sit up. Check the sky, it's lighter, the dogs still and Val hasn't moved. I put my shirt on, the sound is gone. Exhausted I lay back down, eyes heavy, I'm in a dream world once more and then the electronic beep begins its repetitious moan once more. Again I sit up and this time Val stirs lightly then groggily moans for the electronic interruption to quite, I'm not crazy someone else heard it. A giggle from the loft echo's apologies as I stumble to the bathroom disoriented as if I've been abducted by aliens and now at this moment just returned to my own reality. It's half five, apparently time to get up. I flop back onto the couch and its day time when my eyelids lift again.

It's too hot for sweat pants, but I'm wearing them. Mid day on the 395 far from Mammoth and Bishop. Mule days according to the amused and obviously bored California State line guard.

Two California rest areas later and I'm sitting, well laying with my feet out the window as val borrows flying internet from Barns and Noble ala Redding.

The sun fades away, the light turns on in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Tomorrow its find a mechanic in a town that's closed on Sundays or cross the fingers and make a mad dash for Portland. There will be no sitting on the beaches of Humboldt smoking tree this trip. The Vans engine sputters and rumbles, somethings terribly a miss.