Route Five...

has nothing to be said about it. It consists of fields and olive groves and big trucks that splatter bits of dirt all over the windshield, and Courtney had been driving for seven straight days and was exhausted and there was no good music left and then our wheels started shaking about an hour into the olive groves. We pulled over and kicked the wheels and talked about cars like we knew something, and then got back on the road and kept driving and prayed. We eventually found a bevy of gas stations complete with an automobile repair shop that was filled with grease covered Mexican men, and Courtney and I were in skirt and dress and it was like an episode of the Simple Life that transpired. But they pumped up our tires and back on the road the wheels didn't shake anymore so that was that.

We drove and drove and talked about olive groves, and read all the signs that kept saying the same belligerent things about the US Congress, and we drove and drove some more, and poor Courtney was about to crack. There was nowhere to pull off even if we wanted to. We took videos on my camera and watched the light change as the sun set and I tried to point out exciting things in the landscape ("Look, look! I think it's a water tank! And over there, some... dirt! And MORE OLIVE GROVES!") to no avail.

We had decided that with Courtney going through all this suffering, it was only fair that to even the karmic balance I would name my first born child after the first town we finally stopped in. We were on the edge of our seats with anticipation. Would it be Gustine? Los Banos? I could only be thankful we were already well past Big Oak Flat.

To be continued...