Day 11 -- CA, NV

Day 11 -- Whiskey Pete's, Primm, NV. Yee haw!

We had a day of puttering around L.A. getting me ready to get back on the road -- and we visited Disney Studios. The high point was when Johnny Depp asked for my autograph. He calls me Oogie, you know. We saw Walt and Roy Disney's offices and met some nice people who are co-workers of Cindy. Got my Mestinon prescription with only minor hassle. And got my car serviced. Aside from the oil change that the car was insisting on -- the car tells you, you don't tell it -- I asked them to check the steering wheel because it was squeaking and do a visual inspection of the front right tire because I had run over a curb and gouged the rim. Mentioning the curb thing was not a smart move. The diagnosis was that I had damaged the rack and pinon steering (whatever that is) and two of the tires were in need of replacement. Cost (because these were not warranty items; see stupid comment about running over curb) $3,000. I declined their generous offer and picked it up with the regular service only.

To avoid L.A. rush hours, I left P and C's house around 7:00pm and headed for Whiskey Pete's. Yee haw! On the road again; but oops! Less than ten miles into the return trip multiple warning lights come on -- low tire pressure, some shit about the suspension and something else. Two reactions: one is complete depression; Now I have to go fuck around with this dealer and say "what did you do to my car?" and waste a whole day on car repair; and two, this has happened before and it's not the catastrophe that it appears to be. I eventually pulled over and checked that the tires had air in them. They were fine. Sound obvious, but I have the so called run-flat tires, meaning if they go flat you can continue to drive for 50 miles to a repair shop. There's no spare tire. I know what happens if you drive too much on one and it cost me $400 to find out.

One thing about living for sixty years is that you have had many different experiences and you remember what happens as a result and how things played out. So when my car malfunctioned on the freeway I immediately thought not about what was wrong but about what it was going to mean to my trip. I felt sick not because I was scared or confused or felt out of control. Just the opposite. This was either going to be nothing or it was going to be a big pain in the ass interruption to my trip. I could picture every step of the process and I didn't want to deal with it. Same thing went through my mind when I fell on the stirs in Pocatello. -- Didn't tell you about that, did I? -- As I was hitting the concrete I was not scared about how I might be injured. If anything I was disappointed that it might interfere with the trip. I have fallen and hurt myself badly before. I have lain on the concrete and had people hovering around me while and ambulance came for me. I knew how it might play out and I was pissed. OK, OK. I was scared shitless that my pacemaker would fail! -- I've been "mostly dead" as they say in the Princess Bride, and it wasn't fun or spiritually uplifting.

Back in the car: After debating whether or not to turn around, I continued to Primm, Nevada. An interesting little non-town. It's on the CA/NV border and consists of several trashy casinos and nothing else -- well unless you call McDonald's and gas stations something else. So I am on the 12th floor in the middle of nowhere in a $32 room that looks and smells it. Not that it's a dump; just feels grungy, you know. I'll do my best to have a stranger encounter at Whiskey Pete's so I can amuse you.

Tuesday I head for Desert BMW of Henderson. And then after a brief stay, I hope, on to Bryce Canyon and parts unknown.