Tahoe, Part 3

Hell

The Pilot wants me to go on to Tahoe and have a good time. “You should still be able to make the wedding.”

“I’m not going to have a good time without you. I’ll go home, too, to be with you.”

“No, no, go, have a good time.”

Really, the determining factor for me was that I knew he had a better chance of getting home without me in tow. So I dropped him back at the terminal – and began My Journey of Hell.

Getting through SF wasn’t bad. Traffic backed up getting on the Bay Bridge, but it was moving over the bridge. And then, from the Bay Bridge to Sacramento (90 miles), I spent far more time going under 30mph than I did going over 30 mph. It took me 3 hours. And evidently, in CA, it’s legal for motorcycles to travel between lanes of traffic. I was ready to clip one of those #*&$ers.

I love California. It’s in my blood, it’s as simple as that. I forget how much I love it, until I come back, and I realize – I belong here. It’s ingrained in me. It’s the landscape – it’s so vivid. Like one of those color-enhanced photos. It’s so vibrant. From the moment we walked out of the SF airport, it was honestly like the landscape calmed me – I felt at peace. I kept thinking the same thing almost all the way to Tahoe.

BUT I HATE DRIVING IN CA. Always have. Five lanes of solid standstill traffic. It kills me.

To be fair, the drive from Folsom to Tahoe was great. No traffic. Unfortunately, there was no way I was going to make the wedding. I was an hour and a half late, and they were on a boat.

Here’s the kicker. As I’m driving down the main drag in Tahoe, I look out over the lake. AND SEE THE DAMN BOAT.

Well, now I want a drink. A big one. So I go sit at a bar and order a margarita and some dinner. But I haven’t eaten in…10 hours? No, 11! On top of that, I’ve been awake for 18 hours. I’m thinking alcohol isn’t a great idea.

So I compromise. I drink a full glass of water and eat a bowl of soup and several bites of my meal before I start in on the margarita.

And, as I start to write this all down, I wonder why my finger feels wet. Well, it’s because my pen busted, of course.

I went out to meet the boat when it docked, and went on board. Almost everyone I ran into, people I didn’t know, said, “Are you the one that drove all day to get here and missed the boat?” Evidently, I’ve made a name for myself.

Stay tuned for Part 4

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