rode home

It does seem somewhat odd to be writing about my return from Portland without having done a few Portland posts . I had a wonderful time in Portland , after all . Flowers were in bloom . The weather was sunny and mostly warm . I may write a Portland post or two , but I hesitate partly because I wouldn’t be able to  express adequately  the kindness and warmth of the people I visited there .Portland May 2015 (3) 112      It’s a long way from Arcadia to Portland . I drove up Interstate 5 and then back down on the 5 . The 5 glides through central California farmland . It’s hot and dry country. Farmers put up signs about politicians causing another Dust Bowl . On the car radio Rush Limbaugh whines about the ” libs ” , preachers give it their best shots , and Ranchero music loudly wails out passionate tunes .

I hear that CA farms use 80 % of our state water .  They’ve watered the dry central valley and produced food to feed the world . For a price . I don’t feel too sorry for them in our drought . Everyone has to cut back on water use . It’s not all a political conspiracy .Portland May 2015 (3) 088 I don’t mind long drives , even along a straight and mostly boring Interstate . There is beautiful scenery in northern California . Well , it’s still California so far , but there is a move to cut out a separate state up there , to secede from the Golden State , and to become the independent state of Jefferson . Portland May 2015 (3) 097I saw a Greyhound bus on the road. I hadn’t been sure for awhile that Greyhounds were still around and then  I spotted this one on the 5 . Portland May 2015 (3) 104 Portland May 2015 (3) 105There was a fire along the way , somewhere near Fresno . I never saw just what had burned because my car and I backed out of the situation . Traffic was completely stopped for a half hour so far before some of us backed up and escaped down a freeway exit . We might all have bugged out on it a half hour or so before if we had known all traffic would be completely stopped for an extended period of time . The escape started with one white pickup that slowly wove its way precariously between vehicles, creeping back and sideways , betwixt and between . But that driver did it successfully and he  honked triumphantly and waved on his way down the off-ramp . Then a red Camry snuck away slowly .  A few more vehicles joined in the escape and I joined in too .We made a hole in the car clog that probably stretched for miles , by now , behind us . First time for me standing on a freeway . First time for me backing up on a freeway .Portland May 2015 (3) 108Portland May 2015 (3) 114Now I am home , safe and sound . I unpacked my car and then watered Ada’s roses . I suddenly remembered , though , that it wasn’t one of Arcadia’s legal watering days . I guess I’d been away too long . I quickly looked up and down the street for cops . Didn’t spot any . I hope my neighbors don’t turn me in .


Filed under humor

7 responses to “rode home

  1. There’s a first time for everything. Is that Mt. Shasta? I’ve driven that route, or parts of it a couple of times but it’s been a while.

  2. …a couple of updated verses to add to yr road trips:

    Now the CHP’s been a-checkin’ on down the line
    I’m a little overweight and my blog’s way behind
    Nothing bothers me tonight
    I can dodge all them fires all right
    Six days on the road and now I’m gonna make it home tonight

    Well my rig’s a little low, but that don’t mean she’s slow
    Got the thing blowin’ half and half and the road’s as black as coal
    My hometown’s coming in sight
    If you think I’m happy, you’re right
    Six days on the road and now I’m gonna make it home tonight

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s