(Pithy saying here)

My goal was Sacramento and I'm in Williams, an hour north of there. It was 5 p.m. when I hit Sac and the traffic was nasty. I didn't feel like navigating surface streets with a trailer behind me to find a motel that probably wouldn't have adequate parking for the Kia and the trailer. Williams is the next burg north, a wide spot in the road that seems to exist primarily for the sake of "traveler services."

I'm in a Motel 6, thus breaking from my oldest son's counsel: "Never stay in a motel with a number in it's name." But I'm punch drunk after driving 828 miles and I don't think any of the motels here don't violate that axiom. What I need is a hot shower and a night's sleep. (and internet, at $2.99)

Why aren't I in a campground? Because there aren't any out here in the central CA valley. It is flat, featureless, and hot. Nobody camps here.
My plan is (was) to camp at Champoeg State Park south of Portland tomorrow night. (That's an Indian name that's pronounced sham-POO-ee). It's a nice park we've stayed at before. But only today did it occur to me that tomorrow night is July 4th, and the chances of an available space are very unlikely. I'll give them a call, but I suspect I'll get another hotel room tomorrow night, probably in Vancouver, WA if everything goes well. That gives me less than a 3 hour drive Thursday.

I checked out two books on CD and started listening to the first one as soon as the Phoenix NPR station faded. It's a Robert Ludlum novel, "The Bancroft Strategy." At least I think it's a Ludlum novel; it was published after he died so it may have been done by a computer-aided ghost writer getting the publisher a bit more blood out of that turnip. Either way it's a good book, and ideal for listening to on a long drive. It's the kind of complicated story that I think would confuse me if I set it down for any length of time and lost track of interwoven plot lines. I'm 8 CD's into a 13 CD set, so I'll finish it before Seattle. It worked well to keep me awake, and alert most of the time.

Which doesn't mean I didn't have a couple of close calls. One was just north of LA. I had a car to my left and a semi to my right, all of us doing 70 mph. Suddenly the semi starts moving into my lane. I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO! I laid on the horn and braked, although I knew even as I did that it was futile. I was about to be a Kia con Teardrop sandwich.
With a foot or two on either side of me left, the guy in the semi, who had his window down, heard my horn. He immediately got back into his lane and waved his hand at me in apology out his window. I don't know if he lost attentiveness or didn't see me.
By that time I'd slowed down considerably, and I don't have a lot of acceleration in the Kia, especially with the trailer behind me. When I caught up with the semi, again in the lane to my right, he waved again. I double-tapped my horn to acknowledge his apology. And thanked God for the protection.

Same think happened again a couple of hours later, this time with a guy in a Porsche to my left. Lay on the horn, he pulls back, and at the first opening slams the throttle and bursts ahead.

Some guys make mistakes. Some guys are jerks.

That's all I can post tonight. I had time to think about the things I would write about tonight - thoughts spurred by the novel, things I observed when I stopped for meals and gas - but the brain is way too fuzzy for writing any more. I'll call Pam, try to reach someone at Champoeg, shower, and SLEEP.