Farewell, my lovelies

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

... in a few short minutes Eater of Souls will be here to finish up our packing, and I will go offline. See you spags in 11 days-ish!

(Except for Dok and Freeky, who I will see appreciably sooner in analog)

[E.O.T.]

WATCH OUT

          for those Arizona desert roaches (just keep yer boots on)

[Aucoq]

Have a great time, Nigel!  Don't have too much fun without me.

[Freeky]

YAY NIGEL AND EATER OF SOOOUUULS!

[Nast]

Fare thee well!

[Doktor Howl]

muhaha

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

WATCH OUT

          for those Arizona desert roaches (just keep yer boots on)

[the last yatto]

Is that the saint himself?

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

This will be the briefest possible recounting of the trip, with pictures, because I am exhausted.

Still in Oregon, our first rest stop:



In search of food (Bears of various sorts were to become a theme for the rest of the trip):



Then we stopped to moisten ourselves in the City of Shasta:



So far so good, right? We rolled into San Francisco around ten, and had a couple of drinks with my girl J before crashing in her generously-provided bed. We hit the road early the next morning, happily warming our lunch on the dashboard on our way through the Sierras:

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Is that the saint himself?

Live and in the flesh! He strolled up to us in the Meet Rack, which was delightful yet eerily deserted.

[Freeky]

Is that the saint himself?

Live and in the flesh! He strolled up to us in the Meet Rack, which was delightful yet eerily deserted.

EWGLAHBLEH

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

So, we made our way uneventfully through the Sierras, past the Hetch-Hetchy reservoir, and through the gateway to Yosemite:



Then, accellerating up hills, the car started knocking. That's about when we noticed that the oil light was on. Eeek! We pulled into one of Yosemite's two conveniently located gas stations:



There wasn't shit in that tank. Nothing. Dry as a fucking bone. We knew we were hosed, so Mr. Language/Eater of Souls struck a Pedobear pose:



We figured we might be able to re-oil it and make it out of the park, so we filled it up and headed on. Sadly, we were disappointed, as in an apparently unrelated failure all power simply cut off, leaving us coasting down the side of one of America's most majestic mountains without power brakes. Fortunately for us, Mr. Language is a fucking ninja, and he pulled that thing over onto the nonexistent shoulder without any deaths whatsoever. Then, we found that we just happened to be stranded right next to Yosemite's OTHER gas station, and we were able to get the car started again and drive it there, where we called AAA and proceeded to wait for a tow truck. I, personally, waited by drinking bourbon out of a flask:



The park ranger told us that if the bears bothered us, it was OK to throw rocks at them, as long as they were small rocks. We waited kind of a long time, and then the tow truck driver finally arrived after a magnificent sunset, and we rode the rest of the way down in the car behind the truck. It was awesome, and fucking terrifying. It was also dark. We spent the night in Lee Vining, at the tow truck driver's house. No shit. Nicest guy ever! The next morning, we got to ride up front as he towed us to the nearest town with a Toyota dealership; Bishop, California. If you happen to have a map of California, you will be able to note that Bishop is nestled between Yosemite and Death Valley, approximately nowhere near anything whatsoever. The nearest city is Las Vegas, five hours away. Lucky us!

After leaving the car at the dealership, we set off to find a motel. It's a one-drag town, and one of the first things we saw on the main drag was this guy in the window of a pawn shop:



"Why", we said, "It must be St. Gulik, sent to guide us!"  

So we bought him, and then retired to the nearest hotel, the Thunderbird. We checked in on our car, and learned that it was fucking hosed. There was a bit of negotiation about whether to buy another car or rent one, and we brought all our crap into the motel room. That brings me to the next morning, when we decided to rent a car and continue our journey. We had just made arrangements and I was heading out the door to pick up the car when I happened to look at the disheveled bed, and noticed some suspicious black specks.

You may or may not be aware that a few years ago I formed a bit of an obsession with bedbugs. I had never seen one, but thanks to fanatical research, I know more about their habits and lifecycle than I have ever wished I knew, by a long shot. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I investigated a little more closely. A tiny insect clung to the side of the mattress.

"Mr. Language," I said, "I think we have bedbugs."

A small frenzy ensued. The bed was pulled out from the wall and numerous (NUMEROUS) specimens captured with tweezers and placed in a ziploc bag, the motel owner was notified, phone calls were made. There is only one photo from that period:

[Dysnomia]

Nigel went to SF and didn't say HI to Lizzay?   

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Nigel went to SF and didn't say HI to Lizzay?   

I thought about it, but since we got in at around 10 and left again at the asscrack of dawn, I figured it would be more of a cruel tease than anything else. However, when we go down to Mexico we will stop and see you!

[Dysnomia]

Good point 

And YAY!  I can't wait to see Nigel!