Express Inn- Short for “Expressly Terrible”

A quick update from the road here before I get back on it. I’m traveling again! This time it’s Seattle to San Diego (or as far south as I can get before I get lonely/tired of the buzzing my body does after 10 straight hours of driving.) A few quick points before I hit the shower (that’s shower stall; no tub here at the Express Inn. It’s express, after all. No time for lollygagging in the tub.)

-A friend of mine called the Oregon Coast “God’s Country”. God must like him some evergreens, ’cause that’s all there is out there. I know I’m ready for a change of seasons because all I wanted after all that misty rain and miles and miles of trees was a good old fashioned desert. I wanted to burn my eyes in the sun and not feel an ounce of moisture in the air. I wanted to see desert flowers, and cacti and brown men in dusty shirts. I wanted to hug a horny toad close to my chest, for Pete’s sake, and feed it Jujubees. I know this weather has kept my skin looking radiant and all but halted the aging process, but, a girl needs a little coffee with her sugar now and again, knowwhatimean?

-I am trying to roll with the waves of emotion that come with 10 straight hours of driving. There are cycles of excitement (usually right after the morning’s first caffeinated beverage) followed by cycles of fear that I’m wasting my time, followed by steering-wheel-pounding-happiness over hearing Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger” on my mix tape, followed by fear that I’m using the most inefficient route to get somewhere, followed by unadulterated joy over two-dollar strawberries sold at a stand on the side of the road just when I am getting hungry.

-This trip is unlike any trip I’ve ever taken. Maps? On my phone. List of hotels to stay at? on my phone. Directions to the nearest scenic outlook? On my phone. Music? On my phone. Friends’ numbers and address for long talks/places to send kitschy postcards? On my phone. It’s unbelievably convenient. And paranoia-inducing. If I lost that thing? Holy crap. They’d have to heli-port my deflated body back to Seattle and inject me with a serum that makes one believe there is life after being unable to use mobile technology. Every trip to every gas station restroom has me furiously patting down my pockets and checking my purse to make sure I haven’t accidentally left my phone on the paper towel dispenser.

More to come!