The One Where Winter (Almost) Conquers California
Updated September 20, 2004
Time on Road: 39 days, 20 hrs (including 12 days of Scrabble and Jodi)
Miles driven: 11,715
Spent on gas: $648
Spent on food: $396.90 (subtracts $20 food donation)
Spent on coffee: $25.63
New stores visited: 256
Most stores in one day: 20
Secret stores discovered: 5
OZ drip coffee consumed: 1098
Other drinks: 4 shots, 4 oz French press, 2 venti iced latte + shot, 5 DoubleShot
Interviews given: 7
Tickets: 2
AUGUST
SEPTEMBER
Saturday, August 7, 2004
The Theraputic Power of the Open Road
After eighteen months of anticipation, the moment of truth had come and gone at the National Scrabble Championship, and I had been found wanting. I was close to sinking into a mild depression, and I knew that it would be counterproductive and unhealthy to remain in Houston, in bed most of the time, while I sought out a new job. No, I had to get away, and I had to lose myself in another challenge, that of visiting every remaining Starbucks in California before I ran out of money or had to start a job.
So with a few ducats in my pocket from the two weeks I had worked, I set off from Houston at 8:49 PM on Saturday night. Thirteen minutes after leaving home base, I entered I-10 at mile 754, which meant I had that far to go until I left Texas behind. That's a whole lotta state! I thought about detouring through Austin, which, though 8 miles shorter, would cost me some time. But as I approached the exit to SR-71, I started to feel tired and decided to stick to the interstate where I expected to see a rest area. And I did, only four miles past the exit, at mile 692. I stopped and spent a night at the Colorado County Safety Rest Area for the first time.
August 8
There's Life Outside Your Starbucks Project
I slept plenty, and because I had caught up on my sleep over several days, and because I had no new Starbucks to visit until Tucson, I was faced with a rare opportunity to break my record of most miles driven without rest. I left the rest area at 7:26 heading west, which gave me at least 15 to 16 hours of daylight. I was sure I could surpass 1100 miles.
I stopped briefly in San Antonio to reshoot a couple of stores, gas up, and get some grub. I debated whether to call an old acquaintance that had e-mailed me a month or so back, when I got all that publicity. I knew it was short notice, and kinda early, 9:00 AM, but I hadn't known when, or even if, I'd be passing through town.
By the time I reached the Ingram Festival store I intended to reshoot, it was about 9:30, and so I went ahead and called Lynn and left a message. She called me back as I headed towards The Colonade, and despite the time I would lose meeting her and her husband, it worked out in my favor, because at the Lockhill-Selma store, where we planned to meet, I decided, just for grins, to ask a partner about any new stores in the area. I learned about a new one, at Ingram Park Mall, of all places, right next to the other Starbucks. I was so glad that I'd be able to visit that I didn't care I'd have to backtrack. I did, however, grumble at the fact that it wasn't listed on the Starbucks store locator.
In fact, I was feeling rather befuddled about just what was going on with that Starbucks store database, because stores kept dropping off the list even after they had already opened. El Centro, CA, for example. I had found it on the store locator about a week earlier after a reporter had e-mailed me about its opening. But the listing was suddenly missing from the store update I had done the previous day. Why was this happening???
I chatted with Lynn and Noel for a while, and then I headed over to Ingram Park Mall, where I discovered I had misplaced my folder with my article. But the manager there had read the Fortune article, so he was cool. But I lost a bit more time printing up a new copy at Kinko's and by the time I left San Antonio it was almost 2:00 PM. Wait--scratch that. I passed up the exit from US-281 to SR-1604 and had to double back. Then I figured I might as well get a decent meal and stopped at Jason's Deli.
That tall coffee I was given at the mall, plus the Nantucket Nectar wth lunch, sure were having an effect. I hadn't even driven two hours and already had to stop twice. The second time, in Junction, I pumped six dollars worth of gas, figuring I'd have to stop again pretty soon. Then I noticed the gas price had jumped 28 cents from what I paid in San Antonio, and then I remembered that was nothing compared to what I'd be paying in California, so no point in fretting. I did worry a bit, though, about the freaky-ass squealing noise coming from the undercarriage as I pulled away from the Shell station. I saw myself getting stranded somewhere in California, if I made it that far, but I just couldn't bear to turn back.
Westward, Ho!
Sometimes that west Texas drive was bearable, and sometimes it just drove me insane. This was one of the latter times. Lacking a CD player probably had something to do with it. I stopped for gas in Balmorrhea, not so much because I needed the gas or the restroom, but more like to get a break. As I pumped there was some excitement outside the store, an exchange of words between two males of mixed race. But it petered out after a couple of "Fuck yous" and the truck driver drove away. I asked the other man and the lady he was with what had happened, and it was just that he man had asked the other to slow down. Maybe the truck driver was generally temperamental, or maybe he was pissed because he couldn't get cash at that particular store. Either way we could tell he was still pissed because he made it a point to pull out as fast as his truck and the sharp right turn ouy of the parking lot would permit.
I got back on the highway and counted down the miles to marker 200 and the pyschological boost that having less than 200 miles in Texas would bring.
A town or two later, I had the feeling that I got the shaft back in Balmorrhea, where the gas was $2.24, 25 cents more expensive than at my previous stop. I thought maybe it was the natural progression of gas prices upward as I headed west, but now I was seeing $1.76, a whopping 50-cent difference, and I think I was just being gouged because it was the only gas station off the interstate in that town. Grrr...
I rolled into El Paso shortly before 9:00 PM (having gained an hour) and stopped at the I-10 and Redd store to get online and also to ask about the Las Cruces store. Blam! It was open, and I'd have time to reach it. Blam!
As I approached Las Cruces, I changed my mind and decided it made more sense to get some sleep, visit the store in the morning, and take a better photo. But I made the decision after I had passed the rest area, so I had to find a place to camp out. I tried something new, parking in a residential neighborhood, on a dark public street. I had to drive around a few times to find a suitable space. At the first one I picked I spotted a lady looking at me through her window. Then I had to avoid a couple of pedestrians and make sure they didn't see me bedding down--why take chances. Finally I found a spot in front of a large pickup, which would serve as additional cover. But even though it wasn't even 10:00, I never heard anybody walking along the sidewalk--I guess Las Cruces residents call it a night early.
August 9
In the wee hours I moved over to the shopping center where the Starbucks was, to avoid having the owner of the truck spot me in case he was an early commuter. About a quarter of 7:00 I decided I'd slept enough and went into the Starbucks bathroom. When I came out, the shift supervisor was already ready for me, because she had recognized me from my visit to an El Paso store. Outside, a pair of state troopers had decided to hang out, and their cars blocked one angle--that's okay, I found a better angle for a photograph. As expected, the troopers looked at me with suspicion as I framed and shot the photograph.
Trouble in Paradise?
As I headed away from Las Cruces I called the four new Starbucks listed for Tucson and learned only one was open. Then I called Schmoopie and sensed that something was amiss. There was something in her voice. One possibility was that she was still reacting to my moodiness following my disappointing performance at the National Scrabble Championship. But the way she sounded, the way she said she'd call me later, made me feel like the moment I had been expecting had finally arrived, the moment when she began to tire of me. I assumed from the beginning that it was inevitable, because with my itinerant lifestyle, between Starbucks, Scrabble, and the occasionally contract, I simply could not offer a woman the kind of relationship I assumed most women want.
At the first rest area west of Las Cruces I spotted this 
sign, which could not possibly be intended to inspire confidence among parents, or anybody else for that matter. Not having children, I was more bothered by the infestation of flies in the restroom. I have a particular aversion to fly-infested restrooms, in part because flies sometimes make me nauseated, and in part because I tend to spray everywhere as I dance around to keep the bugs off my legs.
With about a month to go to hit a year without a speeding ticket, and barely 40 miles from the Arizona line, I let myself get distracted as I passed up a truck, close to 90 MPH (in a 75), and I didn't see the NM state trooper until it was too late. He drove on, and I thought I was okay until I saw his lights come on. I hoped I might get a break if I made it easy for him, so I went ahead and pulled over even though he hadn't even completed his u-turn. I waited. And then he just blew right past me and pulled over either a van, or a truck hauling a pair of yellow school buses. I wasn't sure what was going on there, and I really didn't care. I was just relieved to have escaped a ticket yet again.
Defending my Territory
My trip nearly came to an abrupt and fiery end when, about sixty miles from Tucson, I spotted crawling on my duffel bag the biggest fucking 
wasp I had ever seen in my life! Bart and Lisa Simpson "AAAGH!!!" I was flipping out as I quickly pulled over, grabbed my shoes, and jumped out of the car. I popped the trunk but could not see the beast. The hunt was on, but who was the predator and who was the prey? I folded up my blanket, towel, and jeans and stacked them neatly. I grabbed the duffel bag and tossed it to the other side. Then I grabbed my stack of shirts and saw wings flutter. There it was! It crawled towards the back of the trunk, into the shade. I swatted it towards the front so it could fly out the window. But it quickly moved back towards the shade and tried to crawl underneath my cushion. No way, Jose! I figured out what it wanted, to get out of the sun. That's why it had flown into my car to begin with. But I didn't care--I wanted it the fuck out my car. That sucker was big, man! It reminded me of an episode of an old Fox show, Sliders in which Quinn and friends slid into a world infested by spider-wasps that could eat through walls. It's stinger looked like it could swell me up for weeks. Finally, after much swatting, it got stuck on my towel and I got it out of the car. I might have shown mercy, but it kept crawling back towards me, so I swatted it out onto the highway, where it was promptly squashed into oblivion. I shed not a tear. Wretched creature.
Go figure. Of all the exits that guy in the SUV could have picked to run his car off the road, it had to be mine, Houghton. So I had to take the next exit into Tucson and weave around and round before I worked my way back to Houghton. I wasn't in any kind of hurry, really, but it was just the nerve of these people, inconveniencing everybody else with their lousy driving.
At the OST store in Tucson I had to wait around a bit for the manager to find a camera. While I waited, a group of kids wearing matching t-shirts reflecting some type of summer camp got wind of why I was there. They started pointing out various Starbucks in the area. I tried to figure out how to beg off without seeming rude when one saved me by asking to shake my hand in case I became famous. Ah, such adulation. I hoped I could keep it from changing me.
Las Cruces had surprised me as the temperature dropped quite a bit the previous night, making the night's sleep rather comfortable. The Phoenix heat, on the other hand, held no surprises--it was just as hot as I expected, and the drive from cooler Tucson northward became increasingly uncomfortable. The radio reported a high of 109!!! In part because I was shopping around for a massage, and so I had to keep rolling the window up to be able to hear on my phone, the earpiece volume control for which I, high IQ or not, could not manage to find.
I already knew prices in Phoenix tended to be lower than in many other areas, and I had no trouble finding several masseuses offering a half-hour for $30, but I did have trouble scheduling. That's why I had downloaded listings from the Internet in Tucson, so I could get a head start on scheduling, but it didn't end up doing any good. I had a tentative for 2:45, and right down the street from the Havana Cafe where I planned on grabbing lunch. But by the time I finished up at the first new Starbucks and called her back to confirm that I could make it, I guess it had already been booked.
Maybe I dawdled too long at the Starbucks, but it was worth it, because I was chatting with one of the baristas who had read one of the recent articles and seemed quite taken with my project (or, dare I hope, with me?). I felt kind of self-conscious, though, because I had taken off my shirt to go take the photograph (so I wouldn't bake, because that black t-shirt, fashionable as it is, soaks up heat my a mutha). It had been months since I had lifted, and those four days of non-stop beignets in New Orleans had added to my paunch, so I didn't feel so hot standing there shirtless.
I then headed over to the Havana Cafe on Camelback, where the Fortune reporter had treated me to lunch nearly two months earlier. Again, my memory failed me. I had thought the congri and tostones were cheaper that they actually turned out to be, $10.70, and so I spent more than I wanted. It was okay, because the plate would definitely last me for the rest of the day, and possibly for lunch the next day if it kept. I'd try to eat as much as I could before going to sleep just in case. What really bugged me though was the waiter, who first had seemed to grumble on the phone when I called in the order and asked the price, and then in the restaurant gave me an unpleasant look when I asked about the "mojo", a garlic dipping sauce that I did not want on my plantains. I could swear his stuck-up ass was thinking how I wasn't sophisticated enough to patronize that seemingly trendy restaurant.
After visiting the new Scottsdale store I headed to a nearby store that had T-Mobile, and (I swear I'm getting old) I spent 5 minutes trying to figure out which one it was. Man, where's that razor-sharp memory I used to have? When I was in high school one of the kids used to joke I could remember my own birth.
Bamboozled!
Anyway, I did some last-minute massage research while online and found a place that had a $15 special. Of course it turned out to be for only 15 minutes, but when you consider that the last truck stop I showered at charged me $7, 15 minutes + a shower seemed like a good deal. Or so I thought. As it turned out, it wasn't until I was already on the table that the masseuse revealed that the time I spent in the shower counted against the fifteen. She didn't make the rules, true, but still she had the audacity to suggest that tips were appreciated. Hell no I wasn't going to tip her, and in fact I made it a point before I left to tell her to tell the owner that I had felt cheated, and that this was a bad way to treat customers. I left grumbling, but I least I felt refreshed, and I had in fact gotten to relax if only for a few minutes.
The massage might have disappointed, but on the other hand I didn't go wrong with the $14 I spent at Bombshells, a nearby strip club that had advertised $6 dances. A posting online had commented that the advertised price was just to lure in customers, and that the true price was $10, but this turned out not to be the case. And you know, up until then, I had assumed that everything one read on the Internet was true!
Anyway, I left Bombshells (lame-ass name) feeling confident in my assertion that you can't go wrong with a $6 lap dance. And amused by the silliness of the local lawmakers, who had decided that while strip clubs are legal, they would protect public morals by making it illegal for dancers to receive tips in their g-strings--tips had to be handed. And furthermore, while a dancer could sit on my lap, she couldn't put her breasts in my face. I feel so protected.
As I headed out towards the interstate, I felt relief that I would not be spending the night in Phoenix, because the radio was reporting that the number of West Nile case in the city was higher than in all other areas combined! Not what I wanted to hear if I had to sleep in the car and keep stepping outside to answer the call of nature.
The heat was dehydrating me something awful. To go with lunch, I had stopped at a Safeway and, not finding cold tea, bought this lemon-lime beverage with Aloe juice. It was okay, but the taste was not entirely to my liking, so I stopped at a convenience store and bought an Arizona Ice Tea, the new Sweet Tea ("southern" style) flavor to mix it with. Then I had the water from Starbucks. But the water quickly warmed up, and so did the tea, so I bought another tea before heading out of town. All this, and by the time I reached I-8 towards El Centro I was still craving something cold and flavroed, even though my stomach felt full.
I picked up the interstate in Gila Bend, and depiste my thirst I debated whether to exit at the next town, because I was following a couple of cars going pretty fast. I decided to wait another 20 miles to the next exit.
As I drove on, Schmoopie finally called and explained why she had sounded so strange in the morning. Our "undefined relationship" was not dissolving after all. In fact, she had gone into one of her episodes of fearing that I was calling the thing off, while at the same time I had been suspecting the same of her. Funny, huh?
Sleepless and Sweat-Addled
I passed a parking area and made a quick decision. Not quick enough, though, because I ended up having to back up the exit ramp. It was okay--there wasn't much traffic in and out during the two hours I was there. I chose it instead of the rest area just past the California border because parking areas are typically unlit, which makes it easier to sleep. But Vin Diesel pitch black wouldn't have helped in this case, because everything in the back of my car was still giving off the heat absorbed in Phoenix, and felt hotter than in New Orleans even. I tried to cool off a bit by moving the car into one of the truck spaces, away from the vegitation, and lowering the windows some. I needed to be outside the radius within which I would attract mosquitoes. There was no wind, but the occasional breeze wafting through the car did help. But after a while, several trucks, probably in convoy, pulled in and parked on either side of me. They were loud, and didn't want to take up a space needed by any other truck that might happen by, so I moved back to one of the car spaces. Besides the heat, then, I had to worry about whether mosquitoes would attack.
After two hours I gave up and started driving again. Not only could I not sleep, but my water had warmed to the point that it no longer served to quench my thirst. I stopped in Fortuna, just shy of Yuma, and added ice and bought a Gatorade. I'm not sure I believe the hype, but it did slake my thirst. I popped open my Kinko's directory and was surprised to discover one in Yuma. I hadn't thunk the city big enough. So I pulled into town to get online, but the connection was weak and I was not able to complete my tasks, the most important of which was to upload some photos for the Real People production.
I continued on to El Centro and scoped out the Starbucks. Then I drove around and finally settled on a residential street. I didn't want to risk lowering the windows as much as back at the rest area, so I only cracked them. The car had cooled off a big during the drive, and I think I did doze for a bit, but then I thought I heard the buzzing of a mosquito. I was forced to drive around with the windows down and the trunk open to rid myself of the invader before settling on another street. I think I dozed again, and the next thing I knew it was past 5:00 AM, time to go visit the Starbucks.
August 10
I was surprised to see so many customers waiting at 5:10 in the morning, but more than anything I felt like a zombie as I waited to speak to the shift leader and then gave her my spiel. While I waited I was intrigued by the way that the staff, all hispanic, fluently mixed English and Spanish among themselves and with the customers. The shift leader, perhaps frazzled from the rush that had just ended, did not quite seem to understand at first--she thought it was some kind of official project. I was too brain-dead to explain fully, so I just said I wanted to be famous, and she accepted that explanation, albeit with a look of bemusement on her face as she talked to me.
It was still dark out, so I picked a spot in the middle of the parking lot behind the JC Penney and tried for more sleep. No sooner had I lain down than I had to use the restroom... again. There was too much traffic out now to do it out in the open, so I went to the AM/PM across the street. The cashier looked irritated when I paid for $1 worth of gas, just as he had seemed irritated earlier when I had bought $2 worth of gas. Hey, he could at least have given me some credit for not simply using the restroom without buying anything.
One of my pet peeves is the rampant misuse of the term "irony". I have researched the term several times and tried to learn its meaning and educate others. But no matter how many times I read the definition, I have trouble identifying what is or isn't irony. In this case, the target situation was the fact that I managed to get more sleep after the sky had lightened than during the entire night. Either way, it wasn't much, and I knew the goodly number of coffees I'd be having around San Diego would be the only thing keeping me functional.
I felt a little better when I awoke around 6:40, and as I scuttled from the back of the car to the front seat and glimpsed myself in the rearview mirror, I had a realization. I think the barista looked so astonished not because of how many Starbucks I had visited, but because of the odd placement of a pimple that had matured overnight, right at the intersection of my left nostril and upper lip. A freakish sight no doubt.
About a month ago when I was slashdotted, the headline was "The Traveling Salesman Problem Meets Starbucks". Many of the slashdot members posted asking what my project had to do with the traveling salesman problem. I tried to explain in a post, but I was promptly accused of pretending to be Winter and wasting bandwidth with my response. Well, as I continued west towards San Diego and examined my map, the traveling salesman problem was in full effect. With so many new stores since the last time I rolled through San Diego, about 15 months prior, my challenge was to figure out the quickest route that visited all the stores. And because this was California, I'd have to factor in the morning and evening rush hours. I'd also want to visit stores in malls as early as possible, when the crowds were lightest.
My poor little Civic struggle up the mountain pass, but after the sweaty night I'd had, I was glad for the cooler air.
Just before exit 47 traffic was stopped by a Border Patrol inspection. I had been seeing Border Patrol cars and vans all along I-8 and also in the cities. Fortunately, I had not been hassled by any of them... yet.
At the second Starbucks in the San Diego area I need to take a break and charge up batteries and work on my site. I decided to play some Scrabble to practice for a small tournament on Sunday. I was also thinking that I should not hit San Diego hard and try to visit as many stores as possible on the first day, because that would shock my system, and I would suffer for it. If I was going to study and work on my site and catch up on movies anyway, why not ease my way into the coffee. Maybe ten to fifteen for starters.
At the next store the manager was busy with a couple of new partners, so I used a Jedi mind trick to obtain free coffee. It works, really! It's all in the eyes.
As I headed to the next new store, mere minutes away, I noticed that even though I had only visited three stores thus far that day, I had already lost the taste for the coffee. It was going to be long day, and the next hour or two even stood to be struggle, as no fewer than six new stores were listed within a three-mile radius. Oh, wait--scratch one, at SDSU--I called to get directions and learned it is licensed.
I didn't take me long to lose the article I had printed up just two days prior, as I arrived at the store at University and Aragorn and discovered it missing. I had planned on taking a break anyway and getting online, so showed the manager my web page and she was cool. After some Scrabble and updating, I returned to 67th, and the folder was right there by the condiment bar where I had left it. Not much of a detour, thankfully, as the next store was right on El Cajon.
Meanwhile, it was past noon and I had not yet eaten anything. I was trying to make up for the $15 I had spent on food on Sunday and Monday, not including all the teas and juices. I wasn't broke by any means, not even close, but I thought keeping it to $10 a day would be a good idea. I hoped the apple and banana I had bought on Sunday were still good.
The manager at the next store was busy. I waited a bit, and then I decided to just order a half-cup. By coincidence, they had just run out of bold, so they offered me some sample French press. It was already cool so I just downed it quickly. Mistake. I experienced this sudden feeling of nausea. I decided to name it the "ung-ung".
At the next store I was told about my second secret store of my trip, down the highway 94 a few minutes. I had to wander around a bit, but I found it. AsI pulled into a parking space I felt nausea again. That wasn't good. I wondered what was going on, and how many more stores I'd be able to visit. Maybe I needed to eat something. Anyway, I was almost ready to chalk the store up as a secret store when I remembered to go back in and print out the balance on my card so I could get its name off the receipt. As I did so, another shift lead arrived from lunch and told me the store was in fact listed, but with the wrong zip code. I went back to my map and discovered that, in fact, it had been plotted, but in the wrong place. Mystery solved!
One more store in the area, and then a big hop all the way down to the Mexican border, to the Camino de la Plaza store that I had been to a couple of times before. Once it was closed for the holiday, and another it was closed for remodeling. I skipped several other stores to reach this one to make darn sure that nothing got in the way this time!
By the 14th store, I was truly one of the walking dead, rendered thus by the combination of scant sleep, extreme caffeination, and not much in the way of caloric intake, just a squishy banana and an odd-tasting apple. I had just about reached my ease-into-it target for the day, and it was barely 4:00 PM. I wasn't ready to stop yet, though, just to take it slower.
I slowed down big time, visiting just three more stores in the next several hours, finally ending up in National City with an intensifying headache despite finally having eaten something, a power bar. It wasn't just the lack of food and caffeine, but the lack of sleep. It was time to catch up. But that was easier said than done. First, I wasn't able to leave right away because I had to take a call from the publisher of a small quarterly Starbucks fan magazine. She wanted me to write a column, and I was definitely up for it if we could think of something worthwhile for me to write about. On the other hand, by the time I left it was dark and the weather was much cooler; rather comfortable, actually--that wasn't the problem. No, it was the 68 ounces of coffee. Like a coherent sentence in a poorly written novel, sleep was elusive. And when it finally did come, it was spotty, as I woke up repeatedly, sometimes only thirty minutes after the last time I checked the time. I ended up driving around a lot, restless.
August 11
After sleeping in several parking lots, I had finally settled next to a small camper in a neighborhood behind the store at Washington and Falcon, in the Mission Hills neighborhood of San Diego. Shortly after 5:00 AM I visited the store and then promptly went back to sleep, leaving the coffee for later. When I woke up again, it was nearly 7:00 AM, though I wouldn't have known it from the sun, because the sky was overcast. Ordinarily I would have preferred sunlight for my photographs, especially the more subdued early morning light. But I didn't mind that morning, looking forward to cooler weather.
The extreme heat of west Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona had allowed me to thoroughly bake the two pairs of socks I'd been alternating. I was practicing sock conservation simply because I didn't know how long I would be on the road. Turned out it was good I hadn't run through many pairs, because I discovered on that fourth morning that I had left most of my socks back in Houston. Oh, well--I had been putting off buying new socks for months, and I guess it was about time.
As I headed away from downtown, the radio reported that the Cowboy Junkies and Shawn Colvin were in town that night. Man, I wished it were the old days when I would spend money willy-nilly on things like concerts.
I learned quickly from my headache of the previous day and made an effort to eat throughout the day to help blunt the effects of the coffee. First a banana, and then a bagel, which also helped blunt the taste of the coffee. The thing of it was that I wasn't exactly feeling hungry because my stomach was full and because of the caffeine's suppressing my appetite. So I had to be conscious of my need to take in calories--I couldn't depend on my stomach to let me know.
The line was long, and I was going to skip my introduction, but I was saved from having to pay for coffee yet again at the Otay Lakes store when the manager recognized me my visit to her other Chula Vista store. I realized that I had visited thousands of stores, but it still bothered me that I could not remember the names and faces of all these partners that were recognizing me.
Oh, oh, oh! Free-standing Chick-fil-a! I hadn't realized they had made it out to California yet.
Ten stores into the day, I took a good long break in Bonita and caught up with my site. I extended my break when I finally managed to schedule a massage at a price I was willing to pay. I must have called several dozen ads from the San Diego Reader, none of which listed prices. Well, the male therapists listed prices, all of which were lower, presumably to attract business. But not a single female therapist listed a price--this was anomalous. Anyway, of the masseuses that offered a half-hour session, the minimum price was $40. But one, eastern European from her accent, and chatty, insisted that I tell her what I wanted to spend, and after chatting on and on said okay, come on over. This time, I got more than I paid for. A quality massage, more than 30 minutes I'm sure, and a free washcloth. I felt ready and raring to visit more Starbucks!
Or so I thought. I headed over to Pacific Beach to continue my tour, and the coffee hit me just as strong, even after eating some yogurt and an apple. I began to wonder if I'd actually meet my goal of 18 for the day. No, make that 19, because I only visited seventeen the previous day. I couldn't figure out how on earth I had managed to visit 28 stores in Portland back in '99, given that I was only at eleven and already struggling.
At # 12 I almost had to pay for my coffee, but I busted out with my puppy dog eyes and talked her out of breaking my streak. After sitting in beachgoer traffic for a while, during which time I did not fret, because I considered it a break, I received a reprieve in the form of a store not yet completed. I didn't mind that I would have to go back, because I expected that I would not wait another eighteen months to return to the area, and so next time the number of new stores would not be such as to overwhelm my metabolism. Or that's the plan, at least. We'll see.
My next step was illustrative of the borderline obsessiveness that ever permiates the periphery of my project. Years earlier I had visited a store on Mira Mesa and spilled half the half coffee. What did that mean? Well, duh! I had to drink another two ounces, and my soul would not rest easy until I did. The manager was not the same as when I originally visited, so I'm sure my long-winded explanation of why I had to drink two ounces of coffee was puzzling. But I assure you that my relief was greater, over finally having completed that store.
In the shopping center next to the Starbucks was a Togo's. I'd never thought their food great, but nevertheless I experienced a craving for chili. My mind was filled with questions. Should I go for the Togo's? Or no-go the Togo's? What if this Togo's was so-so? Why do pirates yo-ho-ho? In the end, I figured I had skimped enough that I could spare the $2. I didn't regret it--the chili was not awful. Nor was I rushing to find more, neither.
I hit traffic on I-15 north, and in a wacky reveral of my usual mood, I didn't mind a bit, because it gave me more of a break before my next dose of too-much-of-anything. Plus, I discovered 94.9, a station playing an excellent rock mix and specifically identifying themselves as not a Clear Channel station. I wondered if this was one of a new breed of stations profiled in an NPR piece from a month or two back.
At the next store I was amused that one of the partners had just been looking at my web site and reading my log about how I passed through El Centro. I was a little disappointed that he had not predicted that I would be rolling through his store shortly thereafter.
For days I had been planning to use my much-needed breaks from coffee to catch up on some movies. My next store was on Mira Mesa, and by coincidence there was a large Edwards Multiplex there. As soon as I exited the interstate that this was the same theater where I had seen part of Castaway. Only part, because I had come down with food poisoning during the movie, perhaps because of the meal I had had at On the Border, one of the few places I had found open that late on Christmas eve a few years back.
I bought a ticket for The Manchurian Candidate at 7:10. While I waited, I caught the end of Spider-Man 2 and then went into my auditorium to work on my word lists, sitting on the floor in the aisle to avoid disturbing others with my laptop. When the previews began, and usher came in and told me I would have to take a seat and asked to see my ticket stub. Given that the auditorium was nearly empty, I didn't appreciate being given a hard time, and I made a snap decision to take my business elsewhere. Before getting a refund, I found a manager and tried to explain that, given the nearly-empty auditorium, I should have been left alone as I wasn't bothering anybodyl. She just kept repeating Regal policy over and over, like the mindless drone that she was.
Meanwhile, the LCD on my laptop continued to get worse and worse, making me worry that it would go out altogether and leave me unable to navigate.
I visited three more stores, taking my high for the trip to 18. There was one more in Oceanside that I could have reached, but I was so tired that when I spotted a technology center somewhere on El Camino Real between Carlsbad and Oceanside, I quickly pulled in. I was glad to see cars in the parking lot and also a port-a-potty. I slept for several hours, until sometime between 1:00 and 2:00, when, returning from the port-a-potty, I thought I saw what seemed to be a security guard and a lady looking out at me from inside one of the buildings. I decided it would be a bad idea to stick around and quickly left, and as I drove I wondered if my mind had been playing tricks on me. I truly doubted whether I had seen anybody at all.
From El Camino Real I took San Marcos Blvd east towards Escondido, and I pulled into the first shopping center I found. The parking lot was large and spotted with cars, and I settled in front of a 24-hour copy center. I slept for about an hour, and then I had to go into the 7-11 restroom. But it was out of order, so I continued to drive towards Escondido and stopped at an AM/PM and bought gas and used the restroom. A cute girl waved to me and asked for a favor. I said sure, depending on what it was. She asked to charge her phone in my lighter. I had to move stuff around in the back of my car anyway, plus she was cute, so I turned my car on and let her phone charge until she could make a call.
I continued on to Escondido, where I found a very dark residential street, unusual because it had angled parking.
August 12
I felt better when I awoke at 6:30 and went into the Starbucks for my coffee. I still felt I could use more sleep, so I laid back down. The sky was once again overcast, so it wasn't a problem of heat. It was that my head was swimming with thoughts, and after a few minutes I decided that despite my fatigue I would not be able to sleep.
During several interviews I had reported that after four or five coffees in a day, I lost the taste, but that the very next day I would enjoy that first cup. Well, I tasted that coffee that I had gotten, and it just didn't do it for me. I had only been cooling of for a few minutes, so it wasn't that it was stale. Maybe it was that my mouth was dry. Or maybe it was that after two days of overdosing my body was still reactive negatively to coffee by association.
Regardless, after a couple of days of privation, I was almost back on my $10/day food budget, so I decided to start the day with a bagel sandwich and help keep the caffeine from taking effect too quickly. And after the three new stores in Escondido, I was feeling just fine.
At the last of those stores, I was amused by a partner who seemed almost giddy about my visit. He desperately wanted to take a photograph but was lacking a camera. During my first big post-publicity trip I used to offer partners who wanted photos to take it with my camera and e-mail it later, but of all the photos I took I only received one e-mail request, so I stopped offering, figuring it a waste of time.
I had to backtrack a few miles, to Oceanside, to visit the final new store (listed) in San Diego county. I debated skipping it to save time, but that didn't make sense given that I would have to take a break from the coffee at some point. Might as well clear out the entire county I figured. In the minutes it took me to get to Oceanside I decided to count the number of new stores I had listed for the rest of the Southland and the Central Coast. 79--ouch! More than I had expected. I didn't think I would be able to visit them all before having to head to Oakland for a Scrabble tournament on Sunday afternoon.
But I was sure the coffee would be the limiting factor, not the time it would take to reach the stores, so I didn't mind taking a little detour to indulge my fascination with a pair of wabbits, one pure 
white, the other with a 
brown splotch, and see how close a photo I could get before they 
scooted. Winter wikes wabbits.
I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment when I left that new Oceanside store, for accoriding to my list, I had cleared out the whole of San Diego County. Yay!!!
As I drove toward Temecula I reviewed my financial database to see how I was doing on expenses. Not bad. Food and gas was reasonable. A couple of other expenses, like auto insurance, were not directly related to my trip. A few cheap massages. I was in good shape, but still I eagerly awaited the arrival in Houston of the checks for the use of my photographs. If they arrived quickly enough, plus my paycheck for 1 days work, I might be able to head up into Canada. But I had called my mother the previous day, and she had not yet seen the checks from AOL. I was starting to worry.
In Temecula, I had the opportunity to take an extended tour of Margarita Road, driving back and forth on it courtesy of a misplotted address on my map. It wasn't a total waste though--I found it amusing to overhear a lady, pulled over in a construction zone, and in the process of receiving a ticket, protesting to the cop that she had not seen the stop sign. I finally found the store, only to see that it was still coming soon. Oh, well, that just meant 78 stores to go instead of 79. Yay!!!
When I returned to the car after visiting the next store, I spotted another invader in my car, a beetle I think. But this one was dead, so I didn't freak out. Plus, beetles don't bother me as much as stinging insects. As I looked at my map, however, a live beetle buzzed just outside the window, and I got the heebie-jeebies.
I had been wondering since I left Houston how many miles it had been since my last oil change. The receipt from my last one was not in my glove compartment. I knew I was pushing it, but I also knew the recommended 3000 miles was too often. And the boys from Car Talk agreed with me, as I had heard on a recent show. And furthermore, I had been told that if the miles were mostly highway miles, I could wait even longer. Still, I was getting concerned.
It occurred to me that I might have stashed my car receipts in a folder with my Scrabble stuff. Sure enough, there they were. Uh-oh--almost 9000 miles since my last oil change. Definitely pushing it. I happened to be at a heavily-developed intersection. I looked around, and what did I see to my left but a Wal-Mart, with a tire and lube center! What luck! And I was first in line. Even more luck. It would work out perfectly. I could buy the socks I needed, some yogurt, and get some writing done.
I left my batteries plugged in behind the counter because there was a young kid in the waiting room, and I feared he would mess with them. I went off to shop, and a moment later an announcement came over the loudspeaker about my car. I had forgotten to leave the keys. No proble, but what was interesting was that the mechanic said it was a purple Civic. Purple??? No way. Dude must have been colorblind.
The lines at all the operating registers were long, but that was okay, because I just set my laptop on whatever flat surface was available as I pushed my socks and yogurt along. I didn't care about the looks I was getting, nor the puzzlement of the other customers. Fuck 'em if they can't understand (that life is short).
They had downtown Murietta tore all the fuck up with construction, and I had to drive in circles to reach the post office. But I found it, and I finally mailed off my taxes, proudly beating the four month extension deadline by three days. Of course I couldn't pay what I owed, but I would have some time yet before they sent me a bill, at which time I would likely had to get on a payment plan.
I must have been in an ornery mood, because as soon as I cleared the construction Washington Ave and it widened to two lanes, and I passed the moving van and noticed that the pickup truck behind me didn't, my first thought was "Why the fuck would you stay behind the moving truck you dumbass!"
It was time to decide whether to head out to the new stores in Palm Springs or not, and as much as I wanted to clear out California, it just didn't make sense to detour 180 miles for at most 3 stores, not when my usual route to California takes me right past those cities along I-10. Hemet was only a 30-mile detour, and a harder decision, but in the end I decided it would make more sense to leave it for later. It's not like I could actually complete California for more than, say, 24 hours before they opened another store.
The manager at the first new Riverside store was the first of the day to have heard of my project, and she was very supportive. I took my first long break of the day there and made some plans. She told me the next store along my route would not open for a week, but that another store would open tomorrow! This meant that I could finally be the first customer at a store outside of Texas. And before I left the suggested an alternate route, hitting the new stores in a different order, and when I reviewed my map I agreed that this would work better.
I also tried to reach a partner who had e-mailed me just a few days earlier from a store in Ontario, requesting a return visit. I believed it was important to take care of the fans as much as possible, even if they weren't female.
That rule about the shortest distance between two points? Well, if you substitute "quickest" for "shortest" in California, it's not necessarily a straight line. While the 91 headed straight towards Highland from Corona, there was heavy traffic in that direction. So heading in the opposite direction, I took I-15 north towards Ontario and managed to get off the freeway right as traffic got heavy. Hah! And then I promptly got confused and went too far on Milliken and pulled a quick u-turn just as the railroad crossing bars started to come down. No! I didn't want to lose more time, so I floored it right across the two sets of tracks and missed the turn lane and had to pull a right from the middle of the intersection, all the while hoping there were no cops around to witness. And then I saw that the train was much closer than I had imagined.
barak obama interview on fresh air raced, not so much interested in politics as anomalies
I headed up Haven to I-10 and headed east. It was almost 4:00 PM, and if the rush hour had not yet started it would soon. My plan was to race to Highland and then be traveling inbound, against traffic. I only drove a couple of miles before traffic came to a standstill, and I debated about what to do. One possibility was to keep driving and work on my log, not such a tough task in the slow-moving traffic. Another was to visit a couple of stores in Rialto and kill time at a branch of Spearmint Rhino, a local strip club chain I'd not yet visited. But cover was $6, and I wanted to pick up a a copy of the local free weekly and see if there was a coupon.
As I headed towards Rialto my thoughts were increasingly consumed by food. I craved real food, not just fruit and yogurt and power bars and bagels. I wanted something cheap so I could save my money for Versailles in Los Angeles, but the thought of a cheap Burger King burger just made me sick. Finally I decided to give Pollo Loco another try.
When I first tried Pollo Loco two months back, I don't think they were using this new spokesperson who calls himself "El Caliente". This time, his image was all over the store, promoting their chicken. I decided right away I did not like him. He looked really creepy. But the meal was pretty good I guess, and I managed to consume it on the drive to Rancho Cucamonga without spilling more than a couple of grains of rice.
I had saved up the coffee from the two Rialto stores until after dinner, and I downed the 8 oz while at the Rancho Cucamonga store. I immediately felt sick, and I had to let it settle before I could even think of continuing. The assistant manager kept saying that my project was "crazy", and I could not disagree. She asked me if I ever got tired--boy, did I!
As I pushed forward, trying to see if I could make it to 19, I was just going through the motions. It's a testament to just how tired and caffeine-shocked I was that at the next store, where there were several people in line, I took little notice of the group of teeny boppers, nearly all of which were in shorts too short for girls their age. Wait... is that a stirring I feel? No, it passed. Good. Meanwhile, as I waited for the shift lead to become available, I kept wondering if she was female, or male, or both. It was kinda creepy, actually. Call me a neanderthal, but I just happen to like knowning the sex of the person before me.
Maybe she was a telepath, or just sensed that I was wondering about her, and was frustrated that so many people wondered, because she gave me a hard time about the half coffee. And then she did something I hadn't experienced in a long, long time--she came outside to tell me I couldn't take a photograph of the store. I don't think any partner had told me this after reading one of the articles about my project, but I guess it takes all kinds. I was barely awake and didn't have to energy to explain that I was not on Starbucks property, so I just told her to contact Starbucks, that they knew all about me. So very strange.
Back in the car, I had entered major zone-out mode, a state during which I would just zone out over and over as I tried to organize my thoughts. In fact, I was so far off my game that I almost missed the fact that a relatively new stretch of SR-210 (not to be confused with I-210) ran right next to the store and would get me to the next store more quickly. Man, I really needed to update my Microsoft Streets and Trips from the 2002 to the 2005 version.
I almost exited the freeway too soon when I didn't see signs for a Vineyard exit until I noticed that Vineyard turned into Carnelian. I took interest in Carnelian St. because in my myriad travels through southern California, I think I had traveled on most of the arterials, but not that one. I also noticed, on the cement barrier on the overpass bridge, the term "overcrossing". I had never before seen that word. It's not an acceptable Scrabble word.
As I reached the next store, I was feeling a lot better and able to think straight again. I had the prescence of mind to do some planning, and I called ahead to the next store to discover it had not yet opened.
As I was about to leave the store, I had a total "What the???" moment as all four windows of the black BMW next to me, and the sunroof, opened to reveal... no one inside! What was up with that!?
I had to travel 18 miles west on I-10 to reach the next new store, in Covina, but I didn't mind. The weather had cooled, and traffic flowed freely at about 80 MPH or better, so I just relaxed and enjoyed the drive. While the effects of the caffeine continued to wear off, the caffeine was the only thing warding off the fatigue, and I started to feel really exhausted. I was only at 17 stores, but I desperately wanted to quit. Another reason to stop was that I planned to return to Riverside to be the first customer at the new store, and the further west I pushed the longer I would have to drive back. Anyway, I called up the next store, in West Covina, and learned it closed at midnight. That made things a little easier, because I could nap for up to three hours and then head over there.
Well, on paper at least. But the fact was that I had so much caffeine in my system that as I lay there in the parking lot behind the Starbucks I couldn't really get to sleep. I think I might have dozed off briefly, but around 10:00 I gave up and just headed over to West Covina. Then I tried again to get some sleep in an adjacent parking lot.
August 13
Friday the Thirteenth
I didn't even realize until 4:35 AM that the date, Friday the 13th, might have served as the reason for all the strangeness that occurred.
I had trouble sleeping in West Covina, so I headed towards Riverside, taking the longest stretch of the Corona Freewas (SR-71) that I could remember. According to my outdated map, much of the route was still surface road, and I almost took I-10 to I-15. But I was happy to learn that 71 moved just as quickly for most of the way until it reached 91.
I exited Pierce and began looking for number 3590, which was the address listed on the Starbucks web site. My map had the address plotted south of 91, but I saw no developments that looked like they would house a new Starbucks, so I headed north of the freeway. I promptly became confused as the street signs changed to read "Riverwalk", which was not on my map. I thought maybe the signs were just switched between the primary road and the side street, but I couldn't be either. Regardless, I saw no Starbucks, so I headed back across the freeway.
Three of the corners of Pierce and Magnolia were developed with businesses, and I took a closer look, but I saw no Starbucks. I drove further down Pierce, slowly, straining to spot the addresses of the buildings. I spotted a business center that looked promising--I had found Starbucks in business centers before. I still didn't see it, and I was feeling exhaustion big time, so I decided to give up and just call in the morning for directions. I drove down the side street next to the business park looking for a place to stay the night (about three hours, actually). Suddenly the white pickup truck that had passed me in the opposite direction u-turned abruptly and came my way. I immediately pulled into a driveway and turned around, heading back to Pierce, to see what he would do. He followed me. Traffic was still stopped at the railroad crossing, and I didn't want to be trapped, so I didn't turn in that direction but instead stopped at the end of the side street and put on my hazard lights. When the truck didn't pass me, I knew he was following me.
I wondered what to do for a minute, and then the train finished passing. I turned onto Pierce and across the tracks; the truck seemed to hold his position. I dialed 911, and it took about a minute for the first dispatcher to put me through to Riverside, Meanwhile I still didn't see a Starbucks, but that was kind of moot because I couldn't park anywhere until the situation was resolved. As I spoke to the Riverside dispatcher, I turned around and headed towards Magnolia, to the AM/PM across the street. The truck seemed to follow and then turned into the parking lot of the Mobil station across from the AM/PM and seemed to hold position. I relayed all this information to the dispatcher who wanted to remain on the line with me until Riverside PD arrived.
Eventually a pair of patrol cars arrived, and as they approached the parking lot the truck started moving. I thought he was going to book, but instead he got out and approached the officers. After a minute they came across the street to the AM/PM parking lot and explained that he was a security guard. Moments, later, the guard pulled up in the truck, which, as I had been able to tell from earlier, was not labeled in any way and did not have lights.
I explained that I was looking for a new Starbucks. The security guard quickly said there wasn't one in the business park. I replied that there was a new one in the area, and that I'd spoken to a manager that confirmed it would be opening at 5:00 AM. The cops seemed to think it was the nearby store on Tyler--they didn't understand. Situation resolved, they were in a hurry to wish us both a good day and leave. The guard stuck out his hand, and I shook it, but I was pissed at him for having wasted my time.
I tried across the freeway again, and this time I spotted the store. The address was 3950 not 3590! Geez--all that time wasted because of transposed numbers. I wasted no more time, and quickly parked in front of the store and slept, with my alarm set for 4:45.
I was so exhausted that I did fall asleep right away, but my mind stayed active because of the caffeine. I experienced repeated false awakenings. And I awoke for real more than once an hour, sometimes after just 30 minutes. The effect was to make those 2-3 hours of sleep seem to drag on forever. But what was even weirder was that on a couple of occasions I checked the time on my phone and it seemed to read earlier than the last time I had checked. I of course assumed that I had just dreamed that was closer to 5:00 because I was anxious to be the first customer. But the truth was stranger. When my phone said it was 3:51, I think, I saw a light on in the Starbucks and thought that it seemed awful earlier for them to be getting ready. Besides the partners, their was a regular flow of people to the donut shop, I couldn't walk to the side of the building anymore to do my business, so I walked over to the convenience store. I don't know what prompted me to do it, but I happened to ask the cashier the time. "4:27" he said, "4:27???" I repeated. He looked annoyed as he repeated it, perhaps because he thought I had used the restroom without manking a purchase, not realizing I had bought gas from the previous cashier.
I got back to my car and, sure enough, the time on my phone was just flat out wrong! How the heck could that have happened? The time was supposed to come from Sprint PCS. As far as I could remember, the time on my phone had never been wrong!
But maybe things happen for a reason. Sleepy as I was, and wanting to take advantage of the fifteen minutes remaining 'til I planned to stand in front of the store, I didn't trust that the phone would not reset its time again. So I put on my uniform and sat in front of the store with my laptop and tried to stay awake. At 4:45 I put the laptop back in the car and began pacing in front of the store, in part to stay awake and in part to make sure they noticed there was a customer waiting.
At 4:48 a truck pulled into the one parking space right in front of the store. There was a "Now Open" sign already hanging in front of the store, so it didn't surprise me to see an early-morning commuter arriving on the first day. The fact that he had children in the car was strange, but I didn't reall think anything of it. I was just relieved that I wasn't in the car changing still, as I would have been had I gone with my original plan and let my alarm wake me.
It got more interesting. At 4:55 one of the partners opens the door, and I hear quick feet moving behind me as I head up to the counter. One of the kids. They seemed awful anxious, and the father told them repeatly not to fight over it. It dawned on me that maybe they weren't just early commuters, but there for the same reason. Sure enough, when I asked the father, he confirmed that they kids had gotten him up that early to be the first customers. Wow--competition!!! That was actually exciting, that somebody else had come up with the same idea, even if they were young kids. Hell, I'm just a kid at heart.
I felt a twinge of guilt that I'd deprived them, but not really. I'd after all slept in my car, while they doubtlessly had a bed. And they were kids--they'd get over it quickly. Me, had I been beaten to the punch, would have been pissed for a long time.
I chatted with the father further, learning the store used to be a burger joint that they frequented. Now they could simply switch to coffee. I asked about the Donut Shop and learned the owner had been upset to learn a Starbucks would be opening in the same center. That made sense, but the worked it out I guess because his main business is donuts, not coffee. I wonder what will happen if the Starbucks starts carrying donuts, though it occurs to me that I'm not sure if I see donuts at any Starbucks anymore.
Mission accomplished, I went back to sleep. Around 7:30 I felt the sun peeking through the cloud cover and awoke. I felt like crap. My first thought was of irritation, that "crap" does not rhyme with "Big Mac", which meant I couldn't compose my usual morning rap.
I was about to leave when this girl, whom I had, of course, noticed immediately upon exiting the store, waved at me. She was the manager from an older store in Corona, and a partner taking a break had told her I had waited to be the first customer, and she noticed my Texas plates and was intrigued. She said that it was indeed possible to print the receipt from the manager's console and would do it for me once she finished her cigarette (yuck!). See, I did not have the original receipt showing the 4:55 time because the printer had malfunctioned. I had a "historical reenactment" of a receipt showing a 4:59 time. I really wanted the 4:55 time. 4:55:12, actually, when the correct receipt came out.
I drove to Orange County to visit about 10 new stores that had opened since I had pretty much cleared out the area in February when I flew in for a Scrabble tournament. At the first store the line was long, so I skipped introduction and as usual was not charged for my half cup. I felt really fatigued though. Though I had tried to sleep for the better part of 10.5 hours, from maybe 9:00 PM until 7:30, I had probably really slept only half that time. So I made the strategic decision to take advantage of the cloud cover and cooler weather and get some more Zs. It wasn't a deep sleep I don't think, but by the time the sun started peeking through the clouds and warming up I felt somewhat better.
I received an enthusiastic reception in Lake Forest when the manager went in back to get the district manager that happened to be in the store.
Partly due to circumstance and partly a tactical decision, in sharp contrast to the previous three days in California, I had only visit three stores by 11:00 am, easing into the day as one would into fifth gear in his daddy's expensive sports car, a lifetime cocaine habit, or the sixteen-year-old virgin who happens to lead the cheerleading squad.
Almost forgot photo at the next, but the delay allowed one of the partners time to get me a mug award. I already had another mug award in the car from my visit to Chattanooga, but this new one included a sleeve with a note from the partner.
I took the PCH up from Dana Point to Huntington Beach. It moved quickly enough along most stretches, but it slowed down considerably through Laguna Beach and Newport Beach. I didn't mind at first, because I could just continue to write. But at some point my power converter began to flake out, and I had to keep readjusting it in the lighter to get power. Finally I gave up, memorized the location of the next Starbucks, and shut off the computer.
At the Starbucks I immediately plugged in my laptop and phone, and then worked out the route to the next store in Santa Ana so I could shut off the computer.
Up in Santa Ana, I spotted a second Farmer Boy's burger joint. I thought the name and sign were cool, and I was tempted, but I instead went for the usual fare of fruit, yogurt, and a power bar.
Meanwhile I slowed down a bit, staying in the car a bit longer so I could listen to a Fresh Air interview with Steven Van Zandt.
After an extended break in Irvine to catch up on my web site and make a few enhancements, like a map of the stores I had visited in California, and fixing the stores that were categorized in incorrect counties by the imprecise nature with which I download store listings into my database, and wondering just how long of a sentence I could write, my next dose of caffeine was delayed even further by traffic on I-5 north to Buena Park and by an extended question and answer session with a manager and district manager that happened to be at the store. But that was fine, because I was not feeling as overwhelmed by the caffeine and, as a result, enjoying myself a bit more.
As soon as I walked into the La Habra Marketplace store I knew something was wrong--it was clearly an older store. I didn't even have to ask. I went back to the car and checked my database. The mix-up was due to a county miscategorization between Orange and Los Angeles counties. For some reason, the order in which the store locator listed stores occasionally changed, causing them to be recategorized. This type of thing had happened before, and I had still not managed to develop a system to avoid it. In this case, little harm was done, because I detoured only about a quarter of a mile, and moreover, I received a minor psychological boost, because two more stores from the original list were slashed (Beach and Whittier too).
My craving for real food had intensified and I did not think I'd be able to hold out 'til I reached LA proper. I passed one Italian restaurant but could not get over in time. Then I passed another, on Whittier, and pulled in and ordered some spaghetti and meatballs. I proceeded to eat it as I wound my way towards City of Industry, and I was rather proud that I hardly made any mess at all. Mwake no mwistake--eating spaghetti while driving is no trivial matter.
I lost some time because the City of Industry store was misplotted, but I'm almost ashamed to admit that I didn't catch the error myself. City of Industy is not that big, and I've known exactly where it is for year. Since my first trip to LA back in '98, when I did some research and learned that the strip clubs their have some very liberal rules. Needless to say, the new (and first) Starbucks there instantly became my favorite. Due to the lateness of the hour, I made it out of the city without spending any money because all the clubs were charging a ridiculous cover, and because in general I avoid strip clubs on Friday and Saturday nights unless I absolutely have to go.
Because of the misplotting, I ended up having to backtrack quiet a distance to Whittier. By 7:30 I had only visited 12 stores, and I wondered how many I would get to, especially since they tended to be busier on weekend nights. Still, my map of the Southland was looking freer and freer of blue dots, and that gave me a feeling of satisfaction.
After a new store in Montebello, I visited one more, in Commerce, and I decided to call it a night, so polished off the lentil soup I'd received with my spaghetti. Yes, lentil soup and pasta seemed an odd combination, but the soup was pretty good, and I felt that it would tide me over until lunch the next day.
The store's parking lot was far from ideal (for sleeping). It was very brightly lit, and it was right next to I-5. Nevertheless, I was so tired that it didn't really matter. Moreover, there was a big dumpster with a narrow gap behind where I was able to do my business without being seen. And the partners did not finish closing until midnight, so got quite a bit of sleep before I had to worry about whether I needed to move my car. I decided to just keep it there, and I moved it to a darker area.
Around 2:00 AM I woke up and decided I need more than just an gap behind the dumpster. I needed a toilet. Combine a full plate of spaghetti, bread, and lentil soup with that much coffee and see what it does to you. My need was not yet desperate, but I preferred to find a toilet before I got to that point and had to go ape shit, literally. Didn't want a repeat of that incident that time that ended up costing me a perfectly good towel and pair of undies.
I drove up Telegraph towards the other new Commerce store, and the one gas station I passed was closed. I went ahead and scoped out the store, and I noticed a cleaning man had the door to the hallway leading to the bathroom (of the shopping center) open. I considered going in there, but that really wouldn't have been cool to the poor guy just doing his job.
I looked up my bank and credit card statements and did a little work on my finances. Damn! I had forgotten about the $89 check I had written for a Scrabble game timer back at the NSC. It finally cleared, putting my available funds as follows: $231.43 in my checking account, $106 in bills, 11.75 in quarters, a dime, 2 nickels, a penny, an apple, a banana, and a $300-limit credit card with $94 .10 in pending charges from eBay, T-Mobile, and OLM (web hosting).
You know you're in a suck-ass part of town when all the gas station restrooms are closed. From Telegraph I drove south on Atlantic, and the restrooms were closed at every gas station I pulled into. At a light in Southgate I asked a cop, and he said a burger joint down the street. I thanked him, but I didn't need food. Still, I would have sprung for a donut if the Winchell's had a bathroom.
At every single gas station the attendant's English was accented, and though it made no logical sense, I could not help but project my irritation over the closed bathrooms into irritation that they did not speak better English. Further, I was starting to hate the residents of these lower-income areas for breeding hoodlums and juvenile delinquents and attracting homeless, the reasons I guessed for the bathroom's being locked. I never have a problem finding an open bathroom at any hour in west Plano, TX.
Finally, nearly in Long Beach at the 91, the attendance at Mobil said the bathroom was open. I was relieved to find relief and willing to overlook the bathroom's many flaws. A nasty-looking puddle on floor, hardly any toilet paper, no soap, ants crawling on the floor, a yellow condom on the sidewalk, and a general shabby appearance. Still, any port in a storm, right? And the gas cost about 10 cents a gallon more than I had seen elsewhere. And it would have cost me more, too, if not the for the fact that I had Starbucks to visit down in Lomita, where I settled for the remaining hours, so the drive wasn't wasted.
August 14
Despite only having visited 13 stores the previous day, I still had enough caffeine in my system to produce rather vivid dreams, including several false awakenings, so much so that when I finally got up shortly before 7:00 AM, I was a little confused. And half asleep, too, as I walked into the Starbucks and introduced myself to a partner who's girlfriend had e-mailed me about another store.
As before, I expected to go back to sleep until the sun started to warm my car, but my mind was quite active when I laid back down, and after a few minutes I decided just to go ahead and take advantage of the lighter Saturday morning traffic and subdued morning light.
As I photographed, I noticed my camera had gone into "moo" mode. I don't know exactly why I named it "moo" mode. Maybe it is because I darn near have a cow whenever it happens. Basically, what happens is that every time I turn the camera on, I have to push the flash button three times to turn off the flash, instead of just once. This can be annoying if I'm trying to take a photo very quickly before a car moves into a parking space in front of a Starbucks. Once the camera enters "moo" mode, I don't know of any way to get it out except to take out the batteries and leave them out for many hours, or overnight, which I can't do if I'm in the process of visiting stores all day.
As I took a photograph at the next store, a new drive-thru concept I'd heard a lot about, the power lines above me were making a sparking sound. That was the second time in a few days that I had heard such a sound, and it didn't sound safe to me. I was glad to get away from under them.
At the next store, I received such a blank stare from the manager when I introduced myself that I was sure she was going to turn me down for coffee. But she handed it over, and after I added sugar she asked to see my "thing" (the article). When I got out of the bathroom, she began to ask all sorts of questions. And then when a customer walked up to the register, she handed the article for him to read. A very strange reaction, and once again I though that I need to print out a copy of a shorter article, or perhaps just write up a fact sheet to show people so they wouldn't spend so much time reading the entire newspaper article.
Anyway, I sat in my car writing for a few minutes, and as I was about to leave the manager came out and gave me two drink coupons. Boy, had I misread that initial reaction!
Y? Y? Y? Y is my Y key sticking?? Y is this computer so crappy???
When I mentioned Compton was my next stop, the manager said she had heard of reports about bad service from customers who had not gone back, reverting to the nearby Gardena store. As I drove there, I considered not introducing myself, fearing shabby treatment or having my streak of free coffee broken. But I went for it, and the shift supervisor was very pleasant and interested in my project, as was a manager from another store visiting.
Upon leaving the store, next to me at Compton and Alameda, appropriately enough, EZ-E from an old Buick carrying three tough-looking Latino characters. They looked totally hard-core as they their Starbucks beverages.
From Compton to Southgate I drove back up Long Beach Boulevard, and it looked completely different than it had the previous night in the wee hours. I kinda liked that, constrasting major arterials or parts of town.
I had a fan at the next store, and she had me sign not only her apron, but also a tumbler--that was a first for me. Outside, as I tried to get a good photo of the different-looking "Drive-Thru" sign, a sherrif's deputy that I had watched disappear far down the road suddenly hollered at me to get out of the road. There's that serving and protecting again.
Magic Johnson was evidently blowing up in the Southland--five of the new stores I had visited were UCO, and, looking back on the stores I had visited over the past few days, including in San Diego, another six at least were UCO.
As I sat and updated my site in Bell, I was approached by two of what might have been regular characters. One was a hearing-impaired gentleman (though his card read "deaf") selling pencils or something. Another one was an older lady with skin overwrinkled from too much sun who kept walking around the store mumbling. The only thing I could make out was "Do you have any money to buy coffee?" When I left I noticed she was clearly homeless, carrying her belongings around in a cart, and I heard the partners exclaiming that she had stolen from the tip container. Then she came back in and started babbling something as the staff told her she couldn't be in there, though they didn't seem too concerned. As I worked, I overheard the staff continuing to look out the window and follow the lady's exploits.
I finally got back to the second new Commerce store, in an outlet center that was pretty crowded. I was thinking I might not get all the stores before having to rush to Oakland, so I skipped introduction and finally had to pay for my first coffee of the trip, but at least only the refill price.
After reshooting the other store which had a pretty design, I hopped onto I-5, with my destination finally Los Angeles proper, and Cuban food from Versailles! Actually, it looked like the shorter route would be to hit up the two stores north of the restaurant first. But this involved taking the 101, and those exit lanes were all backed up. In fact, the lanes continuing alone I-5 were also backed up, so I took I-10 instead and saw fewer slowdowns through to La Cienega. Ah, you gotta love them L.A. freeways!
I guess I can't complain too much, since the beans, rice, and plaintains only cost $6.80 and served as lunch and dinner, but they did screw up my order and gave me black instead of red beans. Still, I had been craving real Latin food for days, and it sure hit the spot!
Holy crapsicle!!! At one of the new stores in central Los Angeles the manager had a portable stereo playing classic rock! What's funny is that just the previous day, in Buena Park, the district manager I was chatting with asked me what I would change about Starbucks, and I said the ability to play music other than the company CDs.
As usual, the melody from that Everclear song was running through my mind as I drove towards Santa Monica. While the Third Street Promenade on a weeekend evening is great if you want to walk around and people watch, it sucks if you have limited time on the parking meter and just want to get in and out. Still, I was amused by the female guitar singer, a guy playing makeshift drums (tins and buckets), the gwuy with monkey, the guy painted up like bronze statue, and some act that involved a guy lining up four women from the audience that was attracting a lot of attwention. Oh, and several people and groups straight up begging with signs. Like one lady who needed for herself and her cats.
I wove past the performers and the crowd and found the first Starbucks, a relocation from a location a few doors down. Rules said I had to go back. And down a few hundred feet, a store not listed on the web site, perhaps because it started as a Hear Music store that only recently added a cafe. Oddly enough, the manager there turned to one of his partners to see if he could offer me coffee. Maybe he was new?
Lost in Translation
Earlier, when I had reached Los Angeles proper and found a copy of the LA Weekly. I did not expect to find a massage (and associated shower) at the threshold price of $30 or cheaper, not in L.A., but it never hurts to look. I was getting to the point where I imagined I could smell that homeless-person odor on myself, and if we were packed time during the Scrabble tournament, I didn't want to turn that into a problem. I was surprised to see these ads for as low as $20. I was immediately suspicious. Still, I had to call one. The girl's phone manner was crappy--I pity any fool that books with her. When I asked about a shower, she said yes, but then asked why? That's a silly question--why would ask about shower unless I wanted to use it. And then I think she hung up.
I needn't have called that first number at all, had I read further down the list and noticed that many of the ads share the same number, indicating that the girl was lying when she said she was not with an agency (which would imply a price higher than that listed). I called a few other ads, and the girls straight up said I'd need to bring a tip--this was unusual, and something I'd never seen before, these ridiculously low prices and a mandatory tip. Some new scam somebody cooked up no doubt.
Anyway, after calling a couple of ads that seemed legit, and disappointed to find that the one place offering a $25 half-hour lacked a shower, I resigned myself to continued funk and moved on. While online at another store, I remembered Craig's List and responded to a couple of ads there. One lady calling herself Nancy called me back while I was in Santa Monica. She was downtown and wanted to know when I could make it, so I had to wait until I finished my Starbucks visits and got out to the car and found the freeway before I could give her a good estimate. Since I had no intention of waiting around if she was not available immediately, I waited until she confirmed to broach the subject of the half-hour session, and whether she would do it for $30. She said she charged $40 and that it was still a lot of work to prepare for a shorter session, and I could not disagree. But I was on a limited budget, and I told her so. She thought about it and decided it was okay, so I headed downtown.
I didn't notice at first because when I arrived I made a beeline for the bathroom and then immediately asked for a towel for the shower. I probably spent more time in that one shower than I do during three or four normal showers combined. I scrubbed and I scrubbed and I scrubbed some more. And it felt gooood. Though I suppose "Nancy" had to wonder what was taking so long. When I finally got on the table and "Nancy" entered the room, it should have been clear, but I still didn't get it, even after I asked about her English. No, it wasn't until about 10 minutes into the overly-oily massage that I realized that the person I had spoken to on the phone could not possibly be the person working on me, because the former had spoken English that was just fine, if accented, and the latter hardly spoke English at all. Uh-oh--an agency! Agencies imply tips! But I was more concerned that the masseuse would not realize I was only there for 30 minutes. So I did something new--I got off the table and called the number again. The first thing "Nancy" thought was that I had not shown up for the appointment. I explained that I wanted her to explain to the masseuse about the 30 minutes, but I forgot to mention about the tip. I figured I could explain it away later, as we had agreed on $30. But after about 15-20 minutes, the masseuse indicated that she was offering something more than just a massage. Even if I turned her down, I knew she'd be expecting a tip, so I tried to explain that $30 was all I had. I was going to call "Nancy" again, but the masseuse indicated for me not to, that she was okay with the money. I suspect she didn't want to get in trouble, either because "Nancy" was (purposefully) unaware of the extra services offered, or because she suspected I was some type of law enforcement officer. Regardless, she left the room for some reason, and I went ahead and called Nancy and explained that I had no more money for the tip. I suggested that I might be able to get $10 from the ATM, with little or no intention of doing so. I handed the phone over for translation, and, for whatever reason, they decided that the $30 would be fine. The upshot--I left with a clean body, a clean conscience, and on budget.
Because of the detour downtown, I had to skip heading back down to visit one outstanding store in Inglewood, but I wasn't sweating it. I was sure there would be a dozen more stores in that area soon enough. Plus, I was already skipping about ten stores out near Palm Springs, Santa Clarita and several other locations to save gas. I skipped Simi Valley because I had a store to visit along the 101 and didn't want to detour. Other than that, I got everthing I needed along the 101 by night's end except one in Santa Barbara that closed at 9:00 PM. All in all, not bad.
I tried to enjoy the sunset drive up the 101 as best as I could despite the sun in my face, polishing off my leftover beans and rice as I went. In order to visit more stores and beat my trip high of 18 stores, I skipped introduction at the several stores between Camarillo and Ventura, depending on how long the line was. I also put away my first shot of espresso of the trip to cut down on the liquid in my stomach prior to sleeping, hoping it would cut down on the trips to the bathroom. Despite the food I had eaten, I still had to down four pain pills to stave off the intensifying headache.
I considered camping out in Santa Barbara to visit that new store, but I wanted to push further north before sleeping. Still, exhausting set in quickly as I approached the city and I decided to just nap for a while. I saw a sign for a tourist information center and exited, but after winding my way through a popular area for night life I didn't find it and got back on the freeway. The next exit led into a hilly residential area with winding roads. There was no place I felt comfortable sleeping, but I still had to go something awful and picked what appeared, in the darkness, to be a empty field. As I pressed myself as close to the fence I as I could I could see a person in the house through the crack, and I quickly backed away. Of course he wouldn't be able to see me or what I was doing, but he might have been able to see movement. I left quickly. The problem with the 101 along Santa Barbara was that the freeway was so lined with trees that I couldn't see what businesses there were at the exits. So by the time I spotted a heavily developed area that might have been suitable for finding a place to sleep, it was too late to exit. Finally I spotted a sign for a rest area about 30 miles down the road, and I just fought my fatigue and pushed on until I reached it.
As expected, the 20 coffees I had led to vivid dreams. No false awakenings this time. Rather, extended dream scenarious probably related to anxiety over my needing to win money in the Scrabble tournament. In the first dream I was playing a strange game involving an oddly shaped futuristic-looking mallet and a small blue ball. I competed against at least three opponents, and I was losing to all of them. The last one, I think, was a girl who could have been my first girlfriend back in college, but instead came back from summer break refusing to speak to me and then accused me of harassing her when I persisted in trying to find out what the hell had happened. I think the game required me to hit my ball and then run, and Melissa was able to hit me with her ball before I got far, knocking me out of the game.
Next I dream I was in line, at a cafeteria I think, and I was introduced to Porter Gauss, Bush's selection to head the CIA. I have no idea what Gauss looks like, and this fact from reality was reflected in the events in my dream. I have no idea what that dream meant, nor who the guy is that was supposed to be Gauss in the dream.
The night was the coldest of my trip to that point. I had to use my heavy blanket for the first time, and then use my light blanket on top of it. It dawned on me that, because of the heat in New Orleans and Houston, I had not even thought to bring my flannel pajama top or even an undershirt. If I made it up to Seattle that might be an issue, and definitely if I made it all the way to Calgary.
August 15
I awoke at 6:06 and entered the bathroom, where the guy in the stall next to the urinal was making a noise that sounded like a cross between the moaning made by a retarded person and a muppet. I think I slept for the better part of eight hours, and while I could have slept more, I felt a lot better.
I was in a hurry to visit as many of the stores along US-101 as I could before having to rush to Oakland, so its a good thing I caught the misplotting of the store in Santa Maria before I lost time wandering in the wrong part of the city. At the store, I was told of an opening in Lompoc, but it required a detour to the PCH, and I just didn't have time for that. Outside the store, I was wondering which way to get back to the freeway to find gas, and when I spotted a girl in a black suburban about to exit the parking lot I rushed up to the car, held out my hand, and motioned for her to stop. I think I freaked her out. But I learned I needed to go south to the previous exit, not north.
Fuckin' $2.23 Mobil gas, man! I shoulda gassed up at $1.95 before leaving L.A. It never fails when I'm in a hurry, that the first gas I encounter is the most expensive. Just down the street, past the range of my vision, $2.21 at Chevron. And then at the intersection, only $2.20 at Shell. And furthermore, the Burger King that was supposed to open at 7:00 was not yet open 7:09. One customer, or maybe an employee (lacking a key) sat outside, and an old lady in a scarf and walking with a cane walked up to the door, looked lost and disappointed, and then walked back across the street.
Oh, jeez. 16 miles up the highway in Arroyo Grande, $2.15 right at the exit and $2.12 further down Grand Ave!
After Santa Maria, the remainder of my visits were stealth visits. At some stores I was charged for my half cup, and at others I wasn't. And at a couple, for not particular reason, I downed espressos, even though they were more expensive, at $1.35 towards the north or $1.45 closer to L.A.
I don't really like that unfresh Minute Maid juice they have at Burger King, but I craved the taste of something other than coffee to go with my biscuit sandwich. It's also overpriced, compared to the fresher-tasting stuff they have a Wal-Mart (of all places), so it was particular irksome that I spilled half of it on the passenger-side floor, rendering it sticky for the next day until I snagged some soap from a Starbucks and cleaned it off. I don't like sticky.
The modest amount I spent on coffee during my stealth visits was a worthwhile tradeoff for the time I saved, and when I began the new Starbucks-less gap along the 101 I was confident I would arrive on time. Still, past experience has taught me that a little time here, a little time there, and then next thing I know I'm running late again. So I endured the increasing pressure in my bladder until I reached Gonzalez. Towards the end there I was intently counting the miles, trying to focus on anything other than how much it hurt.
Meanwhile I kept trying to reach the directors of the tournament to find out what the cutoff for registration was so I could figure out how many stores I could visit before making the final rush to Oakland. As it turned out, all my time was used up at a San Jose store I had missed on two previous passes, because the manager recognized me and wanted to chat, and I always feel compelled to oblige after free coffee.
I was able to make up the time by blazing the 40 miles up I-880 north to Oakland, all the while doing the due diligence that I often overlooked and calling new stores listed to see if they were open for business. Meanwhile, the Pacifica affiliate out of Berkley was playing Mary Chapin Carpenter's "The Hard Way". Gotta love any station that still plays MCC!!!
I made up enough time that I was able to stop at a new store in downtown Oakland and still arrive in time to register, and then immediately leave again to visit a new store in Emeryville. Both would be closed by the time Scrabble ended, and I did not want to have to remain in the area until morning if I didn't have to. Mission accomplished, I had a Scrabble tournament to win!
After the tournament I headed to only other new store in the immediate area, in Alameda. I had planned on hanging out and updating my site, but while chatting with a barista I discovered in my back pocket the key to the bathroom at It's Your Move, the game shop where we had played Scrabble. D'oh! I figured I would have to go back to Oakland and return it, but when I called there was no answer so I figured I'd just mail it, and I stuck around at the Starbucks anyway.
When I introduced myself to the shift supervisor, she said she had thought of the same idea four years ago. Hah! I beat her!
I worked on my site and tried to figure out where to go in the morning. Then I remembered an e-mail from a partner in Antioch who wanted me to come visit and said she had a gift for me. If I headed out there, the next stop would be Orinda. There were few enough stores between Orinda and Antioch that I'd be able to visit them at a relaxed pace and still reach Antioch before the partner finished her shift. I didn't work for very long before a wave of fatigue hit me. Maybe it was because I'd only visited 12 stores that day and was coming down off the caffeine high (and despite 6 hours of Scrabble even)! I was about to leave when I overheard one of the partners tell another that she didn't think anyone was going to buy that last bagel. Sensing an opportunity, I gave her a look--she asked if I wanted the bagel. I said sure, if it was free. She hesitated and then handed it to me on the sly. That was great because, despite having won the $30 in Scrabble, I was thinking about skipping dinner to get back on my $10/day food budget target.
I also worked out how much gas money I'd need to get back to Houston, something I'd been holding off doing because I knew the number would give me pause. $200... minimum.
With the Scrabble tournament out of the way, I had not more deadlines and no reason to push myself (too hard). So despite its only being 9:00 I decided to go to sleep. And immediately, not even bothering to try and find some 24-hr supermarket. There were plenty of streets in that part of Alameda that were not brightly lit, and I just parked along the curb. Of course it wasn't long before I had to find some privacy, and I was able to sneak into the doorway of some credit union. The second time I tried this, though, I narrowly avoided being spotted by a female cop in a parking lot across the street. Not taking any chances, I moved to another street and parked in front of a small moving van. There were bushes next to the build were I was able to find privacy, but I had to walk along an awkward route to avoid triggering the sensors that turned on the bright lights--boy did I hate the inventors of those things!
Around 2:00 a group of drunkards passed--I assumed they were drunk because of the time and their manner of bellowing despite the lateness of the hour. I stayed still to avoid being noticed and hassled.
Perhaps it was indeed the anxiety that had led to the false awakenings, because now that I had won, I slept more soundly and had different sorts of dreams.
In the wee hours I got up to drive out to Orinda. I stopped in front of the Starbucks first to doing my online things, and I think I made the newspaper deliveryperson nervous because I could see her glancing at me repeatly in the rearview mirror.
I drove through downtown Oakland back to It's Your Move hoping to drop off the key under the door. Plenty of cops are to be seen, but I guess they are not really working, because I'm next to one at a light when the light turns green as car speeds in front of us. The other drive was clearly speeding and running a red, but the cop just kept on going.
August 16
In picked the parking lot in front of Beverages and More. It was next to the freeway exit, but the I had long ago gotten used to freeway sounds, and it was around 5:00 AM, so I didn't figure I'd attract any attention. I lay down and immediately began to hear muffled voices. I kept looking around, but I couldn't figure out where they were coming from. I started hoping I was developing telepathic powers and hearing the thoughts of the people around me. But that didn't make sense, because the muffled voice sounded the same, and it would have made more sense to hear a stream of different voices as the cars stopped at the light and then drove on.
When I woke up needing a restroom, it was light out so I drove over to the Starbucks. I didn't feel like dressing and doing my spiel yet. I considered disguising myself with a plastic bag, since I didn't have a grocery sack, or perhaps a blanket, so they wouldn't see my face as I went into the restroom. By by chance, the restroom door was right inside the entrance, and blocked by a coffee rack so they couldn't see me. All my thinking about stealhiness put me into a wacky mood, and I started thinking about what if I started introducing myself in weird ways, for comedic effect. Like with a paper bag over my head. Or by plopping a pair of my used underwear on the counter and asking if I could trade it for coffee. Probably seems funnier to me than it would to them.
About a quarter of 7:00 I wasn't completely caught up on sleep, but I started feeling anxious to get going. I did feel better, even if my T was now going on he friz, but it still took me a while to clear the cobwebs from my head. I sort of zoned out there in the car lisening to Morning Edition while making the ray gun noise. To make the ray gun noise, fill your mouth about halfway with water. Then purse your lips and create a slight gab that allows you to breath in through your mouth without letting the water escape. The sound of the air through the water should sound like that of a ray gun. It helps if you have a vivid imagination, or if you are just insane.
I hung out at the Orinda store to work on updates to my site delayed by my rush to reach the Scrabble tournament. I received two media e-mails--one froma radio station in central Pennsylvania that had put me on the air in 2002, and the latter from a Clear Channel station in Santa Barbara. The girl from Clear Channel called immediately, and I could tell right away she had no interest whatsoever in Starbucks and was just doing a job booking me. She probably wasn't even in Santa Barbara. Honestly, she sounded like a real bitch. Pyscho Mike from Pennsylvania, on the other hand, was rather more enthusiastic when he call. Those are the radio types I like.
As I continued to work, a pretty girl sat right across from me to have her coffee and pastry. She looked intense, maybe sad, maybe angry, maybe just focused on whatever she was reading. There was no way to talk to her, of course, but I wondered what was going through her mind. Probably focus--when she got up to leave she kept looking down at her binder.
On the way to Danville, I spotted a vanity plate 
and thought that it must get this guy pulled over a lot! Later, I realized that I was confusing MDNA with MDMA, Ecstacy, because I just have drugs on the brain. Somebody else pointed out that the plate probably stood for "Madonna Fan".
At the next store, the assistant manager made it extremely difficult for me to look her in the eye because of the blouse she was wearing. Oh, it met the Starbucks dress code all right, but she really needed to button a couple of more of those top buttons. Really, the temperature was fairly cool out. I was indignant--this was a coffee shop, not a bar! It just isn't right.
In Danville, the girl in line in front of me turned around to reveal a white flower on her lapel. I tried to make conversation by joking about whether the flower shot acid like the Joker. She was not amused.
The next store, also in Danville, had been around for a couple of years, and while I had made several passes through the area I had always missed it. But it's good that I did, because had I visited sooner, I would have missed meeting the new manager on her first day. I can't imagine that the old manager could have been as enthusiastic about my project as this one was.
Sometimes you can judge a book by it's cover. At the next store, in Concord, the shift supervisor was an older gentleman. I suspected he would not seem very interested in my project, and I was right. For the most part, I have gotten less of an enthusiastic reaction from the older shift leaders and managers.
My heart filled with joy when I discovered $1.97 gas at ARCO in Pittsburgh! But a $0.35 transaction fee to use a debit card. Very unusual. A good reason to carry cash around.
I finally made it to the next store and surprised the heck out of Daphne, who had been wondering if I would make it because my log wasn't up to date. Of course I got my coffee, and a pastry, but I wasn't able to get the $50 gift card they were saving for me because they had misplaced it. There was no T-Mobile, but I hung out and worked on my site anyway until Daphne took a break so we could chat. Important to make time for the fans it is, quoth Master Yoda.
At the next store I stumbled across the same district manager I had run into at the Pittsburgh store. This hadn't happened in years, but I always got kick when it did. Invariably I would say "Hey, you're following me!" or the DM would beat me to it. Certain types of cheese are just inevitable.
I took a break at the next new store in Brentwood and debated over which way to go. I finally decided it was time to visit those stores out in Sonora and Angel's Camp. Eager to see if I had heard back from Arwen, so when neared I-205 on Grant Line Road in Tracy and felt the tingling in the back of my neck that alerts me to a nearby Starbucks, I pulled in a checked my e-mail. At another table was a girl on the phone, and I overheard her telling friend that she was seeking a ride home because her father wasn't answering the phone to come pick her up. When she hung up I asked if she lived nearby and offered to take her home in exchange for gas money. As I expected, she declined with a nervous look. While I answered e-mails, she continued to call around to try and get a ride. I suppose the fact that I was shirtless might have affected her decision not to trust me. She complained to whoever was on the other end of the line how she had called about five people and how her dad wouldn't answer and how she had been waiting for almost an hour. When I finally left, walking past her, I resisted the urge to wave and yell out "Bye! Have fun!"
Once I got on I-205 heading east I called a reporter with ABCNews.com who had e-mailed me and did a short interview. Then I stopped at a long-outstanding store in Oakdale before continuing east on SR-120, the North Yosemite Highway, towards Sonora. I got a sudden urge to finally visit Yosemite, but I didn't really have the time or money, plus that's the kind of thing I'd rather do with other people.
In retrospect, it was stupid for me to even think that the Sonora Starbucks would be where it was plotted on my map, obviously a rural area. Nevertheless I wandered around the hilly and winding road too narrow in places for two cars to pass each other until I worked my way back to the freeway and across, whereupon I immediately saw a shopping center that seemed a likely location for the Starbucks. I still didn't see it, so I went into the Wal-Mart to replace my Chapstick, and a pair of customers told me the Starbucks was right across the parking lot. As I left the Wal-Mart, I overheard a kid driving a pickup yell something about a bee into his mobile phone. I thought, see I'm not the only one freaked out by stinging insects!
Flies were the invaders at the Starbucks, infesting the store in such quantities that I looked at them nervously as I introduced my project and making me anxious to leave as quickly as possible.
As I passed through downtown Sonora on the way out of town I got a sudden craving for Mexican food, perhaps built up from day after day of seeing Mexican restaurants throughout my trip. But besides my budget I was also in a hurry to reach Angel's Camp during daylight for the photograph.
The Mexican restaurants were about the only sign of ethnicity I witnessed in Sonora. Between the Wal-Mart and the Starbucks I don't think I saw a single person of color. Still, downtown Sonora looked interesting--I'd like to return.
While my budget limited my recreational options, views like this one, from the Robinson's Ferry landmark, are free 
.
I couldn't figure out which of the two signs is funnier. 
I had seen a sign when I crossed into the county, but it wasn't until I reached the Angel's Camp Starbucks and looked at the community board that I realized this was the Calaveras county that Mark Twain had written about. Suddenly all the frog references I'd been seing made sense!
At a movie theater in downtown Angel's Camp I spotted a sign on the marquee that read "Indy's Back". My first thought was one of the Indiana Jones movies, so I had to stop and ask, but it was just a reference to an independent movie series that ran on Wednesday's. Still, it surprised me that a movie theater in such a small out of the way place would be screening indie flicks.
Further down I passed Sue's Angels Creek Cafe. I liked the name, so I stopped to look at the menu. Yay! Biscuits! I thought about staying in the town for the night, but then I remembered I had to do an interview in the morning and my phone wasn't getting reception, plus I was still hoping that I would get to see Arwen once I searched the Sacramento area and possibly get a shower and maybe even a place to crash for the night.
On the way out of town I passed a Holiday Inn and for some reason remembered back to when young and the entire family would take long road trips. Sometimes we would stay in a Holiday Inn, and I used to think it was the most luxurious hotel.
I had a feeling that the new Placerville store might close later, so I hurried as much as I could along the winding California Highway 49. I'm down with trees, but I swear to go if I never have to drive SR-49 again it will be too soon. Cuz when I'm racing When I gotta kiwi real bad, gimme a straight, flat Nebraska highway where I can do 120 and not see a cop for years. Anyway, I ignored the pain and pushed on. I tried to follow a pickup truck that was taking those curves too close for my comfort. I lost him once, but then picked him up again when we went through a town. As soon as we cleared the town her was off and running and I was trying to keep up. When he got to a hill he flashed his brake lights. When that happens, I have to assume it's because he has seen a cop and slow down accordingly. There was no cop. I think he just did it to slow me down so he could lose me, and that was just mean. People are so mean. In the end, I arrived at the new store just minutes before it closed.
No Shower for You!
Finally back in Sprint PCS territory I listened to two voice mails, both with good news. First, one from my mother reporting that two checks had arrived, my paycheck for $405, and one from AOL for $200. Yay money!!! And a message from Arwen with her phone number. Finally!! I called her right away as soon as I got onto US-50, and we arranged to meet at a grocery store in Folsom, near where she lived.
Arwen was already there when we arrived. Instead of going up to the seats I beckoned her over so I could finish listening to a song I liked. We chatted, and then she went into "mom" mode and insisted that I needed to eat. So we walked over to the other end of the parking lot where there were several restaurants, but they were either closed or unappealing. I spotted a Macaroni Grille, and it wasn't quite 10:00 PM, so we walked across the street to it.
In an earlier e-mail Arwen had indicated that I was showerworthy, and I was hoping she would broach the subject. But I had to end up asking, and her reply was that her roommate, the Shower Nazi, would freak out if she brought a stranger over. I protested that I was strange, but hardly a stranger. As a matter of fact Arwen's coworkers were teasing her about my being her "boyfriend". Still, there woulb be no shower in my immediate future, and I have to say I was disappointed. But I forgave quickly, as she insisted on paying for my spaghetti dinner, a meal so huge it was destined to become the next day's lunch as well. During dinner I discovered that we had a lot a common besides an interest in Starbucks, and I started to think that she was really cool.
We walked back across the street and hung out next to the cars until the cooling temperature prompted me to suggest moving over in front of the restaurant away from the breeze. Arwen was pretty, and this combined with her interest in my project and the things we had in common stirred in me passions. I misread the signals and made overtures, but they were rejected, albeit gently. As they said, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and I, well fed, was not holding any grudges, despite having scored neither a shower nor some sugar.
We hung out until after midnight, and then it was time for me to find a place to crash. Arwen said that it would be easier to find a place to park in Cameron Park, and she was right. I thought I wouldn't have any problem when I spotted construction in a new shopping center on a street just off US-50 and Bidwell. Though I think the continuing expansion of suburbs (urban sprawl) to be horrible for the planet, it does offer one advantage for me, in the form of port-a-potties. But just as I exited the unit, a Folsom patrol passed through the parking lot, and I was sure he was going to come over and investigate. But he just kept driving, and when I got back in my car, I did too, right across the freeway onto a very dark road that ended at a T junction with another dark road. The one place that looked suitable for parking was already taken by a pair of lovebirds, so I ended up going back across the freeway into the parking lot of the Marriott.
August 17
The call from the Santa Barbara station woke me at 6:18, and it's good she gave me 12 minutes lead time because I needed it to shake the cobwebs out. I could have used some coffee, but the morning rush continued at the new store in Cameron Park, and I had to do my interview without that caffeine kick. As it turned out, the station had actually had me on before and were following up. I guess I didn't suck the first time. Anyway, repeat visits always seem easier.
Before I left I asked a customer about the best way to Greenback and Madison, whether the freeway or a surface street. He said the freeway, but he hardly bothered to look up from his paper. I don't think he was too interested in my project.
Ooh! $1.93 gas in Orangevale! But as I gassed up, I tried to type in my log but was freaked out by the shadow of a fly that was flying in front of my winshield in the bright morning sun. And by a woman scolding her son for something he was doing wrong while pumping the gas. When I went into the store for my change, it occurred to me that if the cashier wasn't paying attention, an observant thief could hang out in front of the store waiting for someone to pump an amount that would generate change, then walk into the store and claim it for himself. There's that criminal mind of mine at work again.
After a new store in Folsom, a secret store one of my informants had alerted me to, I wisely made a couple of calls and learned I didn't have to cut across to I-80 after all because those new stores in Loomis and Roseville had not yet opened, so I headed straight on into Sacramento.
Gasp! More Competition!
During my previous trip I had heard rumours of other people trying to visit all or some subset of Starbucks, but no details. At the T and Stockton store in Sacramento I finally got my firmest lead. When I introduced myself to the partner in charge he said he had heard of people doing something similar. I said I was supposed to be the only one, and he said that he had a friend, James, who planned to visit all the stores in his lifetime.
When I pulled in front of a store in downtown Sacramento, I opened my door slowly because I saw a car turning the corner. The driver was an old man, and he thought I was going to hit his car with my door, even though there were inches, or feet, to spare, and he just stopped and glare at me. Never mind that the logical thing would have been to veer out of the way. See, that's why old people shouldn't drive!
When I had obtained my coffee, I was this close to getting back in my car when I decided that the next store was far enough away that I'd better use the restroom. Less than a minute I'd say it took me, but when I got to the exit door I could see a dorky-looking parking enforcement agent writing me a ticket. I told him I had just been in the restroom and if he could still undo it, but he didn't say anything. He just finished writing the ticket and then waffled between putting it on my windshield and handing it to me, so I reached for it. I asked him if I could go pay it right away, and he directed me to a nearby address.
I went to the municipal center hoping against hope to be able to schedule a hearing immediately to contest the ticket, but there was a process. I had to submit a form and wait to be contacted. At least the process would delay having to pay the ticket for a month or two.
I got a little mixed up getting out of downtown and onto I-80 west and ended up in historical Old Sacramento. It looked like a pretty cool place to check out when I had more time.
"Eviscerator X"--that's going to be my supervillain name!
As I approached the exit to the new Vacaville store I suddenly felt lightheaded and dizzy. I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten all morning. As I gathered my things and stepped out of the car I had to steady myself. My plan had been to skip breakfast and rely on the leftover spaghetti, and that plan moved up to the for front. After my spiel I asked if the Starbucks had any paper or plastic plates. They didn't. The store was conveniently located next to a gas station where I could heat my food, but I didn't want to buy a set of plates. So what I did was to dump the spaghetti from the metal container to its plastic cover, and then put the makeshift plate inside the plastic bag. Thus I was able to heat it without making a mess.
Meanwhile, a couple at the next table had their laptop flipped onto its side. I had never seen anyone do this before, so of course I glanced at the screen. It was a photograph of her naked in late pregnancy, with a shiny belly and the guy with his arms around her. Okay. I couldn't resist glancing every time I walked by and wondered why they were looking at naked photos of a pregnant woman at Starbucks.
Man, why does this have to happen almost every trip. I lost a photo again, this time the one of Cameron Park. I'm sure I took it. I must have reformatted the CompactFlash card when I got to the next store. Well, there's no way I'm driving all the way back there--I'll just have to wait until next time.
I took a break at the El Sobrante store for a couple of games with Charles Goldstein, whose rating after his last tournament in 1995 was 2007. Even if he was rusty after nearly 10 years, I couldn't pass up a chance to play somebody that good. Plus, I got me a donation to buy me some dinner. Which put a numbers-obsessed person like me in a quandry. Should I subtract the $20 from my food total, or should I categorize it as a donation to my project? How was his handing me cash differenct from paying for my meal like Becky did?
Holy crap! As I sat the San Rafael store and chatted with the manager, I explained that my plan was to drive from Santa Rosa along the 101 to the store in Eureka, and then continue along the 101 all the way to Newport, OR. Then I worked out the distance on my mapping program and saw that it was a whopping 315 miles! As beautiful as that drive might be, I wasn't sure if I wanted to "enjoy" it all in one sitting.
As I sat at the store, a pair of San Rafael police entered. I figured they were just there to order coffee, but when I returned from the bathroom I overheard talk about a guy, a female partner, trespassing, and a restraining order. For half a second there I thought they were after me!
While browsing Craig's List I stumbled across an opportunity to make a couple of bills without too much effort, with just a slight detour from Santa Rosa. Upon returning, the first thing I did was too stop at a gas station and have the attendant check the bills to make sure they were real. I was probably being overly cautious, but you never know.
I found a dark street with tractor trailers parked along the side, not far from the first Starbucks I'd visit in the morning, and there I spent the night.
August 18
Dawn of the Doofus
By coincidence, I was dreaming about Starbucks serving fish when I was abruptly awoken to do an interview for a radio station in Pennsylvania. When I recounted to the barista about how I'd been dreaming about Starbucks, she didn't seem to amused, merely condescending. I guess she lacked "the love". I went on to solidify the good impression I was making by tripping and spilling my coffee when I returned to my car. The barista gave me another, which I promptly proceeded to spill at the condiment bar. I was almost scared to asked for yet another complimentary cup, and I did get this look from the barista, but I guess I had not completely exceeded the limits of her patience.
In downtown Santa Rosa I was taken to task by a meter maid when I stopped my car at the curb to take a photo. I wanted to tell her off, but that would have just gotten me a ticket.
Further down in Santa Rosa, my project almost came to an abrupt end when my clumsiness continued and I almost dropped my camera to the floor, just narrowly catching it by the strap as it slid off the table. After a few minutes, it started to feel fairly warm, and for half a second I almost forgot where I was and started to take off my shirt. Too bad I didn't have a web cam, because maybe that idiot from CyberFunGirls.com who IM'ed me would have gotten into that. Nah, it was probably some pimply-faced guy or some grandma.
I had been told earlier that morning that a second store had opened in Eureka, and another in Fort Bragg, along the way to Eureka (but off the 101, on the coast). With the knowledge of those new stores opening, I was torn between making the drive to Eureka and waiting until another occasion. The thing was, I had been waiting to make the drive to Eureka for years, and there would always be new Starbucks in remote areas. I figured I'd waited long enough.
After a few years during which I had to switch to 31-waist 501 jeans, I had recently switched back to 30. They fit comfortable for a few weeks, but as my trip progressed they seemed to be sagging more and more, exposing the band of my briefs when I walked around shirtless, as I often did in the oppressive heat of summer. Ever fashion-conscious, I decided that if I was going to sag, the gray band of the new Hanes briefs would look more stylish. I had bought one pack earlier in the year, but it was time to buy more. Near the next Starbucks was a Target where I was able to pick them up, plus some more deodorant, critical given my lack of air conditioning.
I had to head back to the Hearn store to pick up the articles I had left. On the way back out to the interstate I had an epiphany. Years ago, a web site called gaspricewatch.com started tracking gas prices around the country. When I started having money problems and had to take road trips on a limited budget, I started wondering how to could use the web site to help me find cheaper gas. Back then, I didn't have a laptop, so I couldn't readily access the Internet where ever I happened to be. Occasionally I would punch up the web site from Kinko's, but I never found cheap gas near where I was, which meant I just wasted money on the computers.
Anyway, as I passed some cheap gas at Hearn and US-101, it occurred to me that I could create my own database of cheap gas locations around the country.
One more store, and then back downtown to see if I could find a decent place for breakfast now that I had some newfound wealth. There were plenty of homeless to be found in downtown Santa Rosa, which might have explained my treatment at 
Mac's Diner. After finding the meter with the most time left on it, I rushed over to the diner for some takeout. But I forgot my money. I didn't want to walk all the way back and return, so I quickly came up with a half-assed plan, to leave my phone with the guy while I went to get my car, or my computer. But the guy looked at me with distrust, like I was one of those homeless trying to scam him. Yeah, like I was going to give up a laptop for an $8 breakfast.
On the way out of town I stopped at the Charles M. Schulz museum, but the entry fee was a whopping $8!!! I guess they have to keep it running somehow. I make a mental note that I'd have to visit on another occasion.
The drive north on US-101 was el mucho windy. I tried to make sure everything in the car was bolted down, but about 150 miles from Eureka I was adjusting a pair of socks airing out on the passenger-side headrest (because my dashboard was already full) when something started flying around and almost out the window. I grabbed it down by my leg. Holy shit! A folded-up ten-dollar bill. How did that get loose??? Man, I couldn't afford to be throwing money away like that!
At least some stretch of the 101 was known as the Redwood Highway. I'm no treeologist, but I could guess what those big trees were.
Cripes, but the gas in Cooks Valley was ridiculously expensive at $2.45 a gallon!!!
About 125 miles from Eureka traffic was stopped by a flagman. I used the time to keep writing when suddenly a bee entered through the passengers side window. AAH!!! I almost dumped the laptop on the floor in my panic. Thankfully it flew back out again, but I was left nervous about keeping the window open. No choice, though, with the sun beaming in.
As I approached Eureka, however, it turned much cooler. The temperature drop seemed to be more than what I would have expected simply from the setting sun and the cloud cover. Cooler air? I wasn't complaining--I was glad to be able to drive with the windows up at last.
I reached Eureka during rush hour and had cross town to reach the Starbucks.
Tourists, residents getting off work, and homeless or transients. Plenty of eateries that looked appealing.
returned with my debit card only to realize they didn't even have express-pay What kind of back-asswards place was this?
Ended up costing me $1.40 frankly, I was a little disgusted and decided to leave the city as soon as possible.
waffling about 101 to Newport or 299 to Redding because of the fog
When I saw this view not too long into my drive I figured the drive would be worth it. And I was right, as I was treated to a few other vistas that beat the heck out of the "scenery" along I-5. 
ADRENALIN CURVE 2 fast
lady chevron eying me suspicious
cold
Los Compadres
back in oregon 23 months, brookings, dark so miught as well slepp
August 19
About a quarter of 7:00 I woke up and tried to decide if I felt like I had slept enough. When I looked at the time, I calculated that I had slept for the better part of ten hours, from just past 9:00 AM. I hadn't slept like that since I left Houston. From 9:00 PM 'til just past 7:00. Nearly 10 hours and it felt like heaven. There! My morning rap!
Fred Meyer, surprisingly, was still closed, so I went across the street to a place I'd never heard of, Ray's Food Place. At the checkout counter, an older man let me go in front of him since I only had four items (can you guess what they were?). But he only had about five or six items himself, so I wondered why he was letting me go ahead. When I moved off and heard him greet the cashier, I realized he had probably wanted to flirt with her without her having to hurry because of other customers. Clever. That's totally something I would have come up with. Way to go old man!
As I pulled back onto US-101, the intro to that hour of Morning Edition stated that oil prices had risen above $47. Aaaagh! My return trip might cost me even more in gas than I had projected.
Just outside town there was a rest area--wish I'da known about it.
yogurt spoon broke
verlitl fog, sun over hills shine ocean
almost gibby back in oregon and heading to portland then seattle
Battle Creek wayfinding point
On 101 north of Badon there was an unusual stretch of highway. Southbound traffic, traveling uphill, had two lanes, one for passing. But northbound traffic had a broken yellow line, indicating that we were also allowed to pass. To avoid any confusion, a sign specified that we had to yield that center lane to the uphills traffic.
wasp I had ever seen in my life! Bart and Lisa Simpson "AAAGH!!!" I was flipping out as I quickly pulled over, grabbed my shoes, and jumped out of the car. I popped the trunk but could not see the beast. The hunt was on, but who was the predator and who was the prey? I folded up my blanket, towel, and jeans and stacked them neatly. I grabbed the duffel bag and tossed it to the other side. Then I grabbed my stack of shirts and saw wings flutter. There it was! It crawled towards the back of the trunk, into the shade. I swatted it towards the front so it could fly out the window. But it quickly moved back towards the shade and tried to crawl underneath my cushion. No way, Jose! I figured out what it wanted, to get out of the sun. That's why it had flown into my car to begin with. But I didn't care--I wanted it the fuck out my car. That sucker was big, man! It reminded me of an episode of an old Fox show, Sliders in which Quinn and friends slid into a world infested by spider-wasps that could eat through walls. It's stinger looked like it could swell me up for weeks. Finally, after much swatting, it got stuck on my towel and I got it out of the car. I might have shown mercy, but it kept crawling back towards me, so I swatted it out onto the highway, where it was promptly squashed into oblivion. I shed not a tear. Wretched creature.
white, the other with a 
brown splotch, and see how close a photo I could get before they 
scooted. Winter wikes wabbits.
and thought that it must get this guy pulled over a lot! Later, I realized that I was confusing MDNA with MDMA, Ecstacy, because I just have drugs on the brain. Somebody else pointed out that the plate probably stood for "Madonna Fan".
.
Mac's Diner. After finding the meter with the most time left on it, I rushed over to the diner for some takeout. But I forgot my money. I didn't want to walk all the way back and return, so I quickly came up with a half-assed plan, to leave my phone with the guy while I went to get my car, or my computer. But the guy looked at me with distrust, like I was one of those homeless trying to scam him. Yeah, like I was going to give up a laptop for an $8 breakfast.
Los Compadres
Battle Creek wayfinding point