Bus Riding Then and Now

They were glad to see me back yesterday, the mechanics. "Mr. McCann, we've been waiting." My shocks and struts were repaired. Two new tires had been added. But still more expensive repairs were needed. "You must replace the front shocks. While not as bad as the rear shocks, they are unworthy of you." I passed. I kind of like the bouncing.

In order to get back to the garage, I had to ride a bus for the first time in 25 years. Back in my L.A Connection days, I had car trouble and no money to retrieve it from the shop. So I took the bus until I saved up enough to ransom my ride. Back then, I was traveling from Hollywood out to the theater in Sherman Oaks. My stop was on Hollywood Boulevard - depressing by day, terrifying by night. For an idea of what it was like, Netflix The Road Warrior. Everything on the Boulevard was the same as in the movie except for no sand or oil refinery, and, maybe 40 or 50 Feral Children with stainless steel boomerangs.

No such drama in La Canada. My trip took twenty minutes and I spent most of it trying to figure out how much a bus ride cost. As the door hissed open, I pulled out some bills. But the woman driver waved me aboard, "You don't have to pay." I thanked her and sat down. Hey, I'm digging the bus. I watched a Mexican woman step on. She flashed a pass to the driver. A young student couple inserted a card into a slot. A guy in his twenties paid a quarter. Then a woman boarded with two kids, exchanged small talk with the driver, and took a seat. I'm guessing she paid with the gift of chat.

Anyway, if you're in town, board the Glendale Beeline #3 Southbound along Foothill Boulevard in La Canada.

They're ready to deal.

Ahoy, Paul Rugg!!

Now onboard the blogging skiff, having hoisted his sail, and planted his flag, and fed his parrot raisins and a frozen waffle. Stop by Froynlaven and say howdy.

A Form of Exercise

Having my car in the shop has provided me the opportunity to walk a few miles to the nearest book shop offering WiFi and coffee. I've taken that opportunity. As I blog and slug down java, I'm noting no tenderness in my knee. This is also a chance to write in the trendy present tense. I'm here. I'm sitting. I'm watching a bus outside. I'm touching a sore spot on the inside of my cheek where I burned myself eating hot pizza. I'm thinking about mailing my loud neighbor a bag of coyote urine, but wonder if that would be a crime? Who could I pay to urine-milk a coyote?

Maybe I'll take the bus back to the repair shop.

Immediacy

Trouble finishing any writing lately, unless it's short blog posts. I realize that's why I like blogging: no meetings, revisions, last second changes, legal notes, marketing suggestions, children's educational advocates, or funny jokes an executive thought up on the way in to work.

Just this.

Winding Down

Almost the last practice for the Winter 08/09 Team as they gear up for the Phoenix Marathon in two weeks. I ran a little bit yesterday, but the tendons in my right knee, though improved, were still tender. I've been doing more T'ai Chi as the basic stance strengthens quad muscles, which, in turn, supports tendons and ligaments around the knee. Turnout was sparse, as a number of participants were enjoying extended holidays or hung over.

Old boss Jean MacCurdy will be in town around the middle of January. Several of us will get together for lunch and learn whaz s'up?

Nutz to Ruegger Artwork

More characters from Tom Ruegger.

2009

A year of fun and adventure! Enough with writing and running goals - though they will have their place. This year, I stay open to the possibilities of great and wonderful events happening in my life because I stopped limiting my imagination.

Now I think I'll lie down in a position that might appear very much like a nap and contemplate this golden future.

Happy New Year from Home!

Deee-lighted to be here. A fine, noble 2009 to all! Abba thinks so, too.

New Years Eve in Redding

Such a possibility awaited us until a few minutes ago. But first yesterday's driving update: loaded up the car at my sister's place out in the Washington countryside. My windshield was glazed with ice. That meant Monday's rain-soaked roads were also icy. Heading out on two-lane blacktop past alpaca farms, Douglas Firs, and coated horses grazing in early morning fields, we kept the speed down to 30 mph. Even that caused the car to swerve on slick blacktop. A half-hour of tense driving got us on the interstate and a deep sigh of relief. 

Regular motoring down into Oregon, through now-cleared Portland and across the flats to Eugene. Past Eugene, the terrain rose toward Grant's Pass. MDW was driving when a high-pitched squeal sounded under the hood. She pulled over and I checked - nothing. I took over driving as the squeal came and went, usually above 2300 RPMS/63 mph. 

We passed through Medford and Ashland, climbing into the southern Cascades into California. Dusk arrived and the squealing worsened. I began paying attention to exit sign numbers and hoping the engine held up to Redding. We entered a prehistoric lava field, encircled by cone-shaped, extinct volcanoes, snowy slopes aglow in the fading light. Overhead, a crescent moon gleamed above a landscape that seemed as bleak and lifeless as an asteroid. Oh, God, not here, I thought. And we squealed on past.

Finally made it to Redding. This morning the garage checked it out and said a part holding on my fan belt assembly was expiring. They found an after-market item over in Andersen and managed to install it, ensuring New Year's Eve might indeed be spent in the bosom of our condo.  

Ah, but another full day of driving stands between us and home. Adventures abound on the western roads. Let us see what transpires. 

Moist Washington Notes

Down at my sister's house near Fort Lewis. We had a large family gathering last night, with the kids screaming and running around because we're out in the country and who is gonna hear? Today my sister and I drove to Tacoma to see a museum containing nifty glass artwork, but it was closed, so we discussed family business, stopped at a used book store with a cat curled up on the counter, then out for pizza. 

During last week's storm in Portland, cars were following snow plows on the freeway, driving at low speeds. Many ran out of gas as the off-ramps were unplowed and impassable. I passed several such vehicles last Wednesday, sealed in snow by subsequent plowings. Even if cars had managed to exit, fuel trucks couldn't reach many filling stations along the interstate. 

The Washington sky is in constant flux, as if under contract to display as many looks as possible: overcast, sunshine with light shafts so brilliant they make you squint, back to partially cloudy, dark and broiling, but always with rain, or rain mixed with snow. 

Tomorrow, MDW and I begin our thousand-mile drive back to Los Angeles. Lots of rain in the outlook, but hopefully very little snow. This has been a wonderful trip seeing family and the best, most adventurous, Christmas I've had in awhile. 

Red Right Return and Other Nautical Terms

Eleven McCanns took the ferry across Puget Sound to Bremerton on the Kittsap peninsula. My cousin Jim, an old Navy officer, pointed out red marker buoys that vessels entering port must keep to their right. Helmsmen are taught to remember that by this post's title. Land blocking the wind is known as a wind shadow. And green buoys direct returning helmsman to stay to their left, or port side. As a young man in officer training forty-four years ago this day, Jim married his wife Linda. To stay married that long requires some pretty nifty navigation of its own.

We wandered around the slushy Bremerton wharf, ate Belgian French Fries, then sailed back to Seattle for dinner at an Italian restaurant. At least I didn't have to drive today - car or boat.