...These are the days of our lives. Yes, I'm writing from the passenger seat after the first driver hand-off on Matt's and my road trip to Mojave. We just pitted in Grants Pass (got some shots to remember it by, Sarah!) after making it in nearly 20 minutes ahead of schedule. We've torn through two albums (Self and Zebrahead) and have confirmed through depp conversation that the meaning of life, the universe and everything really IS 42.

From here we'll devour what remains of our fresh fruit supply and cross over into The Aahnahld State. So far the only mishaps have been a poor CD selection by Matt (put in melow instead of road music), a fogotten pillow by me, and a bit of water dribbled down my front. Cheers fr now!

We're in California! Yes, the sight of Mt. Shasta in the distance harks back to a time when, during family trips, the are-we-there-yets began. Our poor parents probably spent unnecessary money on northern CA hotels due in part to their cranky off-spring. I suppose it was also an investment in sanity as well. We're approaching the state guard station so they can make certain to protect the state from foreign seeds and arboreal infections.

At this point in our journey we're bac to a strong musical selection of Beasty Boys' Check Your Head. That's good road-awake-we-must-stay beats. Peace out, Brooklyn!

Apparently there's no longer a mandatory border sniffing upon entering California. I could be wrong but if they don't scrutinize our vehicle by the time we reach Yreka, we could've spread our seed at will. Nevertheless, we continue despite missing a little piece of road trip history. This as we enter the land of bugetary cuts and movie star politicians. Here's to the now unemployed highway inspection engineer or, as I liked to call them, Hidethefruitinthebacksotheydontseeit men and women. I suppose they've all been relegated to the somewhat less-than-glamorous Dept. of Homeland Security positions. Gotta keep them terrorist fruits out of this great nation.

"Yo Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure?"

"Why, I think is BOOTY!"

In the valley, the baboons have an acute tendency to throw the hardest of figs. This, or so the story goes according to Mr. Turner, is how the crack in my windshield formed. Those damned, dirty, pink-bottomed apes!

We're fine, really. simply preparing ourselves for the duldrums that are California's central valley. We've just passed through the Shasta area and took in some spectacular sights but decended quickly into the pit. Any topographically interesting heights are but a hazy silhouette in the distance.

Since the Beasty Boys we've made it through 1.75 CDs of Ben Folds. Our next stop is Corning in about an hour before we hit Sacremento and further decend into the Golden Hoopty Ride State.

I'm now navigator on the home stretch of our journey. From our changeover in Firebaugh Matt is now taking a sip from a green-flame painted can of energy drink. He's serious about this trip, folks. Night has fallen on our beloved valley and the light of the day is nearly gone. We've both officially been on the road over 12 hours each and doing remarkably well (see Matt's green chi drink).

Not sure what's in store for us once in Mojave we could simply end up parked along side the road waiting to be admitted onto the airfield grounds at 3am. I don't know how much sleep I'll be getting but, at this point, it doesn't really matter. Sleep can wait 'til tomorrow if necessary.

More to come as I need to carefully monitor Matt's condition while driving under the influence of green chi energy drink.

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