Camp Chevron

San Rafael, Ca. - miles traveled: 429
I finally left around 3pm yesterday, and thanks to immigrant boycott day, traffic was extremely light. Spontaneous stop number 1: My friend Gabe's office in Woodland Hills. I saw the offramp, thought to myself "Hey, it's Monday and he's not an immigrant, so he's probably at work," so I yanked the wheel for a quick pop in:















Ten minutes later I was gone - spontaneity achieved.

An hour later, in Santa Barbara, spontaneousness coursing through my veins, I pulled off 101 onto 154, taking the scenic back way through the mountains and wine country. Of course, this was also the road to Chumash Indian Casino, so I just had to stop in there given the wallet-padding I experienced last time. As I walked from the parking garage to the Casino, though, all I could thing about was whether or not I locked the car. There were some shady looking people milling about the garage, which is par for the course at any place that allows gambling, and I felt uneasy about the fact that almost everything of value I own is locked in a rolling studio apartment. So I trekked all the way back to the car, found it safely secure, and proceeded back towards the casino. Hopefully this isn't a sign of adult onset OCD.















I walked in and was immediately hit by the smell of pumped in air, cigarette smoke, desperation, and old people. I love casinos. I put my name on the list for 2-4, and as I was waiting to be called, I couldn't get my mind off of this one shady looking guy who had been lurking near my car. An hour of distracted poker later, I was out of there. I expected to find an empty space and a pile of glass where Trudel once stood, but she was safe and sound. I lost $50 because I was worried about my car and not my cards, which could be an expensive preoccupation I'm going to have to overcome.

It was about 7:30pm, and rather than power through all the way to San Francisco, I decided I would drive for about three more hours and either find a campground or pull off on the side of the road. If choice B was going to be a reality, I would need protection, so I stopped at the Walmart in Santa Maria to buy some pepper spray, which they didn't sell. I opted for a buck knife and a small aluminum baseball bat, because nothing strikes fear into the hearts of evil-doers like a child's t-ball bat, and I was back on the road.

With stops and dinner (In-n-Out grilled cheese with extra grilled onions, Iced tea), it was nearing midnight and I was getting sleepy. My handy-dandy GPS told me there was a campground 8 miles away in Gilroy (the garlic capitol of the world, and yes, it smells like the craft service truck on the set of the Sopranos), so I excitedly followed the sultry female voiced directions, turning left and right when prompted. Anticipation grew and grew until the GPS told me I had arrived at my destination, which wasn't so much a KOA campground as it was an empty field. I drove around and around where the campsite was supposed to be, and finding nothing, headed back to 101 to find another place to slumber.

I saw a grouping of truckers on the side of the road near a Chevron station, so I pulled off there thinking if the truckers are sleeping there, it's probably safe for me. I wasn't sure, though, if there was some kind of trucker etiquette to follow; would they see me as invading on their turf, or would they be protective of me and acknowledge me as kind of honorary trucking little brother? I asked the guy at the Chevron station if it would be okay to crash outside his station, and he told me "There's plenty of room in my parking lot - just pull around back and you'll be safe." Five minutes later I was parked and asleep.










I awoke at 6am with the sun peeking through the pop top, and after the obligatory "Where the fuck am I?" I was back on the road and smack dab in the middle of morning commute traffic. I pulled in to San Jose at the Bay 101 poker club, and after killing some time at the 2-4 table was sucked into their 9:45am $60 buy in no-limit tournament. I was very reluctant to enter because of the way it was structured, however the prospect of victoriously cashing in a tournament on the second day of my trip was rather enticing, so I threw caution to the wind and plopped down my money. The very reason I didn't want to enter was the reason I was knocked out half an hour later, and in the future I'll remember to not let my ego cloud my judgment. The problem was this: for $60, you get 500 in tournament chips, and any time in the first hour you go under 500 you can re-buy another 500 chips for $20. This causes people to go insane and play hands they normally wouldn't or shouldn't in the hopes of doubling or tripling up early, because they know if they get knocked out they can just re-buy. I won't bore you with my whole bad beat story, but that's the reason I had my pocket queens cracked by Jack-Six off suit.

After leaving that disaster, I went on to San Francisco where I did some touristy picture taking and had lunch at this Thai place I used to frequent when I lived there. They make this great vegetarian chicken satay, and I begged the woman to open a place in L.A., but she just laughed at me. Their secret is using gluten instead of tofu, and I'd challenge anyone to tell me the difference between it and chicken. I'll just have to learn to make it myself.

Now I'm at Jen and Jon's in San Rafael waiting for Jen to get home from work so we can go to the gym. I've wasted my allotted nap time typing this post twice (Blogger lost the first one), and I'd post more pictures but Blogger is being temperamental. More to come...