First I was going to leave on a Sunday. Then the commercial project I had taken at the last minute suddenly picked up speed, and going hard into the weekend. The train had no conductor and none of the passengers - clients, agency, and production - were screaming. Instead they were holding up their hands saying "Wheee!" I made my way to the back of the train and made some phone calls to loved ones.
I decide Wednesday is better to leave and be absent from SF for a whole month, driving across the country one way, touching the Atlantic Ocean and then driving back another way. But for reasons that escape even me, I don't really know where I'm going. Over the last few weeks, whenever I thought about making this trip, the lights would go out whenever I said, "I really should figure out how I'm going to do this."
Generally, the trip will be ovular in shape. But that's about it for planning. Like a bead of mercury. I'll just watch how it slips across the map.
...
Packing is effortless. A little of this, a little of that. No, not that shirt. Yes, two pairs of long pants. I'll shop on the way. America has lots of shops to choose from if I get stuck. Liberating.
What is a decision, after all? Most of the time, if all evidence is laid out, the active, hard hitting furrowed brow of decision making honored in every How To Lead books isn't even needed. For instance, the derelict train ride of a project I was on last week busted through the weekend and came out on the other end still chugging down the grade. I have to still work, even though my own ride is leaving.
I decide to go to LA so I can work at my brother's apartment. The drive down, I figure, will be a practice run.
So Wednesday at 2pm, I park the rental car under my window to take a picture I think of as The Starting Point.
...
Oh, and this is what I've packed:
1 suitcase with clothes. It'll also hold toiletries, a really cool mid-century word.
1 gym bag of shoes. Meaning, flip-flops, a new pair of manly espadrilles (made by surfers for chrissake), hiking boots, my pair of Keens. That's it. I'll gym clothes to the gym bag, too.
1 camping tub. It has a camp stove, five cans of propane, a hammock I can ball up to the size of my fist, and a tupperware container of swiss army knives, matches, wine opener, etc.
1 milk crate of cooking supplies. Two iron skillets, one ceramic plate, a backpacker's matrushka doll set of pots, and a spatula. Oh and two tupperware bowls, one sitting inside the other. This is a matrushka doll: http://www.kalyna.ca/mat52.jpg
2 coolers. I'm figuring are better than one big one. We'll see. I've put more thought into the pros and cons of cooleradge than where I'm going. But I'm already fond of both of them. My dog. Linus. And his stuff.
Computer.
And new camera. I emphasize new. That's why there's an irritating blue cast on the Starting Point photo above.
Oh, and this is what I've packed:
1 suitcase with clothes. It'll also hold toiletries, a really cool mid-century word.
1 gym bag of shoes. Meaning, flip-flops, a new pair of manly espadrilles (made by surfers for chrissake), hiking boots, my pair of Keens. That's it. I'll gym clothes to the gym bag, too.
1 camping tub. It has a camp stove, five cans of propane, a hammock I can ball up to the size of my fist, and a tupperware container of swiss army knives, matches, wine opener, etc.
1 milk crate of cooking supplies. Two iron skillets, one ceramic plate, a backpacker's matrushka doll set of pots, and a spatula. Oh and two tupperware bowls, one sitting inside the other. This is a matrushka doll: http://www.kalyna.ca/mat52.jpg
2 coolers. I'm figuring are better than one big one. We'll see. I've put more thought into the pros and cons of cooleradge than where I'm going. But I'm already fond of both of them. My dog. Linus. And his stuff.
Computer.
And new camera. I emphasize new. That's why there's an irritating blue cast on the Starting Point photo above.
...
And I'm off.
Right into traffic.
And I'm off.Right into traffic.
...
On the way down, I decide to stop at the very first roadside fruit stand I come across. In Gilroy, where it's proven again that the smell of garlic is the smell of real agriculture.
You can see those pictures here: http://picasaweb.google.com/chrismartinsf/Day1
You can see those pictures here: http://picasaweb.google.com/chrismartinsf/Day1
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