Open Road

The roadtrip crew yesterday embarked upon a six-hour trek from Monterey to Los Angeles, California.  I’m sitting bitch seat in my brother’s tiny Subaru; obviously the girlfriend gets shotgun no matter what, so I’m squeezed between two guys passed out and snoring.  We got on the road pretty late, since we had to do so much cleaning of the beach house we stayed at for the last three days.  Adam and Alex skipped out to go get haircuts, the boys watched a movie, and I did my womanly duty by doing dishes, vacuuming, packing, and a fair share of dishes.  I don’t mind too terribly much because I like doing things my own way anyway, and no way could the boys make the beds the way I wanted. 

It’s got to be a pretty impressive feat to drive 3,000 miles in a teeny car and still manage to stay on speaking terms with the people you’re with.  Of course, I’m only here for about 1,000 miles, preferring to jump on an airplane in San Diego back to Hartford.  My other alternative was to continue on the 18-hour San Diego to Colorado Springs leg…no thanks.  There’s certainly some tension in our vehicle.  The freedom of the open road often translates into getting lost, driving in circles while our iPhones recalculate the directions, and me screaming at Adam to slow down.  We might set a record for the number of times being pulled over in one trip. 

Being on a road trip does guarantee some freedom, though: since the weather has been as crappy as it can get, we decided to stay an extra night in Monterey and skip camping at Pismo Beach.  That means we have longer to drive today, but it’s totally our own decision to stay or go as we please.  Today started out cold and pouring and almost impossible to drive in, but now it’s just drizzling and there’s a full rainbow out our window.  I find car trips quite relaxing, once we figure out our general direction.  It’s a time to sleep, chill, jam out, just stare out the window….of course, I’m fully exempt from driving, since Adam’s car is manual and I’ll “screw up the clutch.”

We got into L.A. pretty late, and it was still raining, so we pretty much just crashed at a friend’s house.  We got up early, used her shower, ate her food, and left for Venice Beach.  The boardwalk was full of hippies, street artists, touristy souvenir stores, and medical marijuana stores.  There were literally people every ten yards offering to sell you a 215 card- which gives you the right to legally smoke marijuana in California. 

“Do you suffer from eating disorders, anxiety, insomnia, cancer, AIDS, or any other disorder?  You can qualify for medical marijuana.” 

It was interesting to see police officers walk right by and not bat an eye at the smokers—is California on to something?