Road Trip Day One - Carmel bag
Left San Jose and headed south. As we were about to commit to a direction, I remembered we were swapping the car at SF airport so we quickly detoured. We dropped the car off and trundled with all our baggage back to the car hire reception area, quickly realising a strategic mistake as it was Friday lunchtime and the car hire desks had massive fast growing queues. We pondered the prospect of not having a car and the panic started to set in. Anton jumped the Hertz queue with his company's privilege pass, only to be sent to the back because we hadn't booked anything. Our sphincters widened a touch at this news.
We chose the smallest queue, this was for National rentacar, and wondered why it was the smallest. Were they the most expensive or what? While in the queue, I phoned Alamo using 411 to get the SF airport number (hey, beats waiting in line half an hour) and booked a convertible at a modest rate. We decided against the Mustang because we had so much luggage. Sebring it would have to be, alas. Before we could jump to the massive Alamo queue, we got to the front desk at National, where we compared prices and for the sake of 20 bucks decided to just get their Sebring.
On to Gilroy, where I went on a veritable spree at the factory outlets, buying a year's worth of clothing on the simple basis that I was perhaps saving money. Fooled the folks at Kenneth Cole into selling me odd sized shoes for my odd sized feet. Thought I was sprung when the clerk looked closely at the shoes, but got away with the subterfuge.
We pulled out of Gilroy and hit the road, heading for the famous coastal road, Highway 1. I was reminded of last year's cloud chasing as we passed Carmel. Up the road, we stopped at viewpoint to take photos as the sun went down. I got my camera bag out of the boot, set the bag down and took my camera out. Took a couple of shots of the seawashed rocks below, and a couple of girls asked me to take their photo. I did so, and they giggled, got into their car and took off. There was a car parked beside theirs, containing an older woman who turned out to be their mother. She promptly invited us to follow her back to her place where there was beer, barbeque and good views. She said to flash her if we needed to take any photos.
We followed the mother's SUV further along the coast, all the while thinking it a bit odd, forward, scary of the mother to make such an invite, but she'd persuaded us they do that all the time. We wound eachother up about the possibilities, ranging from Psycho to Shotgun weddings with the daughters' ugly sisters. We were thinking about cutting and running, but our sense of adventure took over. About 10 minutes down the road, it occured to me that I'd left my camera bag (replete with passport, iPod, electronic leads, oh yes and camera equipment) at the viewpoint! Sod flashing the mother, Anton quickly span round and we screamed back , my stress levels soaring. After a few "it's got to be round this corner"s, we found the spot. There was another photographer setting up his tripod there, but sadly no bag where I'd left him. I asked him if he'd seen anything, eyed up his black rucksack in the boot, and finally managed to eek out of him the fact that there had been two women and a man, in their 40's or 50's, looking suspiciously at him, then making off in a large white vehicle.
Panic turned to terror. We drove further back up the road, saw a large white vehicle parked up at the grocery store round the corner, so stopped and went in, hoping to see people matching the photographer's description. No such luck - just a dog, a kid, a customer and the shop owner who was getting ready to close. The white truck actually belonged to Bob, the shop owner. A couple of customers came and went as he rifled through the phonebook looking under S for Sherriff and P for Police. I tried inside the cover and all the emergency numbers were there. Anton suggested calling the police rather than the sherriff, but Bob assured us that the sherriff was in charge of this area, so he tried that number, but was told it wasn't serious enough to warrant the deputy leaving his desk, so he was put through to an automated line, which he handed to me. I quickly ascertained this was only going to be useful for wasting my time and testing my patience, so hung up. I was now about to practice pirouettes of stress, when Anton suggested again that we call the police. They had, just that minute, been handed a bag that matched my description. I could hardly contain my relief. We left after I'd photographed Bob and taken his email
At the police station, the officer behind the counter actually went through the ritual of asking my name before matching my face to the passport he had in his hand. I think he was teasing, but he managed to hide the humour from me. I wanted to meet the people who'd returned the bag, but the sergeant said they'd gone to dinner in some nearby restaurant and he didn't want to tell me where they were staying. He gave me his number so I could call back and he could try to connect us.
Driving the coastal Highway 1 at night precluded any chance of stunning views, but we were hell bent on making progress. By the time our stomachs were instructing a dinner stop, it was getting a bit late. We got some snacky food at a convenience store, then went in search of a bar which was still serving food. Dissed a place that proclaimed Pizza in neon in search of a burger, but got turned away at the Bar & Grill down the road. Choices were limited in this two bit town called San Simeon. We returned to the pizza place, only to find they had started chiming up with a Karaoke night. Some truly awful noises coming from the quite remarkable specimens of humanity on hand.
We ordered pizza and Anton went up the road in search of petrol and hostels. He returned just in time for dinner and told me that he'd talked to the police who'd told him about late opening gas stations, potential motels and such about 4 miles up the road.
The barmaid sang her number as we ate our pizzas outside - the only reasonable effort we witnessed. Well, that I witnessed. Anton was being chatted up by some son of a preacher man.
Back on the road, and about 20 miles up the road, we decided to start looking for a place to stop for the night. We found a Super 6, but it was full. Parked the car at another motel in the vicinity, but the bitch on the reception desk wouldn't even allow us to talk to her. We took our revenge by sleeping in the car in her carpark.
There was a notable farting contest before sleep, which had me walking round the car, flapping the doors while anton sniggered gleefully. I had my own back on arrival, but it did take a while to induce.
We chose the smallest queue, this was for National rentacar, and wondered why it was the smallest. Were they the most expensive or what? While in the queue, I phoned Alamo using 411 to get the SF airport number (hey, beats waiting in line half an hour) and booked a convertible at a modest rate. We decided against the Mustang because we had so much luggage. Sebring it would have to be, alas. Before we could jump to the massive Alamo queue, we got to the front desk at National, where we compared prices and for the sake of 20 bucks decided to just get their Sebring.
On to Gilroy, where I went on a veritable spree at the factory outlets, buying a year's worth of clothing on the simple basis that I was perhaps saving money. Fooled the folks at Kenneth Cole into selling me odd sized shoes for my odd sized feet. Thought I was sprung when the clerk looked closely at the shoes, but got away with the subterfuge.
We pulled out of Gilroy and hit the road, heading for the famous coastal road, Highway 1. I was reminded of last year's cloud chasing as we passed Carmel. Up the road, we stopped at viewpoint to take photos as the sun went down. I got my camera bag out of the boot, set the bag down and took my camera out. Took a couple of shots of the seawashed rocks below, and a couple of girls asked me to take their photo. I did so, and they giggled, got into their car and took off. There was a car parked beside theirs, containing an older woman who turned out to be their mother. She promptly invited us to follow her back to her place where there was beer, barbeque and good views. She said to flash her if we needed to take any photos.
We followed the mother's SUV further along the coast, all the while thinking it a bit odd, forward, scary of the mother to make such an invite, but she'd persuaded us they do that all the time. We wound eachother up about the possibilities, ranging from Psycho to Shotgun weddings with the daughters' ugly sisters. We were thinking about cutting and running, but our sense of adventure took over. About 10 minutes down the road, it occured to me that I'd left my camera bag (replete with passport, iPod, electronic leads, oh yes and camera equipment) at the viewpoint! Sod flashing the mother, Anton quickly span round and we screamed back , my stress levels soaring. After a few "it's got to be round this corner"s, we found the spot. There was another photographer setting up his tripod there, but sadly no bag where I'd left him. I asked him if he'd seen anything, eyed up his black rucksack in the boot, and finally managed to eek out of him the fact that there had been two women and a man, in their 40's or 50's, looking suspiciously at him, then making off in a large white vehicle.
Panic turned to terror. We drove further back up the road, saw a large white vehicle parked up at the grocery store round the corner, so stopped and went in, hoping to see people matching the photographer's description. No such luck - just a dog, a kid, a customer and the shop owner who was getting ready to close. The white truck actually belonged to Bob, the shop owner. A couple of customers came and went as he rifled through the phonebook looking under S for Sherriff and P for Police. I tried inside the cover and all the emergency numbers were there. Anton suggested calling the police rather than the sherriff, but Bob assured us that the sherriff was in charge of this area, so he tried that number, but was told it wasn't serious enough to warrant the deputy leaving his desk, so he was put through to an automated line, which he handed to me. I quickly ascertained this was only going to be useful for wasting my time and testing my patience, so hung up. I was now about to practice pirouettes of stress, when Anton suggested again that we call the police. They had, just that minute, been handed a bag that matched my description. I could hardly contain my relief. We left after I'd photographed Bob and taken his email
At the police station, the officer behind the counter actually went through the ritual of asking my name before matching my face to the passport he had in his hand. I think he was teasing, but he managed to hide the humour from me. I wanted to meet the people who'd returned the bag, but the sergeant said they'd gone to dinner in some nearby restaurant and he didn't want to tell me where they were staying. He gave me his number so I could call back and he could try to connect us.
Driving the coastal Highway 1 at night precluded any chance of stunning views, but we were hell bent on making progress. By the time our stomachs were instructing a dinner stop, it was getting a bit late. We got some snacky food at a convenience store, then went in search of a bar which was still serving food. Dissed a place that proclaimed Pizza in neon in search of a burger, but got turned away at the Bar & Grill down the road. Choices were limited in this two bit town called San Simeon. We returned to the pizza place, only to find they had started chiming up with a Karaoke night. Some truly awful noises coming from the quite remarkable specimens of humanity on hand.
We ordered pizza and Anton went up the road in search of petrol and hostels. He returned just in time for dinner and told me that he'd talked to the police who'd told him about late opening gas stations, potential motels and such about 4 miles up the road.
The barmaid sang her number as we ate our pizzas outside - the only reasonable effort we witnessed. Well, that I witnessed. Anton was being chatted up by some son of a preacher man.
Back on the road, and about 20 miles up the road, we decided to start looking for a place to stop for the night. We found a Super 6, but it was full. Parked the car at another motel in the vicinity, but the bitch on the reception desk wouldn't even allow us to talk to her. We took our revenge by sleeping in the car in her carpark.
There was a notable farting contest before sleep, which had me walking round the car, flapping the doors while anton sniggered gleefully. I had my own back on arrival, but it did take a while to induce.
posted by Nick @ 9/15/2006 11:23:00 pm
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