Eclipse 2017, Day 1: Departure

Departure was a debacle.  Plans were originally delayed 12 hours, then 24 and eventually 30.  Preparations that had been made were eventually rendered moot; though we had no way of knowing at the time.  Food was procured but not packed.  Calorie counts were far too low, so repacking was required, the value of nuts and dried fruit to campers everywhere suddenly learned.  Maps were pored over, downloaded and the subject of endless printing indecision.  Routes were planned based on day driving for camping, then night driving, then day driving again (hotels henceforth an option), then finally night driving again, Tesla superchargers serving as principal focal points.

Finally, the car was packed and charged, the houses ready and the path was clear.  We pull out of the driveway -- 200 feet.  Did we lock the doors?  One last check.  Pedal to the metal and we're -- wait, who messed with our mail slot?  Ok, now, we're off!

It's astounding how long Child can listen to Heart, convinced that listening will cause a unicorn horn to grow.  It was a joke that never really ended, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.  We made it all the way to the Bakersfield supercharger without listening to anything else.  While waiting for the car to charge, Dog got to claim already-claimed territory, all bipeds became familiar with the truck-stop IHOP's bathroom and Jack In the Box fries made for our dinner.

View from Tesla supercharger in Gustine, CA

With a name like Pea Soup Anderson's, how can one not envision PT Anderson's works come to life, the bleak day-to-day grind of modern human survival, the uninspiring environs of strict untilitarianism feeding that grind, the restlessness of souls that catch a glimpse of the outside world, the refusal to acknowledge the refuse-like existence of a cog stuck in a machine.  While the neon sign presented a facade to the contrary, time spent charging and relieving one's innards confirmed it was a facade indeed.  An 18-wheeler ground to a halt on the highway shoulder not more than 100 feet from our car, a chain link fence providing the only separation.  Waste water from the restaurant doing its best impression of sewage spilled into the lot.  And, yet, for all this, we were charmed as much as watching an Anderson film.  Saying you got to Point B gives one no more insight into the journey from Point A than one can gain knowing only the end of an Anderson movie.  All the dirty, grimy, irrational, barely real points in between are where the real story's at.  While Parents took it all in, fully aware of the gory glory surrounding them, Child's idea of the story was simply "I got a jump rope!"