Songs, Time and stars.

Wednesday, July 11^th, 2012

      I think it is still today. My system is still adjusting to the change between diurnal and nocturnal cycles. I'm sleeping in fits and starts, usually no more than 3 hours at a stretch. Totally worth it in the summer time. Granted, it is hot in the day time and I end up idling my truck to keep cool, but the stillness of the nights is all the payback I could ask for.

      A few hours out of the Bay Area, heading north, the Pilot at Dunnigan is the first good stop to stop at. There's coffee 24 hours a day, unlike the Oakland truck stop which stops brewing at 9 p.m. Granted they close at 2300, but dude... the wheels of commerce turn 24/7/365. These wheels are fueled by diesel and coffee. Apparently in 50% of the cases by nicotine as well. Dunnigan at midnight is a more or less peaceful place. You can just pull right through the fuel island with no wait, a rarity at this location for sure. No lines inside, again rare. The temperature is bearable, once again, not all too common this time of year. So I grabbed a cup of Joe (which is by no means anything homoerotic) and got on my merry way.

      Hopping in the truck, the radio turns on, playing the Allman Brothers Band, “Midnight Rider.” Even more ominous was that it was, in fact, midnight. Well played DJ, well played. The really uncanny part is that right before I turned the ignition switch, I was saying to myself that I gotta run hard to keep the feeling from catching up to me. If you've never heard that song before, there's a line that goes “not gonna let 'em catch me no, not gonna let them catch the midnight rider.” Somehow appropriate.

      Further along the road, I learned that the Swift Terminal in Willows, CA actually closes at night. No shower for me. Climbing right back in I decide that the next stop will be Weed, CA. Along the way, one drives past Lake Shasta and a few cities and towns that bore me frankly. Most note-worthy is the smell. Western mountains in the summer have a particular smell. To me it recall Trout Lake and times I've spent there. While the central valley has an earthy, sandy agricultural smell (mixed with occasional cow flops) the hills smell of fresh air. More than that, there is the elusive scent of pine and chocolate. It is a dry musty smell that is pleasant and refreshing. It smells like wilderness to me. I am so glad for that.

      Arriving in Weed at 0400, the truck stop is mostly full, but very quiet. I get a sandwich and get back in for the ride. Leaving town, the first inklings of sunrise show themselves, sky just starting to grow lighter. The time? 4:20. Seems like my timing is right on today.

      Crossing into Oregon, the is a ginormous mountain along the border. It is a beast to climb with a truck full of Gatorade, but nothing impossible. The sun still has not quite come up yet, and the world is bathed in that pre-dawn grey-blue light. Venus and Jupiter twinkle merrily in the morning sky, indicating the Elliptic of our solar system, and I am dwarfed by the scale of things. Atop the hill is a brake check area. Perfect place for a quick nap. A quick hour and a half.

      Having missed the sun rise, I was happy to enjoy the hillsides bedecked with madrone trees resplendent in the warm morning glow. Velvety red bark making an astounding contrast to the dark waxy green leaves. With such simple enjoyment, I was surprised to find my trip over for the day. Back in Oakland / Rice Hill. Now to get some sleep for the next midnight ride.