Started with starbucks. While there, I couldn't help over hearing an extremely loud talker on what appeared to be a job interview.
"well , I thought being a supervisor would be great, until I was one"
I guess that's honest. I feel the same way, but I'm not so sure I would broadcast it at a loud volume in a crowded coffee shop.
I stopped to check her out before we left. Typical Hipster. And then I noticed she was wearing Legwarmers ( really just knee socks with the feet cut off) and flip flops. Paul totally didn't get it when I was trying to explain what a fashion disaster it was.
Outside , we were mumbled at by a hobo wearing a wedding ring.
We headed towards Weed.
Hadn't been in the car long before I started screaming and pointing.
Paul slammed on the brakes and did a u turn in the middle of the street.
Sure enough it was THE bigfoot museum.
Also the museum of willow creek, complete with used chamber pots and other frontier life necessities.
The big foot part of the museum was mostly plaster casts of footprints and some sweet local art.
I bought some postcards and a bigfoot head magnet seems how the crap I bought from the drive through tree souvenir shop "mysteriously" went missing. I'm pretty sure Paul threw it out with his obsessive car cleaning.
Drove through the Hoopa Indian reservation where we bought cheap cigarettes and went to the jenkiest casino ever. The wheels on the inside of the slot machines were scotch taped and they made a horrible clunking sound as they spun around.
"these machines are just effed up enough that we might win"
But we didn't.
The gps instructed us to take cecilville rd to highway 5 to get to weed. The estimated time of arrival seemed way off for the mileage, but Paul shrugged it off. As a passenger I mostly keep my mouth shut fir fear he brings up me being the co pilot in his grand dream of rally racing.
So the road is getting pretty narrow. I look up to see a rock wall on my side and a pretty steep ass drop on Pauls side. No guard rails, just some white posts that were sporadic and had seen better days. Paul slowed down to 15 miles an hour. There was barely enough room for one car on the road.
"do you want to turn around?" he asked
"I dont think we can"
I was envisioning all those scenes in movies where one tire goes over the cliff.
So we kept going forward. Very slowly.
If anyone else would have been driving, I would have Peaced out and gotten out to walk to wherever the eff this road ended up. But he's a really good driver so I just shut my mouth and twisted my hands in my lap alot.
There's really no way a picture can do thus road justice.
But it might give you a general idea how effing terrifying it was.
Every so often, the road would flatten out and we'd be in a little meadow
This was Forks of Salmon. There was a a school, some houses you wouldn't want to ask directions at and this tiny really creepy cemetery.
Back on the road from hell that would never end.
It took us 4 hours to get 75 miles.
I really thought we were going to die is some dramatically horrible rolling off a cliff way. We stopped briefly so Paul could take some crazy off the cliff photos. With my lack of grace, I hung back by the road.
Finally got to Weed and stayed at a super tacky hotel where the counter guy started grilling Paul about what he shaved with. Then directed him to a gigantic stack of boxes where he had a huge stash of disposable razors.
"only one per customer!" he yelled. Then gave me a weird gift bag with axe body spray and some craisens.
"I wonder what truck those fell off of" pUl muttered as we were leaving.
Our room had a really key for the door and an annoying cat and a shopping cart out the window on the hillside.
The tv was so old, that I doubt anyone under 25 could have turned it on. And the fridge was packed with forgotten bud light.
We went across the street to the hi lo coffee shop for dinner. I had chicken fried steak and paul had biscuits and gravy with a side of mashed potatoes.
Got some peach cobbler and a fresh squeezed orange juice to take back to the room.
Watched the new Nightmare on elm street. Glad to not be dead.
-- Post From My iPhone