I remember the first time I drove from Seattle to Los Angeles.
Heading South on the 5, my plan was to then pick up Hwy. 101, which I knew I could hit right around the California and Oregon boarder.
So, once I got to the boarder I decided to look at a map, because back then I actually just had maps of states in my glove compartment, along with actual gloves, magnifying glasses, monocles, flint, and some baubles.
The map said that I’d missed my exit a while back, and so my only chance was to backtrack and waste a bunch of time.
The way those maps worked, there were red lines for the Interstates, yellow lines for state highways, white lines for two lane streets, taupe lines for logging roads, eggshell lines for cross-country ski-trails, etc.
So just as I’m real annoyed and about to turn around, I see a line on the map literally the size of a DNA strand which cuts across exactly to where I want to go.
Since I am an idiot, I decided to go for it. This road is called the Klamath River Road, and I would really try and avoid it.
So, we start driving on this beautiful road, and everything’s cool.
The girl says she wants to get out and take a picture of this old barn that is on the side of the road.
I say sure. We pull over.
As she is taking pictures of this really old disheveled barn I hear someone inside of it coughing.
Horrified, we get back in the car.
As we are driving away, I see someone carrying a bunch of pots and pans down the street towards the barn.
My assumption: They’re cooking meth in the barn.
My next assumption: People cooking meth don’t like when you sneak up to their barn and start photographing it.
So we keep going.
Now she wants to stop at this old cemetery about thirty miles down.
I reluctantly get out of the car.
The cemetery is frightening. Some of the caskets are risen half-way up out of the ground.
A crazy person approaches us and asks what we are doing.
He literally says,
“You folks ain’t from around here, are you?”
I tell him we’re going to Los Angeles and he immediately launches into one of the most insane political rants I have ever heard, from what I remember of it, everyone in L.A. is evil, and it is our fault that Klamath River isn’t its own state.
He asks which way we are headed. Does he want a ride?
I use the old trick,
“Which way are you headed?”
He points one way and I immediately explain that I am so over that way. I’m never heading that way again.
Unfortunately I was lying, so we got in the car, I locked the doors and sped away.
At this point I realized two things:
1) I have no phone reception.
2) We are being followed.
The road bends to a ridiculous extent. Every fifty yards or so you’re basically making a U-Turn because it is so twisty.
I tell the girl to look at the map. We have another thirty miles.
Now we’re being followed by two trucks.
Occasionally one of them will get off of our tail, only to emerge in front of us later on.
They know the back roads.
My only thought is to drive as fast as possible. It is now dark.
I have never driven faster.
Towards the end of the road, I see something in the darkened lane.
I swerve out of the way of it.
I look over, it is one of those strips with nails in it used to pop your tires.
I am driving so fast now.
The worst part isn’t the eminent death.
The worst part is that the chick is complaining that my driving is making her nauseous. Apparently her comfort level is more important than both of our lives.
I choose not to tell her about the nail strip.
She was awful.