(I was never a truck person. Until now.)

It was a hard day of driving today. Fourteen hours total, but that puts me ahead of myself. We left Stockton at about 8:10. Grandma had some oatmeal, but I skipped breakfast altogether. I showered in their facilities and for the second time this trip forgot a towel and had to dry myself with yesterday's blue jeans. If you're ever in a pinch, denim is surprisingly absorbent.

Our early morning drive was uneventful. Flat, straight roads through farmland in the Central Valley. The precision of the planting fascinated Grandma to no end. Rows of trees running straight whichever way you looked at them, kind of dizzying if you stare too long. I lost interest after about the third orchard.

I forgot to mention that yesterday I got pulled over by California's finest going 70 in a 55 zone. Seventy is the legal limit for cars, but the truckers and autos with trailers have to keep it to 55. The nice officer let me off with a verbal warning--wish I had caught his name. But I need to register this editorial comment: 15 miles an hour difference between motor vehicle classes is a hazard, California. Please rethink that. Also please consider doing something about your roads. I have driven washed out dirt roads in Kansas far smoother than I-5 in downtown L.A.

But since I'd been given a warning, after leaving Stockton I drove for several hours at 55 mph. I swear, I did not pass one car the entire way. Women my grandma's age were leaving us in the dust. By the time I reached Tejon pass, I had become a scofflaw again and gradually notched it up to 64.

We hit rain, fog and crappy highway right about Tejon, all of which continued through L.A. and until our arrival in Chula Vista. One of the requirements of our trip is that we have a CB radio, and during our three-hour passage through L.A. in stop-and-go (I am not exaggerating) the CB made for some good entertainment. The FCC would have very little concern about Janet Jackson's nipple had they been tuned in to Channel 19 during those three hours. I can curse a blue streak, but the truckers have raised it to an art form.

We finally stopped for supper at Denny's south of L.A. at about 8:30 after skipping lunch. Grandma has to eat about every three hours, but I got her by on those orange crackers with peanut butter for the bulk of the day. We had a nice meal and fortified ourselves while it was raining buckets outside. Sarah, who hates rainstorms, stayed in the car and was not terribly freaked out when we returned. She is such a good dog. (You people reading, please don't talk smack about Denny's. My grilled chicken dinner was pretty tasty and a good value at $7.00.)

After Denny's we filled up with gas, and when pulling away I heard a terrible groaning noise from the trailer. At first I thought it was a motorcycle going by but then realized it was coming from us. I checked out the rig and saw that our cable that leads to the emergency brakes on the trailer was severed. Thank heavens the gas station had electrical tape and I was able to make a repair on the spot. Unfortunately, it did not fix the noise. We were already on the on-ramp to I-5 and I pulled over, fearing that the trailer brakes were dragging and I would burn them out. I called Phil, the wagonmaster for our RV caravan, and talked it over. He gave some complicated directions, but essentially told me to drive to the next exit and feel the trailer's wheel hubs for heat, which would be an indication that the brakes were screwed up. I did so, no heat, the brakes appeared fine.

It sounded like something was wrong with the hitch so I checked that out during the stop. I discovered that the sway bar had gotten off kilter and the noise was metal rubbing against metal. I adjusted the pins and tension, got in, drove a few feet, and the awful sound was gone.

At about 11:00, we pulled into our destination. Phil stayed up and met us at the entrance of the KOA here in Chula Vista. After doing our paperwork with their very talkative caretaker George, Phil kindly drove us to our spot and backed the trailer in for me. I think he will take good care of us on the trip.

That's about enough for today. Grandma and Sarah are sleeping, and I soon need to do the same. I'm going to enjoy one last swig of rum from the bottle my friend Jane brought back from Costa Rica and turn in. So please blame any incoherence in this message on Jane. Tomorrow is our orientation for the trip, and we will meet our fellow travelgoers.

Buenos noches, Bill.