Wednesday, November 2nd about noon... We left Mammoth and headed for San Francisco. We arrived at 8 p.m. and instead of stopping to rest LeRoy kept driving heading towards San Jose. Ericka was not happy AT ALL about this. Then as if Ericka foresaw the immanent doom to come...LeRoy took a wrong turn. We spent over two hours climbing up and down around sharpest mountain cliffs on a two lane dirt road. To our right was the Pacific looming hundreds of feet below, which we could only feel through the crisp wind as it was pitch black out. This was lucky as it couldn’t get any scarier for Ericka. When we finally found the only gas station for 100 miles LeRoy noticed Ericka quietly crying hysterically. She explained that it all reminded her of when she flipped a S.U.V. off a mountainous cliff only inches from rolling into the ocean when she spent a summer on Islesboro Island off of Maine almost 15 years ago.
We finally ended up in Santa Cruz and stopped for that cheap canned dog food I love so much and got a hotel room. Thanks to their guilty consciences for talking me on this hell trip, they’ve been feeding me the stuff they for some reason call “crap”. YUM!