2,268 Miles: Minneapolis to Cotati

Day 1
We started in Minneapolis: the car loaded with toys and sandals, graham crackers and small wax cheeses. Aunt Jen drove us southwest through Dullsville, Nebraska. We stopped for dinner at Perkins (the only place I could guarantee would have pancakes for H) and a gentleman at the table adjacent to us commented on H's good looks. I don't think he was hitting on him. Afterwards, Mike drove directly into the sun's too harsh light. We stopped for gas an hour outside of Denver and I'm certain all other patrons were meth users. I ate a donut. Jen drove again, pulling us into the garage just past midnight. If you need a driver, call Jen. I'll give you her number. Ask me.

Day 2
Denver was beautiful and hot. We headed to a local Stapleton pool where the mamas drink PBR at sunset and splashed with a number of toddlers and H's plastic crocodile--easily the most favorite toy on this journey ("Is he a 'metal door dile'? Is that what kind of dile he is?!"). 

Day 3

We said farewell to Dilly and drove north to Wyoming. There were two camels right at the state line (camels!) on a farm. H's response to my wild failing and shrieking about camels: "If we put them in the bush then they would be camouflaged" because he is apparently the Greatest Genius Kid Ever. Dullsville, Wyoming was, uh, dull, but Utah was stunning. We approached Salt Lake City as H was getting fussy (kids really DO say "Are we there?"), but here's a secret: if you keep your kid strapped in a car seat for eight hours, then the minute you let him/her out you are the Greatest Mom/Dad Ever. We let him jump on the double beds in our grimy little hotel room until the pizza.

Day 4

McDonald's breakfast through the Utah plains. We stopped at the Bonneville Salt Flats, which H kept trying to form into "snowballs" to "explode at dad."

In Reno we stayed at here for $32, which was nearly the cost of the onion rings we ate here. H was interested in the Wild Hunter's Tiger slot machine he saw near the hotel's front desk and stared out our floor to ceiling window in the evening, transfixed by the flashing neon.

Day 5

This is totally NOT a lie: when we approached the Nevada/California border, I turned on the radio to find an appropriate "We are entering California and, hence, some future stage of our lives" song. A song to tie everything together. A summer song. You know what came on? Do you? "Hotel California" came on. That is 100% not a lie.

I drove through Tahoe National Forest over wet and twisty, foggy and steep, "FALLING ROCK" and "RUNAWAY TRUCK AREA" mountains. We are expecting a forthcoming traffic violation because we didn't have the $4.00 toll required to pass into San Francisco via I-80 (Who ever has $4.00? Am I the Queen of England?!). We ate a hot fudge sundae and walked around Fisherman's Wharf and bought bread shaped like a turtle ("If you take the flippers off, then he can't swim!"). 

   

Mike was pleased to finally set foot in City Lights Books but then began the vertical assent back to our hotel on Lombard Street. Here's a letter I've drafted:

Dear San Francisco, 

Why do you hate strollers so much? Every street is like a roller coaster. It is ridiculous. Get it together.

Love,

Me

Day 6

I woke and trekked for an apple fritter far too early. Totally worth it. And then we hung around for tacos. Again, totally worth it. Mike drove us across the Golden Gate Bridge and north up to our new home in Windmill Farms in Cotati, California: 2,268.8 miles.