As San Diegans, we have a “thing” about the metropolis to the north, and always have. When I was a 16-year old kid driving an auto parts delivery truck in downtown San Diego, I remember a sign that hung on the wall behind the cash register so every customer could see it. It read: “We don’t give a damn how they do it in LA!”
From what I can gather, most natives of this area still feel the same way and the thought of having to drive through it is particularly unappealing. On trips north, we try to pass through LA before 6 a.m. Return trips of any distance are a little more problematic so we aim to try to find a time between the morning rush and the evening rush. More and more, it seems like those two events have pretty much merged into each other. Yesterday’s midday effort was pretty much bumper to bumper from Magic Mountain to Disneyland.
Enough pissing and moaning about LA. Our stay with Jennifer and Tyler and Christmas with the grandkids was great. We’re safely back home, the house is still here, Gus’ paw is healing well and some, maybe even most of the plants survived our absence. The hours and days ahead will be devoted to a full return to normalcy.
Already this morning and after calls from a couple of friends I’ve laid plans for next week that include a quail hunt on the desert’s edge east of Julian, a duck hunt at our club next to the Salton Sea, a trout fishing excursion to Lake Morena and a “depredation” hunt for the purpose of transferring some cottontails from a friend’s yard to my crock pot.
I can’t say that I’m back in the saddle just yet, but I’m looking for it….