We get coins, we get shirts, we walk a lot of places, get dissapointed with the cab service, and in the end, we complete our quest.

Its over.  Our quest has ended.  We are victorious.

We saw Brandi, and it was good.  But before I delve into a review of the event, I'll do a quick sum-up of the weekend leading up to the concert.

Denver itself is actually a pretty nice city.  And the Lower Downtown (commonly referred to as LoDo, which sounds kinda dumb to me; that would be like calling Old Town Eureka "OlToe", that sounds about as appealing as a bad case of toe jam) is really nice.  In particular, the 16th Street Mall is the place to be.  16th Mall is fantastic.  Its probably close to 8 or 9 city blocks long.  16th Street is closed to through traffic.  In fact, the only vehicles allowed to drive on 16th Street are the free shuttle buses and the police. 

I should make note that pedestrians walking 16th Street need to be very wary of the the shuttle buses.  They hurtle down the street like ballistic missiles, screech to halts at every corner.  On the plus side, if you do happen to get tagged by one, the police seem to patrol this area very frequently, so emergency help is always close by. 

The plethora of places to eat in Denver is astounding.  There are a ton of good places.  Two places we went, and really liked were Rock Bottom Brewery and Macro's Coal Fired Pizza.  Both of them had excellent food.  I would recommend either to anyone who travels to LoDo Denver. 

Two points of interest made on our trip:

1.  The Unites States Mint Denver, CO  -  Seriously, this place was pretty cool.  It was like going through airport security getting in, and the mint has it's own armed police force.  And they follow you through the entire tour.  Once inside, it was a numismatics's dream come true (a numismatic is a collector of coins, just so you know; I don't what idiot came up with that name, but I guess it has more of a professional ring to it than "coin collector").  Sadly we didn't get to see any coinage being made due to the three day weekend.  But I did lay my hands on a sealed case with $140,000 in one dollar coins.  Oh, it was lovely.  The unfortunate thing about the mint: No pictures inside.  No cameras allowed, and cell phones must have the batteries removed.

They did have a gift shop, which I considered myself lucky to have escaped and only spent about $60.

2.  The Miller-Coors Brewing Factory in Golden, CO  -  If you like Beer, this is a good tour.  If you find a little bit of American culture interesting, this is a good tour.  One of the things that struck me more than anything else was the city of Golden itself.  Golden, from all appearances is everything my home town of Eureka wants to be.  Eureka, though, fails miserably.  Golden is small, clean and friendly.   Its downtown area wasn't littered with trash and over run with homeless people.  It was, in all honesty, a nice place to visit.  The brewery, while one of the major revenue makers for the city, wasn't the only industry, as evidenced the various businesses we passed on our trip there.

Go figure, a small town that welcomes business within it's own city limits?  And they appeared to be successful.  I would imagine most travelers who come touring through the city of Eureka generally keep driving. 

One point of.. Confusion?  -  The cabs in Denver had no idea where anything was.  Seriously.  Without the aid of their dash mounted GPS, they would have been lost.  Two examples.  #1 - We got a cab and asked to go to the brewery in Golden.  The brewery is massive.  It sprawls out of a couple hundred acres.  Its also famous. Who, in America (whether a beer drinker or not) has heard of Coors, bottled in the Rocky Mountains?  What did our cabbie ask us when we told him our destination? "Do you know the address?"  #2 - The Denver Performing Arts Complex.  During the time we were there, along with the Brandi Carlile concert, it was hosting the Denver Film Festival.  This appeared to be a huge event.  And people were dressed really nicely.  And again, what did our cabbie ask us? "Do you know the address?" 

So disappointed. 

Now, onto the meat of the post here.  Brandi Carlile, Live with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. 

We arrived at about 7.  The show was scheduled to start at 7:30.   We checked out the B.C. gear for sale out front, then headed to our seats.  Boettcher Hall (apparently that's pronounced "bet-cher") is a fantastic auditorium, with seating completely encircling the stage.  I don't really think there were too many bad seats in the house.  Promptly, at 7:30, the lights went dim and Brandi was introduced.  Her and the band came to the stage, and together they performed for about 30 minutes.  Then they announced they would take a short break while the orchestra set up.  Then they returned and played for about an hour. 

The show was excellent.  I wish I could describe how all the anticipation we went through had paid off in full.  Instead, I'll simply say we truly missed out on the prior two attempts to see her in concert.  On the flip side, we have decided we want to see her again, we enjoyed it that much.

Now as I sit here, I think its sad how easy it was to write about the anticipation; and how a weekend date to wine country had become a personal quest.  And now that its over, I am left feeling like this posting is a little on the anti-climatic side as there are no cliff hanging finishes or suspense filled promises of more to come. 

In stead, our quest is simply over. 

Clearly, we need a new one.

Vegas lights, Sheryl quits, and we get Ugly.

When we last checked in with our intrepid concert goers, they found themselves in Petaluma, CA; smack dab in the middle of California’s wine country….

For anyone unfamiliar with Petaluma, it’s really a nice little city. It’s a little too big to call a town, but it’s still a little small to call a metropolitan area. With a beautiful downtown area, a marina on the Petaluma River (a tidal estuary which snakes down to the San Pablo Bay, providing access to the Pacific Ocean), and access to the sprawling vineyards that cover the rolling hills throughout the region, a person can literally do nearly anything from the city proper with little to no effort whatsoever.

As I was driving home Sunday morning from said city, D and I were both thinking none of these things really mattered. For our hopes had been dashed to pieces by a cruel twist of fate called Illness.

(I should say, though, the weekend wasn’t a total loss. We did eat at Guy Fieri’s restaurant, Johnny Garlic’s. We only had lunch there, which for us, consisted of burgers. But they were really good burgers. I would wager, based on what little experience we had there, the rest of the menu is pretty solid as well.)

Time moved on. We told our story to friends and family, who all chuckled at our misfortune. All in good nature, we took it in good stride, and we simply decided we would try again. As mentioned in the previous posting, the rescheduled concert was set for the end of June. D was off to New York City and Ben was with me. Figuring the logistics of it all simply were unfavorable, we didn’t go.

But we were undaunted in our goal to see Brandi live. And so we kept our eyes open for another show to see. At the same time, we started thinking about what we wanted to do for our third anniversary. The idea if catching a show somewhere came up, and I quickly went back to the tour page of BrandiCarlile.com.

What did I find there, you may ask? Well, none other than a show with Brandi and Sheryl Crow at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas! Jokingly, I made mention of this, and to my complete shock and awe, D was all for it; and seriously too. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Well, it wasn’t too much longer and we had reserved a flight to and hotel room in Vegas. The actual coordination of this trip was far more extensive, and horribly complicated, but that is really a story for another time.

As soon as this trip became a reality we started bragging to our friends, Francis and Meghan, who had actually seen Brandi live in our place in Petaluma. And it wasn’t too much longer we were making our plans together. After all, why not visit Sin City with good friends who can sin with you? It makes the whole experience so much better.

So the fateful weekend arrived. Concert tickets were in hand, bags were packed, spirits were high, and the wallets were full of spending cash.

We arrived in Vegas, checked in to the New York, New York Casio and Hotel, and quickly got ourselves settled into the business of soaking up everything Vegas could throw at us. We ate some good food, we drank a few drinks, we played cards, we played craps, and we wandered the strip and did thing tourists do with cameras and things like that. But, let’s face it: With all the things to do in Vegas, we were there for a very specific reason. And everything up until that point was just so much fluff.

(Outside the New York, New York on the replica of the Brooklyn Bridge.)

Don’t get me wrong, the fluff was fun. We hit every major casino on the strip in the course of two days. We spent quite a tidy sum on souvenirs, on food, and of course on the slots. Vegas has the cream of the crop when it comes to the slots. They are new. They are flashy. They have sweet mini-games. And they practically call to you in your sleep. What little sleep I actually got there was inundated with visions of spinning reels, flashing lights, and big wins.

Surprisingly enough, I managed to go most of the trip without making too much of an ass out of myself. Probably the biggest blunder I made was guestimating the walk from the strip to the Rio to be “not that far.” It was probably about 95 degrees out. It was sunny. And it was easily over a mile. And it should suffice to say, we hadn’t been drinking enough water. The four of us made it there, and we even managed to stay on speaking terms through it all. But we also took a cab back to the strip.

Saturday morning came along, and Francis and I met down on the casino floor for a lesson on Craps. Some Guido looking guy gave the lesson, which was entertaining and serious all at the same time. Once the lesson was over we met up with D and Meghan to plan out our day. After all, we had to be out at the Hard Rock early enough to get ourselves situated comfortably for the show. I was sitting at a ginormous Wheel of Fortune machine and I had just won seventy dollars and we were gleefully chatting about the evening’s activities, wondering how we could possibly fill our day when our anticipation of the evening’s event was foremost in our minds.

Then, my phone buzzed, and the chime that signals a new email sounded. Most of the time I ignore this sound and catch up with it later. But for whatever reason, I pulled my phone from my pocket and read the subject line.

I don’t remember what it actually said, but in my mind, it looked something like this:

From Ticket Master: Your concert has been canceled. You are a loser.

What the #*%?!?!?!? Really? How is this even possible? Thanks to the advent of the smart phone, I was able to hop on the internet and check Ticket Master. Sure enough, it was posted that Sheryl Crow was sick, and the event for that night had been canceled. Yes, I said it was canceled. Now, Brandi had missed two concerts. Brandi, who previously hadn’t missed a single performance, had now missed the two we had been trying to see.

We sat bemoaning our fates, drowning our sorrows in free drinks and deluging our senses with the sound of slot machines. They no longer held the same magic though, and bells and whistles now seemed far off, like a fog horn blowing in some distant bay in the middle of October when it’s socked in with fog.

We did our best to rally from this devastating blow to our scheduled activities. And instead of going to the concert, we went to Coyote Ugly. Are there any readers out there that have seen the movie which shares the same name as this chain of bars? I don’t know if the movie inspired the bars, or if the bars inspired the movie. But in the end, they are pretty much just like each other. And dirty. And not the kind of dirty a little kid gets into when he goes out to play in the schools football field just after a heavy rain. However, to keep mom (who I know will be reading this post) from going into apoplexy, I’ll reassure her that was largely a spectator in this endeavor. For the rest of you, I’ll include the following picture (and only this picture, but rest assured I have many more).

(Again, to the defense of my character, I was mostly a spectator here, mostly. However, there were some things that happened here, that I saw with my own eyes, that I would have thought never actually happened in really life.  Go figure. Also, to the defense of my character, going here was not my idea.  Of course, I don't exactly remember objecting very strenuously either.)

The next morning, we did our best to wipe the sleep from our eyes and haze from our minds, and made our way to the airport. All in all, it had been a fun weekend. However, the sting of disappointment after losing some money, missing yet another concert, and nursing a little bit of a headache was all to real.

And so, again, we headed home with our tails between our legs. But still undaunted, now determined more than ever, we would try again. This was no longer just a show to see. It was past something of an obsession, it was now far beyond a mere goal to see Brandi live.

It was a quest, a mission; it had become our calling in life. We were now determined more than ever. We would succeed.

It would be less than twenty-four hours later, and our next attempt would be set in stone. But of course, that’s a story for another time (which will more than likely be tomorrow).

Stay tuned.

I procrastinate the heck out of everything.

Three things: One, I love camping. Two, I actually enjoy the chore of preparing for a camping trip. And three, I am a horrible procrastinator.

Lets break things down, one by one, shall we?

1. I love camping:

Ever since I was a little child, even as far back as I can remember, we have been a camping family. As a child I have fond memories of racing our bikes around the loop at Fallen Leaf Lake, or hiking to the crater at Mt. Lassen, driving for hours on end as we made our way into Canada in order to do genealogy projects, or just taking a road trip across the salt flats on the way to Utah to see relatives who live in Holiday.

Back then, we didn’t have DVD players in cars and we didn’t have iPods. We drove station wagons, and our entertainment came from each other, from the use of the CB Radio (which we always had when traveling in a family caravan). And if all else failed, we always had books (What? Reading? What is that?). So for hours on end (and if you have ever driven across Nevada on Interstate 80, you know there is almost nothing to see there; once you get to Utah and salt flats start, there is even less to see). But as a whole, I don’t remember complaining too much about being bored when traveling. Once we reached our destination, tents were made, fires were lit, bikes were ridden, and lakes and streams were swum in. And once things settled down, we sat around the campfire pit and roasted marshmallows and ate smores.

Now, a few years later in life, I still enjoy all of those things, except maybe the bike riding around the loop. But I love to swim, I love to sit around the campfire, and I love to be away from the hustle and bustle of life at home while I sit around the campfire with a warm cup of coffee.

In a few days, Iver and I are headed to Albion for five days of fun on the California coast. The worst part (or the best, depending on how we look at it) is our wives are not going. And without them there to keep us in check, there is a good chance the two of us will do something stupid.

So what’s not to love about that??

2. I enjoy the chore of preparing for a camping trip:

When I was young and just a lazy kid, I rarely had to go through the pain of actually making sure things were ready for a camping trip. So I can’t say much about that. That particular task probably fell to my father who never bothered to check in with me about what he was doing. But now, if I want to go camping, the task falls to me. And this is something I enjoy.

Sadly, the next two nights are going to be very busy for me. I have a union meeting tonight, I have to go to the gym, and I haven’t done a thing to actually prepare for this trip (which I will be covering in more specific detail in the next section). So tonight, after I run at the gym, I’ll be in the garage getting things together for my trip down to the coast. And I can’t wait. I enjoy going through my gear, finding the things I need, weeding out the things I don’t need. And for this particular trip, I’ll actually be packing pretty light. I don’t need a tent, or mattress. So I don’t need the tarp or some of the other accoutrements that goes along with that. I don’t need to pack a stove, nor any other cooking utensils.

I need my sleeping bag, a pillow, clothes and personal items, my dive gear, and some miscellaneous food items. And that’s it. Sounds easy right? So why on earth, after having three days off, did I not get this all done when I had plenty of time to do it?

For this answer, I come to the next section.

3. I am a horrible procrastinator:

This, in and of it self, should be pretty self-explanatory. What else is there to say, really? I had three days off. And I had very little that actually needed doing. And I got none of it done. So what can I really say about that? Procrastination has always been one of my weak points. In fact, as far as I can remember, it’s always been one of my weak points. So I’m simply planning on it always being a weak point that I need to over come.

So tonight, I will begin the process of getting packed. I have tonight and tomorrow night that I need to get this done. Saturday night, after work, I’ll be going to Iver’s to load up the truck with firewood. And Sunday morning we are planning on leaving.

So I need to get the packing complete so the stupidity can begin.

The Great Two Wheeled Dilema

I have been wrestling with this post for a few days, and in the interim, I simply posted some fluff regarding stupid commercials. Now, however, its time to actually say my peace about a particular subject.

About, oh, 12 years ago I purchased a motorcycle, a 1994 Honda Shadow VT600CD. A simple and fairly entry level bike with an engine size of 583 cubic centimeters. In the world of motorcycles this is considered a small bike. And really it is. With just me on it, it’s a nice ride. With a passenger, though, it really begins to lag. But I am generally the only rider, and I am really quite content with it for now.

For a bike that is 16 years old it’s in great shape, and quite honestly, a lot of fun. So for the next few years I rode the heck out of that thing. I commuted to work, I went on Saturday rides, and I was all over the place.

Then I moved to Humboldt County. I had no one to ride with and slowly I rode less and less. And eventually, the cost of a little maintenance got in my way and I garaged the thing.

Fast forward six years to the present. My good friend Dean, after making some life changing decisions, decided he wanted to get a motorcycle. His wife was supportive and soon the purchase was made. I know what some people may be thinking, something like, “Oh my! Those things are dangerous! He’ll kill himself!!”

To these nay-sayers, I say, “*%#* off.” In actuality, there is just as much chance as any accident happening to me or anyone else, as soon as I wake up in the morning. Are there some inherent dangers to riding a motorcycle? Well of course. But as long as one is responsible, and takes the proper safety precautions, it can be an extremely enjoyable thing to do.

And so I began the quest to get my bike in running condition. It’s been a rather lengthy process, but overall, hasn’t been too bad. In the meantime, Dean had to opportunity to ride north into Washington with a friend, and he took it.

The other day, I got a phone call at home from Iver. It started like this, “First off, I want to assure you that Dean is OK.” This, for everyone’s reference, is not the way you want any conversation to start. Long story short, he had a pretty good wreck while in the area of Longview, WA. He has been in the hospital with a little bit of internal bleeding because of a lacerated spleen. He has been recovering, and is scheduled to come home today, and spend some time recovering.

Now comes the question I have: Will he ride again? There are going to be a slew of people who are going to be stopping by to see how he is doing, and then will turn around and tell his wife and say, “I just knew he shouldn’t buy a bike. You’re not going to let him ride anymore are you?” And to those types of people, with that particular attitude, again I say, “%#*& off!”

There are a dozen things we do every day that could kill us. And lets face the honest truth, at any given time, under any given circumstances, getting into a vehicle accident is a simply a possibility. But if it’s something a person enjoys, then let the person alone to his own devices.

I have had to sit on the sidelines, watching with great envy as my friend spent his weekends riding around the north coast. My bike is coming home from the shop, hopefully today, and will be in perfect running order. And I have to admit, I hope this doesn’t sour my friend on motorcycle riding.

I know it won’t be my decision, I know I don’t want to be some sort of influence that is contrary to what ever he and his family may decide.

But I can still hope, can’t I?

A sight seeing trip interupted by a little hunting.

I took my first hunting trip.

Now I know, not everyone on earth agrees with the idea of hunting. My personal feeling is this: If the creatures that are killed are used for food, and thoroughly, then I don't have a problem with the whole thing. This seems like a reasonable mode of thought to me. After all, humans have been hunting animals for sustenance for centuries, even millenia, so why should I feel differently?

So Cody called me and asked if I wanted to go hunting. He knew I was in a walking boot, and that I don't have a hunting license, so I was invited to just come and keep him company and take photos as I chose. Seemed reasonable. So I was up at 0500 the other morning and off we went.

I don't know all the rules about hunting, so I felt a little unsure about the display below.When it comes to concealable weapons, like hand guns, there are very strict rules about where you can put your gun and your ammo. the rules are a little less strict with a long gun, like this shot gun. Besides, we were headed to some pretty remote areas, and I didn't see the need to hide the gun in case we needed it.

I took about an hour and a half to get to where we were hunting. And here is a couple of views of the area we traversed.

We traveled access roads all day, looking for bird, bucks and bears. We didn't see a single buck or bear, but a few bird, which I hear are rather tastey. We then went to Blue Lake. A pond really, but beautiful.

It was an amazing place. I started looking for a frog playing a banjo, but was disappointed. We did manage to land a brook trout, however he was extremely small and was released back to his home.

This picture here doesn't do the Brook Trout much justice. The colors were amazing, simply adding to the whole experience of the day.

So there you have it. A few pictures (the rest are on the Flickr page, and worth seeing). I enjoyed the trip, although a bit uneventful in the hunting arena. I did learn though, that Cody is a good story teller. I say story teller because every corner we came around he said something like, "I shot a bear here," or "This is a grouse honey hole here," and we spent most of the day simply looking, not hunting.

I enjoyed it. I think I want to go again. I think I need to get my hunting license.

Under house arrest no more.

I have come to the conclusion that if I don't leave the house very much I really find myself with nothing to say. I'm not sure how many time I could have posted that I sat around the house all day playing video games before some sort of Internet Regulatory Committee for the Abolition of Boring Crap shuts me down for being boring and repetitive. So, there you have it. My last two weeks in a few sentences.

So, my biggest outing from the house was back to Santa Rosa for a post op appointment. I'm sure there are many who remember this:

The result of this operation:

So I was laid up and for two weeks and looking forward t getting off the crutches and moving on with life. And for the record, crutches suck. There is no way around it. Its all fine and dandy that places make sure they have a way for disabled people to get in and out of places, like stores and restaurants. But they do not seem to do much in the way making sure there is enough room, once you are actually inside, to actually move around without killing yourself. But I'm past that now.

So I made the trek down to Santa Rosa with my folks (my wife wouldn't let me drive while I was required to be on crutches). While I was waiting I noticed a few things around the room that seemed somewhat note-worthy.

I'm pretty sure this wall of tools was recently used in a horror movies involving teens on vacation in a foreign country, staying at a youth hostel where people were disappearing and suddenly deciding that a group shower would make everyone feel better (thank you late night cable for airing such fine cinema and making use of such admirable actors and actresses).

OK, enough about that silliness. Lets get to the foot.

So, the Doc had to make a nearly 2-1/2 inch incision because the joint was so messy. There is still a considerable amount of swelling and some bruising, but it was clean and healing nicely. The joint is still very stiff, and and hard to move. We decided that I should be able to work out this kink on my own, without the need for physical therapy. Last, he wanted to know if I wanted more pain killer. I told him I hadn't used any of the Norco because it made me sick. He then said getting a different pain killer was no problem, but I still turned him down. I'm ready to move on.

As for ankle, and I quote the doc here: (As he pulled out some x-ray films they had just taken) I'm really happy with the results, but there is nothing we can do to make your ankle look any better.

So, the joint looks like crap. I, at the age of 32, shouldn't have an ankle that looks like this. But its cleaner than it was. There is a still a large bone spur on the front of the foot. But, because it is below the ankle joint and rather uninvolved in the grand scheme of things, it was left there.

Now I have a fracture boot, and more streamlined and efficient model than one I have previously had.

So I am mobile now. I still have one more week off of work (hip-hip-hooray!) and then 2 weeks of light duty (boo, hiss! Light duties are looked at like challenged workers).

Today we, my parents and I, traveled the Mattole Road and they were introduced to the lost coast. Tonight we watched the V.P. Debate on CNN. One subject I will probably expand upon later, one I think will make a point of leaving out of my blog all together.

As always, thanks for tuning in. And for those who care, I'll make a point of checking in more often.

Antics on the road, and I'm barely a Baritone

Yesterday I drove Ben home after a nice, long summer visit. From our home here to his other home, its easily a 5 hour drive. So we packed up the usual accoutrement's: toys, movies and games, and headed south. Of course, between movies and games and whatever else his almost-9-year-old brain can come up with, he has an unending string of questions that need answering. This can make for a rather entertaining ride.

Sadly, though, the ride home is nowhere near as entertaining because I am alone, and generally I don't have a lot of questions that I feel compelled to ask myself. So I am left to watch others as I drive. Its amazing what people do in their vehicles. I think, and this is only a theory, the most people believe that when they are in their vehicle the rest of the world is shut out. They are alone, shielded from view from the rest of humanity. What follows is a small list of observations I have made on various trips to various places that have stuck with me, and I have even gone so far as giving these people titles:

1. The groomer: The guy with his razor, the woman with her makeup. I hope this doesn't come across as sexist, but I believe the shaver is less dangerous than the make-up artist. Using an electric razor is far easier then applying make-up (at least it seems like it should be, I can't say this from personal experience). But lets be honest, if the guy with his razor crashes he doesn't run too much risk of gouging his eye ball out with a eyelash brush, or whatever its called.


2. The miner: Yes, I am referring to nose picking. I would not be so presumptuous as to say we all haven't had to do a little mining in our nasal cavities from time to time. After all, we are human and the proverbial booger sometimes has to be expelled. But in the front seat of your car while you are on a crowded highway? What do you plan to do with that thing once it has been extracted? It better not fling towards my car.


3. The reader: This one always baffles me. Whether its a map, a book or the news paper, how can anyone think they can read and focus on the road? I have actually seen a man reading the paper and shaving while driving. Up until this point, I hadn't even considered the idea that we could combine titles.


4. The singer: I myself am guilty of this one. I bring the iPod in long trips and have all my play lists easily accessible. And of course, when there is no one to talk to, sometimes singing along with the music is all there is do. I'm not embarrassed. I go all out. It entertains me. Sadly though, there are few songs out there that I can sing with relative ease, as my voice is extremely deep. I would barely qualify as a baritone, were I to have a title. More a bass. In fact, on a good day when I'm warmed up and in good form, I can hit two octaves below middle C (that's not easy).

So there we have it, a small list of the types of people I have seen while traveling the California highways. There is one person, though, who I have saved for last. And my most recent road trip provided the most amazing example of this type of person: The Idiot.

Imagine if you will, a crowded 2 lane highway, with no center divide and a lot of construction. There I sit, two cars back from the flagger who yawns while holding his "Stop" sing. The sun is shining, and its easily 95 degrees outside or higher. I'm sure I was not the only one who was getting impatient with this constant stops and the waiting in the heat. But the flagger seems oblivious to all this as he calmly drinks from a water bottle kept cold in a cooler at his feet. The the pilot car arrives and turns around. From the rear, a large orange sign with bold black letters looks like this:

Most of us have seen this sign, I am sure. So the pilot car begins its run to guide us to the safe side of the construction zone. The first car in line is a blue mini-van with Washington plates. I don't know if they do road work in Washington, or if this person was new to driving. Either way, what followed had my dumbfounded, and laughing hysterically. The pilot car moved to the opposite side of the road to go around a very large, imposing and very in the way truck that was facing us in our lane. The Washingtonian must have decided that the silly pilot car was going to slow and decided to stay in the original lane, and then started to pass the pilot car. I'm surprised I didn't crash while all this was going on because I was watching so intently. With a large truck blocking the Washingtonian, the pilot car leaned on the horn, and screamed an expletive or two, and the Washingtonian quickly fell into line. I can't vouch for what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. I do believe at some point he realized the error of his ways, and was quite rattled by it. Because when the pilot car turned off to let us free from our escort, the Washingtonian slammed on his brakes for a brief second and nearly followed the pilot car into a small driveway.

I don't know how some of these things happen, but I'm pretty sure you can't make them up.