Driving. Through Arizona. To California! We're listening to our California mix! It's a good mix! We're excited! It's Hot. Very Hot. We have recently (see: New Mexico) discovered our trusty Scuttlebuss does NOT like running air conditioning when the temperature gets to three digits. We have the windows down. Not so bad at first. Through the passenger window I get my first and only viewing of the Saguaro cactus. As we go further through the desert of AZ, the temp rises and rises and reaches impressive heights.
The windows down is like opening the oven and getting a rush of the air right in the face at about 65 mph.
It's getting bad. Real bad. We stop for gas. I felt not in my right mind. I find a cell phone in the bathroom, return it to an ungrateful employee and buy myself a Gatorade. Once back in the vehicle I figure it's time to find something we can call an "outfit" that contains the least amount of clothing you can be seen from a car window in. I find a bikini top and shorts and sweat out my misery in the passenger seat. We continue on our way.
We have heard you have to get up a giant mountain to get into San Diego... it's aptly called something to do with Hell or the Devil. It's not a fun mountain. In fact, even before we climb this giant desert mountain in our Scuttlebuss in something around 110 degrees... the surroundings are becoming the ugliest we'll see on our journey. This mountain seems made up of black boulders and brown weeds... its is not charming. It is a slow, hot climb. There are daunting signs everywhere stating "Don't Overheat! Turn off your AC!" These would have been helpful back in Texas and New Mexico. There are also "Radiator Refill Stations" every few miles, and we pass at least 5 overheated vehicles on the side of the road. We keep our AC off, and experience extreme adventurous discomfort. That was LIVIN'. Though it felt like dyin'. Interesting how closely linked the two are, eh?
On this drive we pass near the border with Mexicali. We come upon a police line, cars and officers, dogs and tents on both sides of the highway. An officer approaches our vehicle, we are first in line to stop as they put down spikes. The officer says to Driver KG:
"Hi. We're just putting down tire spikes. It'll just take a few minutes. Where you headed?"
KG: "San Diego."
Officer: "Not planning on stopping by Mexico, are ya?"
KG: "No. Well. I don't know. Maybe. We were thinking of seeing Tijuana. You know. Just walking over and checking it out for a little while."
Officer: "I would not do that if I were you. Things over there are getting worse and worse. New drug cartel taking over from the last one, all kinds of activity right now. A woman just was in Tijuana the other day and walked back across the border.... an officer saw tape coming out from under her shirt, they end up having her take it off and she'd been cut open. They sliced the front of her up and put drugs inside, stitched her up with duct tape and made her walk across promising not to say a word or they'd kill her."
KG: "Oh. ...That doesn't sound good."
Officer: "No. One of my co workers got killed down there. I wouldn't go."
KG: "Maybe we won't go."
Officer: "Welp, looks like the spikes are down! Have a good day!"
And through all of this I am uncomfortably sweaty in a bikini. I didn't expect an interview with an officer, and everything about it was gross.
We made it up the mountain, but I lost sanity and joy for at least a little bit. THAT'S why San Diego started off slow and grouchy. Anyhow, it ended up being a nice stop... and the insane scientific weather juxtaposition of driving up that Satanic mountain in 110 degree heat and being spat out (after the most rotten rest stop between the highways in the middle of the dunes.. you come out of that stop fully running and heaving.. then some blah California desert..) in 72 degree San Diego was mind blowing. It was a refreshing introduction to coastal California... the place of remarkably temperate weather AND.... NO MESQUITOES.
Now, we have left San Diego. It is July 6th. We are in Encinitas, parked on a hill near the ocean... walking down the hill and into the cafe where our Scuttlebuggs "gig" is located.
[There is a locally famed mural outside the cafe, which is where we were to perform. Here is info on it: http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2011/06/08/is-mosaic-of-surfing-virgin-mary-art-or-graffiti/ .
People needed us to move (during our performance) when they came by just to take its picture.]
The woman who I spoke to on the phone, who knows the musician that got us booked, would not be in attendance. The guy and gal behind the counter were of the annoyed and uninterested variety. Turns out the equipment is not complete. Missing cords, yadda yadda. We can share one mic and just play the guitar into the open air on the patio outside the cafe. Well, alright. While we were inside getting our payment of a latte (complimentary eye roll and sigh on the side) we noticed an older (though very fit, that's the SoCal way) man in line behind us wearing a Cambodia shirt. Much as it happened when I was wearing a Cambodia shirt at the Grand Canyon, a conversation of shared experience was struck up. He was a very nice fellow and asked us if we were the advertised performers (sidewalk chalkboard displaying "The Scuttlebugs", the incorrect and often used attempt at our silly name... which KG coined and despises by the way). We replied that we were.
He: "That's great! I'd really love to stay and watch you guys. I am a bit involved in the music world... my son has found some success with it. I'm sure you haven't heard of them, but he's in a band called Switchfoot."
We: "Oh! Yes, actually. We have heard of them! We hope you enjoy the set."
He: "Ah... I would love to stay, but I actually need to get to the water to surf. This is the only time of day I can fit it in. Best of luck to you!"
So. Of the five people at the cafe that day, one was the father (and he may have even said manager) of a famous musician... and he didn't get to hear and fall in love with any of our songs. Because he had to go surf.
SoCal!
We're supposed to play around 2 hours. So we do. To one table. Sometimes two. Sometimes even three. Briefly three. The musician we were in contact with but had never met stopped by. Families and couples came and went, usually regarding us as background. When people approached with a camera the confused awkward flattery quickly turned to understanding they wanted us to move from in front of the Mary mosaic.
Also, the patio was right on the main road thoroughfare, and the vehicles all but drowned out our tender harmonies. Honking semis even, at times. Sing on.
When we had a crowd of maybe around 6, we told the story of meeting a couple from San Diego at the Grand Canyon -- remember? They told us they had never heard of a Midwestern stereotype? Never heard anyone say anything about anyone from Michigan, Illinois, Ohio etc? So we told the story, gave (kind) examples of Southern Californian stereotypes and asked our "crowd": "So. Do YOU know any Midwest stereotypes?"
They scratched their respective heads and beards, looked at each other, shrugged and shook their heads. Not one person had one stereotype of us farmin' flatlanders!
I gave them some. "Well! Now you will know: people sometimes say we.... have good manners, 'Midwest Manners', they say... also that we eat fast food and don't exercise much... we farm... we eat corn... potatoes.. cheese... Oh! And I've learned a new one in my recent travels: we are not used to driving on big hills and it can be very scary for us."
Spread THAT up the West Coast! Get Em Talkin!
We informed locals of Midwestern stereotypes, got a few nice compliments after our show and even sold a CD. It wasn't worthless.
Sold a CD! Pretty impressive with that "crowd"!
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