road trip USA

California calling

Someday I'll make it out to California, see if it's what it seems... Thus spake Manfred Mann many years ago, and of course there are probably more songs about California than almost anywhere else. Well now I've made it to California, I'm not sure that it is what it seems. I don't know about you, but the reason I come to California is Sun, Sand and Sea: and it would be similar for Nevada, although without the Sea. Well, I can now add a 4th S.

For the life of me, I had never expected to cross the border between the two states in late May in a snowstorm. Lake Tahoe was shrouded in freezing fog, not a boat to be seen, and I awoke the following morning to find an inch of snow sitting on my car. What's going on?

It didn't seem worth sitting on the frozen beaches of Lake Tahoe, so I headed west, and spent the next hour negotiating hairpin bends in dense fog and blizzard conditions. Fortunately, Mrs TomTom kept me on the right road, as it became difficult even to see the road signs.

My Little Darlin', She's a Real Firecracker

I think this is an appropriate moment to pay a tribute to my travelling companion of the past 5 weeks. Mrs TomTom is my very best friend in the US. Did you have parents who restricted your usage of a calculator to force you to work it out using your brain? If so, good for you, and good for your parents... (I was given an Oxford Scientific Calculator for my 18th - thanks Mum and Dad - and at that time, it was like being given a PC. And of course, by that time I was pretty nifty at arithmetic.) I had a bank manager - Mike Yockney at Sandhurst branch, who "encouraged" me as a trainee cashier to calculate manually the sterling value of Lira travellers cheques, @ 2732:£1. Bless you Mike. Most of today's youf can't tell you whether an MP3 player costing 33 Euros is approx £25, or approx £42, or £2.50, or £4.20, without recourse to a calculator. And by the time anyone reads this (if,indeed, anyone DOES read it!) Prudent Gordon's Public Spending will probably have rendered the pound weaker than the Zim Dollar, and these numbers will be irrelevant.

Anyways (as we say over here) I'm having to switch off the Satnav periodically to force myself to read the map and understand where I'm going - otherwise I'll become totally dependent upon Mrs TomTom. And where will we be if she leaves me for another man, or gets kidnapped by a hoodie, or has a breakdown, or just has an off day? You have to understand broadly where you are heading (both on the freeway, and on the motorway of life). The ambulance crew who drove to Manchester and back, using their satnav, when all they wanted was an 8 mile journey within the Essex boundary, proved this point. And the USA has an awesome capacity to rub this in if we get lazy. (Just see my page What's in a Name.)

She's been infinitely patient with me: no getting sharp when I obstinately refuse to stop and ask the way. Her dulcet Joanna Lumley tones are a delight even after 7 hours driving with her in the car. When I miss a turn, she just gives it some thought and then gives me an alternative. I never get told "Take the next left... no, no, no, the other left, I mean, right..."

Of course, there are some disadvantages. She can go very quiet: once you've been told "After 100 yards, turn left, and go straight... for one thousand six hundred and twenty two miles" there isn't much to say. She doesn't have much of a view either way on Country and Western, although she does sometimes talk over the top of it, which isn't very polite. She's only let me down a couple of times: once, she instructed me to take the next right, which I obeyed, and found myself driving the wrong way up the freeway exit. In my defence, there wasn't a right turn prohibited sign or no entry sign - I guess I was just meant to know not to turn in there. (And I was lucky that there was nothing coming down it at that moment.) On 2 other occasions, she has taken me to points on the map where roads apparently intersect, and I've been instructed to turn left onto Rxx, only to discover that I am passing directly underneath said route, with no connection to it. There are also occasions when 2 or 3 junctions might arise in the space of 50 yards, and it can be tricky to decipher which entrance she means. But this is me being picky. I have been able to navigate unknown cities with only Mrs TomTom for company, and very expert she has proved. I simply could not have driven with the same confidence (and without buying local maps) without her help.

I know that the other Mrs T - that is the original Mrs T - is looking forward to getting to know this new woman in my life, and I shall be sure to swap Joanna Lumley for Sgt Major Shouty in time for Mrs T's first drive with her.

As I approach the Californian coastline, and my rendezvous with Mrs T & Tripper-Nipper-II draws nigh, I reflect on my favourite musical line of the day - If your world's got somethin' missin', put a girl in it. How appropriate.

Napoleon Solo

One of the joys of solo travelling is having complete control of the timetable, and the menu. So when I fancy putting the pedal to the metal, there's only my own stomach to worry about. The Coolbag has given me enormous flexibility, and I have taken to buying a resealable pouch of sliced cheese, some tomay-does and a bag of rolls. This did put me briefly at risk, when I considered having a Steve Martin/Father of the Bride moment in Walmart: I wanted to buy a couple of bread rolls (or maybe 4) but they only have packs of 12. I (briefly) considered opening a pack and taking 4 to the checkout, but quickly chose discretion over valour - after all, Mrs T isn't yet in the country to bail me out, and the Tripper Nippers would never forgive me. You can do great things with a few bags of chips and cookies in the trunk (crisps, biscuits, boot) especially when you can spread out all over the car. I'm going to have to re-learn to be tidy. And of course, as of tomorrow, there will be no sleeping in the car, or haggling for the cheapest motel room: if not royally, Mrs T will at least be entitled to be sumptuously entertained to reflect her gracious acceptance of my absence all these weeks.

The Streets of San Francisco

San Francisco is, in some respects, how I remember it: stylish, eccentric, beautiful. It also contains a far greater number of destitutes than (I had noticed) previously. The number of people rummaging through garbage cans ouside restaurants, and eating the debris they find, is shocking, as is the huge number of people begging, and the significant number of individuals who are obviously mentally ill or significantly physically deformed in some way. This mirrors my recollections of Kansas City, St Louis, and Washington DC: in fact, all of the bigger places that I've wandered. I know that we also have a homelessness problem in London, but not on this scale, and of course London is far bigger than San Francisco. During the course of the past 5 weeks I've had to re-learn how to deal with poverty and begging, and I feel (a little) better for it.

By way of background, having lived in Kenya during the 1990s, we never became hardened to poverty (which was there in huge quantities) but we learned to deal with it. Unfortunately, you learn not to give money when asked as it is like putting a magnet amongst iron filings. Once you've given money, you are permanently surrounded and pestered incessantly, particularly by hordes of children. And why not? It's an entirely understandable reaction as you have shown yourself willing to be persuaded.

Hey Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?

In America, I've found it harder to walk past such destitution: perhaps because the contrast between my own and their circumstances is so stark, and also because I have the luxury of the time and the money to undertake this sort of journey. So I've taken to carrying a bunch of $1 bills, and when convenient some chocolate bars, and dispensing these. And crucially for me, this hasn't - yet - led to my being surrounded by a crowd.

Depending upon your perspective, this might seem unduly sentimental, misguided, or just a sop to an otherwise underactive conscience! What I do know is that I can afford it, I feel better for it, and the recipients have at least a moment of happiness from my hand. Last night, one young man let out such a whoop of joy to be given a Milky Way bar, and followed me for a block just to say thank you again, and I hope you have a joyous evening sir. So, my modest change of strategy won't change the world, but it helps me cope with the sight of such inequality.

(The cost of the Milky Way bar was 79 cents, or 40p, and I figure that it is more difficult to convert to alcohol than straight money.)

Is this tier of destitution the inevitable by-product of a society that prides itself on self reliance, hard work and taking responsibility? Does it have to be thus for the rest of such a society to work? I certainly don't believe that Britain has it any more right, in the way that it is breeding into a whole generation a culture of dependence on State support.

Killing Me Softly

In the news today because it is the Memorial Day Public Holiday: in contrast to the public warmth that I've reported towards their forces, the shame that is the official neglect of veterans (i.e. ex-servicemen). The suicide rate amongst 18-24 yr olds who have served a term in the military is 4 times the national average. Over 120 ex-servicemen commit suicide each week. (Yes, each week). I know there is a similar statistic for our men "left over" after the Falklands War, but I don't have it to hand.

On any given night, over 150,000 ex-servicemen are homeless, and that figure doubles for periodic homelessness. There are more homeless Vietnam Vets than died in the war itself. It seems that both nations are pretty good at discarding their servicemen after they've served their purpose.

Journey's End - Or Is It?

So here it is: 5 weeks, and 5012 miles after the start of the journey, the surf of the Pacific is beckoning. Mrs T and Master T and Master T's lady fly into San Francisco tomorrow. For the rest of the trip, I'm not flying solo any more. I've enjoyed myself immensely for the past 5 weeks: but it'll be nice to be - as we say in England - En Famile again.

Still to come on the blog: Yosemite to Colorado, via Death Valley, Utah (again) and New Mexico. Plus: what kit and facilities have I used, what has worked well and what hasn't: what has it cost, and what have I learned - about myself and America, and for the next time...? I can publish that question now as Mrs T is at the airport...

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