This year has not been the best year for me and driving between Rocklin and San Diego. If you read my original article, The Grapefruits of Wrath, you’ll get a glimpse of what I’ve had to deal with this year. Broken down trucks, dead phones, dead pets, along with a slough of other horrors are what met me the last time I drove down Interstate 5. It was a real life game of Oregon Trail complete with dysentery and losing the game before ever making it to the destination. So it was with apprehension that I got back on the same road to go home for Thanksgiving.

I had taken my one and only final exam for the semester (yes, before finals week and I’m done with finals). I said goodbye to my few remaining friends on campus and stopped at my apartment to grab my things and got on the road at about 3:00 in the afternoon. I knew I wasn’t going to get home earlier than 1:00 in the morning and decided that I was going to make my usual stop at Disneyland because I have my pass. As I got to La Jolla, I soon realized what deep, deep, poo I was in. Bumper to bumper traffic as far as the eye could see.

I sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat.

For three hours I sat inching my way down the freeway in what can only be described as torturous and finally, as I reached Carlsbad, I hopped off the freeway and drove surface streets for a while. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Southern California, from Ocean Beach to Carlsbad is about a 30 minute drive. It took me ten times as long. I would have been better off Forrest Gump-ing it and running.

As I was reaching Anaheim five hours after leaving my apartment, I began to realize that I was not going to make it home that night. So I did what any rational, intelligent person would do. I went to Disneyland! With an annual pass, it’s extremely convenient to stop for a few hours on my way through. I went in the park, rode a few rides, had a churro and watched the fireworks. I got back on the road, taking a back route that skirts around Los Angeles. I was doing fine on this road until I ended up in Barstow and realized I had overshot my exit by almost twenty miles.

I finally made it to my hotel at about 11:00 p.m.- eight hours after I had left, and quickly put myself to bed to hopefully get up and out early, as I was still about five hours from home.

I did end up getting up and out and was making decent time, especially for the day before Thanksgiving!

As I was making my way up I-5 past Bakersfield and King City, Avenal, and Harris Ranch, I was getting excited and anxious to be out of the car and in the comfort of my parents' home with my dogs. My family would be there of course, but there’s just something about seeing your dogs after being gone for such a long time that…

*slam*

Traffic had stopped on the freeway, but the car behind me hadn’t noticed, and the driver slammed into the back of my truck at about 60 miles per hour. As my head smacked against the back window, I couldn’t help but curse the damned freeway that has long been my foe.

We both pulled to the side of the road and got out of our respective cars. We checked to see that the other person was ok after which she started going off about how I was leaving too much space between me and the car in front of me and that I couldn’t be driving like that. As the girl was obviously a few years younger than me, I resisted lashing out at her until she said “ I don’t even understand why you were driving like that!” I quickly and dryly said “So I don’t slam into the car in front of me." My understandably sass laden response changed her attitude fairly quickly.

As we began to assess the damage to our vehicles it became very clear that her aluminum framed car was no match for my steel framed truck. My back bumper was bent in, a small dent in the tailgate, and lots of scratched paint were not much compared to her shattered radiator, missing headlight, scrunched up hood and various engine fluids flowing from underneath the car.

She turned to me and asked, “Do you think I could make it up to the exit over there?" I replied, “You’re not going to make it another ten feet.”

We waited for the Highway Patrol officer to show up and two hours after it began, I was finally back on the road.