Where to begin?
For the time being, there are four of us. It turns out Jon’s leg problem was a fracture in his femur and that he requires an operation.
Do I feel bad for underestimating the extent of his injury? Yes. “Don’t use the key. Make him get up to answer the door; he’s not been bending his knee enough” is a line that’ll probably haunt me forever.
Do I feel guilty? No. “Stop running. You’ll slip” is a line of uncanny prescience.
We stopped in Crescent City, just over the California border. That’s right: We finally got to California. Thanks for ruining the excitement of that one, Jon. Just kidding. Get well soon, babes.
Anyway, we pulled into a hospital after Mark saw a sign for one and said “do you want me to see whether we can get you some crutches, Jon?” Those two went in while Nick, Steve and I waited in and around the car. There was a sign that warned people not to bring guns into the hospital. Murica.
Mark left the waiting room about half an hour later and asked whether we wanted the good or the bad news. The good: We’re going to be able to get Jon some crutches. The bad: He’s going to have to have an operation.
We went straight into his room, past a disturbing painting of a man lifting a little girl’s skirt up on a carousel, to see how he was. Surprisingly chipper! Morphine will do that.
We spent four hours at the hospital altogether before finding out that Jon would be airlifted to Willits, 200 miles south.
Funnily enough, that city came up earlier in the day, when Nick was offered a free bag of marijuana and a place to stay in Willits as he strolled around Bandon. It finally stopped raining, and Table Rock Motel was lovely, as were the proprietor, local area and scenery.
That’s more than can be said for Eureka…
We’ve stopped here to break up the journey to Willits. The motel is only $59 (plus tax) per night, which between four can’t be sniffed at. The city itself, however, can—well, you shouldn’t, because it does have a bit of a funky odour.
Eureka is a little bit rough, and I can’t see us staying long after the last person has showered before we set off on our 125-mile trip to Willits to visit our brave little raspberry.
See you tomorrow. Hopefully.