We got out of Eureka as soon as we could, but Steve and Mark contrived to leave the petrol cap on Phillipa’s roof, which meant our stay was extended as we set about acquiring a new one.
I woke up to responses to the messages I sent to Nikki and Jon’s mum last night. As much as I tried to stress* that he was alright, there wasn’t any way it wasn’t going to worry and upset them—especially when he hadn’t given us their phone numbers and his phone isn’t working.
The drive to Willits was lovely and broken up by a stop for lunch in Garberville, a place consisting of one street, two cafes and the smell of marijuana.
Our first destination upon arriving in Willits was the Frank R. Howard Memorial Hospital to see Jon. He was in good spirits after his operation. We checked into a Western-themed motel across the road from the hospital, The Old West Inn, and we are staying in the Bunkhouse.
The town (technically a city, but that title is thrown about willy-nilly in the States) is tiny but cool. It also houses the Shanachie Pub—the best pub in the United States so far.
Hopefully Jon will be out of hospital tomorrow and we’ll be on our way to Sausalito.
Taraa for now.
Jon is absolutely fine, so don’t worry. He did, however, have a slight accident that means he’s fractured the leg bone just above his knee.
He was running and fell awkwardly in a car park yesterday. We assumed he’d only bruised it and thought we’d let him see whether he could shake it off overnight, but the pain persisted.
It’s an absolute freak of an accident, and the doctors said they’d never seen anything like it.
He’s being airlifted 200 miles south to Willits, CA, to a specialist hospital that’ll sort it out properly.
If you can message me back with your number, I’ll text it to the travel phone that Jon has so that he can call you.
In the meantime, if you need updates or anything, then I’ll get back to you as soon I possibly can.
Take care, and don’t worry.