28 Nov.

Well, we’re not in Sausalito, but we are out of Willits. I’m writing from a motel-room floor in Ukiah, 20 miles south.

The day began with yet more negativity, with Phillipa failing to restart after we filled her up. We got towed to Adam’s Tire, where we were asked for $400 to seal a nonexistent hole in a tube. The car stopped running because the throttle had jammed. Once that was fixed, we could get to Greg’s Transmission Auto & RV Repair in Ukiah.

We met Greg—the Greg—last night in the Shanachie. He told us to visit so he could give Phillipa a once-over. He sorted us right out for $40, fixing a slight leak, the central locking, the horn and the lighter. The latter also means the in-car charger will work.

The Sons of Anarchy go past as we wait for Phillipa to get towed.


He’s pretty disconsolate (some Aussie mard arse in the hospital told him how screwed he is—and was promptly informed she was a bitch) and in pain, but we keep telling him it’ll get better. After all, he’s just had an operation—even grazes can sting for a few days. We also don’t have to mess around with public transport because of our car, which has enough room for him to keep his leg straight.

Things are looking up, and we’ll be rising nice and early tomorrow for the journey to Sausalito. I volunteered for the first floor shift given two-double-bedded motel rooms are the way to go for cost and comfort (for four of us, anyway).



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