Well, we've been in the desert for a while now. My sense of color has adjusted.  Forest Greens, browns, greys turn to turquoise, oranges, saguaro greens.  

We're sitting around a glowing campfire in the the desert. The coyotes are howling. The stars are bright. The canyon hills rise up; towering blackness against the soft blue-glow of moonlight. The fire lights up our faces and makes everything seem more meaningful but less significant. The children snuggle up together in a big blanket. Speechless for a flickering moment in their tiny lives. Hypnotized.

 

Then I pop out of the bus carrying a large serving tray. (Well, I didn't really 'pop'. More like trip and catch things as I fall down the bus stairs) Covering the serving tray we have:

 

1. 22 Herb Tea with hibiscus, nettle, mint, lemon balm, fennel, mate etc. . . mixed with organic syrup, served in a stainless steel fancy Italian Franch Press

 

2. Spiced Plum Clafoutis- cinnamon, honey and toasted walnuts finish this sweet dessert pudding baked with organic plums,Mexican vanilla, eggs and cream. Topped with full cream organic vanilla yogurt.

 

 

It was delicious. The weather's beautiful and I have nothing to complain about. The little things in life can be so grand.   

 

 

Yeeeah. . . we made it to the desert. Got lost, got un-lost- yada yada. The Pink Bus went to Hollywood. Hung out in L.A. That was fun. Then we drove over to where we are now. In the desert. I love it. Merry Holidays.  

We drove for two solid, uneventful days. But something unexpected always happens on an adventure, right? I was sort of just riding along, bumpity bump, loving the scenery while hoping the giant unseen zit that is always forming during an adventure would just hurry up and show itself. Then I could deal with it and get on. And I knew it was coming soon. Everything was just too. . .average, too common. If there's one thing The Pink Bus is NOT used to being, it's average. And when things get wacky, they get really wacky.  

We end up on Mt. Eden, CA on some treed over one and a half lane road. It's dark and I think I see a house made out of giant tree trunk in the middle of a junk yard. No, no. . .let's regress further. That's not where it all started. So, we're about 40 miles south of Willlits, CA in the middle of nowhere. And Matt thinks he sees someone he knows from Oregon, riding a bike with a baby trailer behind it, waving his arms frantically. He decides to pull over... oh- no- wait- let's back up even more. 

About eight miles North of Eugene, OR we blow out a tire on the freeway. I make I-5 Southbound Breakdown Mexican Rice on the shoulder of the freeway. I wonder if the people driving home from work look in The Pink Bus window and see our brady bunch looking family sitting down at the table for dinner. What must they think?  It takes two days for repairs and more money than we had alotted for emergencies for four matching back tires. (All of a sudden I feel like I'm played "Oregon Trail", the ancient computer game from elementary school. You plan your rations and supplies, eat them or lose them, and die before you get to Oregon. Game Over.)

So we spend the night at superior tire, give them our funds and leave. The bus likes the tires. What Lady doesn't like a new pair of shoes? We feel better about it. It's 70 degrees. Cali weather's feeling good. Were in Sonoma county with only eight cars stuck behind us and no one's even flipping us off! Then Matt thinks he sees some Guy he knows. . .pulls over. . .and low and behold- it's not the Guy from Oregon riding his bike down the side of the highway in California! (But we had to check just in case we saw the real guy again and he was like "I saw you drive by me in California. . .I was dehydrated and exhausted and you guys didn't stop even though I was waving my arms like a maniac!") No. . . actually it turned out to be a maniac.

I creep over to the bus window and slowly inch it open.

     "Uh. . .Hi. . .do you need any water?"

     "No, I just really need some pot man. You got any pot?"

     "No, we live in a pink school bus. . .". (blah blah blah. we have a whole shpeel) Sometimes I feel like painting on my face "Not a marijuana dispenser. No, I don't know where you can get some." Anyway. I may be a little jaded to this question.

    Then he went on rambling and offering us involvement on numerous illegal activities. "Where you guys headed?"

     Matt replies "uhh. . .just up the road."

     "Oh, to the next rest stop? I need to go twenty miles."

     Matt again. "Oh, uhhh. . .we're just going to a little, uhh 'VINE -YARD' up the way." Oh my god did Matt just tell the creepy dude that we're going to a "VINE-YARD"? I tell the English teacher inside me to shut up, we have more important things going on right now than proper pronunciation. There's a crazy guy at my door. I'm standing less than three feet away from him, seperated by only some thin screen mesh, and all I can think is about Matt's pronunciation??! Now who's crazy? Anyway, I say "Sowee. You have nice day now. Good bye," in my best vietnemese accent. My hope is that will confuse him and he will let us drive off without incident. It works. I slam the window shut and we drive off.

Little did we know we would get lost in the woods less than one half hour away from San Francisco. It would be more likely to see a cowboy riding down the street in Manhattan. More later.