I had a delightful visit with my friend and partner in crime, Wanda aka Maggie. Actually, she’s your friend and partner, too — you met her in my novel Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare. (Because of course you read the book!)
We talked non-stop during the days I spent with her and way too far into the early morning hours for someone who is still coughing so much. (Ironically, one of coughing fits I had on the drive today after I left Wanda came as I passed a warning sign that said “congestion.”)
I had a special thrill when I got gas — most gas stations here are not self-serve, so I sat in the car and let an elderly gentleman fill my tank. Apparently they don’t see many Beetles up here because he didn’t know where the gas tank was located. And he didn’t wash my windows or offer to check my oil, so it wasn’t much of a throwback.
Highway 101 through Oregon is called the Pacific Coastal Highway, so naturally I figured I would have a steady view of the ocean, but mostly I drove through a canyon of trees. Still, the few times I glimpsed the ocean were even more stunning because they came unexpectedly.
It’s a good thing I decided not to camp. Even sleeping in warm beds isn’t helping my cough. I can’t imagine how awful I would sound after sleeping in a cold, dew-drenched tent.
Sometimes I think I am a fraud — I talk of adventure, and yet when one comes around, I wimp out and hole up at friends’s houses or hunker down in motels. But I suppose I could comfort myself with the thought that I am merely on an adventure of a different color.