Only in California…

Itineration all over America is similar to some extent, in purpose and often in strategy.  Still, there are some days on my journey that are uniquely “Southern California.”  I had one of those days on Monday.

Back in October I wrote about freeways (see this post), and some things never change.  On Monday I woke up at 4:30 to be on the road by 5 to beat traffic on the 101, 405, 5, 805, and 8 as I drove south to La Mesa for a meeting.  After lunch I traveled eastward on the 8 to El Centro.  The 8 is the southern-most freeway in California, and for parts of my drive I could see Mexico — in fact, as I was flipping through radio stations, I thought I was IN Mexico.

After our Light for the Lost banquet, I headed back westward on the 8.  All of a sudden, out of the dark peaceful night, I saw an orange construction arrow sign, blinking what little traffic there was down to the left lane.  Just over the hill, I was slowed to a stop sign in the middle of the freeway, next to a portable trailer and two men in uniforms and beanies — BORDER PATROL.

I must add here that I drive a Ford Explorer, and wherever I travel I take my bike in case I have a chance to ride.  The bike lays mostly flat in the back of my car when the seats are down, and I usually cover it with a sheet so the gears won’t make my suitcases greasy.  So I had to laugh when the border patrol officer motioned me to stop, and looked curiously into the back of my car, illuminated by the bright lights set up alongside the road.

Maybe he has seen bikes under sheets before, and maybe a young single whitey girl isn’t the standard illegal alien transporter.  Either way, he waved me on and I continued on to my hotel next to Disneyland for the evening.

Disneyland, freeways, traffic, border patrol… only in California.

Note to self: always make sure at least one bike wheel is showing from under the sheet.