Five O'Clock Somewhere

Welcome to Five O'Clock Somewhere, where it doesn't matter what time zone you're in; it's five o'clock somewhere. We'll look at rural life, especially as it happens in Rio Arriba County, New Mexico, cats, sailing (particularly Etchells racing yachts), and bits of grammar and Victorian poetry.

Friday, March 03, 2006

On the road with the Rat Pack

Hedonism rules!

So I did some writing, had some beer, and decided to give up waiting for Larry and Braxton about half-past midnight and turn in. Next thing I know, it’s 2:30, and Larry’ charging in, turning on lights and saying, “Get up! Let’s go!” Braxton’s hitching up the trailer to the truck, which is blasting Frank Sinatra at high volume. I pack up the computer and the cooler and toss the rest of my stuff from my car into the truck, and then I take the car around to park it behind the fence, and we’re off, with Braxton at the wheel, Larry riding shotgun, and me in the back.

Larry was almost immediately asleep, which meant he ended up essentially in my lap when his seat reclined – this back seat isn’t as roomy as a full crew cab would have. So when Braxton stopped to top off the fuel in Hatch (where we discovered the trailer lights weren’t working), we swapped so Larry could sleep in back and I could sit up front. We were driving through territory where Braxton hunts snakes (he collects them), so I learned a lot about which kinds of snakes are found in which mountains.

Braxton drove as far as Casa Grande, south of Phoenix; the sun rose behind us as we passed through Tucson. At Casa Grande, he asked Larry to take over. With sufficient aspirin, caffeine, and nicotine, Larry was able to get us through morning rush hour in Phoenix, with me navigating and Braxton sleeping in back. We swapped Frank for Dino, and then a disc featuring the whole Rat Pack. Beyond Phoenix, Larry turned the helm over to me so he and Braxton could both sleep off a bit more of the previous night. We stopped for a bite to eat at the McDDonald’s in Quartzite, and then Larry, now fully recovered, took over again. He’s now singing along with Frank a we cruise across the Mojave Desert (“The Lady Is A Tramp, “Witchcraft,” ad so forth). There’s an Italian place in Palm Springs where he wants to have lunch.


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