The Siroker Brothers

Roadtrip to L.A. Part One: Avoiding bird shit

We left our apartment by 1:30pm on Wednesday. Marissa and I had spent all morning packing the car with luggage: clothes, school books, a computer, toiletries, etc. To top it all off we threw in some newly purchased kitchenware for her apartment and covered it all with beach towels to deter any would-be thieves.

After a quick stop for gas we started on our way down to Los Angeles. Well, not quite. The gas stop actually proved to be quite eventful. As I drove up to the gas station we happened to come across a woman who apparently had never “pumped gas” before. She couldn’t have been more then thirty years old and was dressed rather business-like with a miniskirt and suit jacket. I initially decided to wait behind her car because the rest of the unused gas pumps were on the wrong side for my car.

To my dismay it appeared as if a whole group of cars had come and gone in the entire time it took her to figure out how to insert her credit card. After about ten minutes she eventually got her credit card to work and she put the gas pump into her car. She then disappeared into the convenience store. At this point I gave up. I backed up and turned my car around in order to use the adjacent pump which had been vacant the entire time.

Driving to Santa Cruz

Believe it or not, but while this was all happening another person sat in the passenger side of the same car that had been in front of me. This forty-something Asian man sat perfectly still throughout the entire ordeal as if he was the wise master of the gas pump who had been gracefully teaching his trophy bride new and useful skills like “pumping gas” and “go get me a bag of Doritos and a coke”. Trying to master the latter of the two skills had been the reason why the woman was in the convenience store for so long.

We finally got to a pump and I got out of the car and did my business. We were leaving the gas station just as the woman was coming out of the store with the Doritos.

I drove down Sand Hill Road and got onto 280 south. We were finally on our way toward Los Angeles. As I drove Marissa set up my iPod with an FM modulator and we listened to mp3s over my radio.

After about an hour I asked Marissa if she wanted to stop at Santa Cruz: “Hey, do you wanna stop at Santa Cruz?” She shrugged and said, “I dunno…” I agreed and continued driving south until we reached Monterey.

Driving to Monterey

The weather in Monterey wasn’t magnificent but that was a good thing because I burn up like a piece of bacon if I’m out in the sun too long. We first parked at the base of Fisherman’s Wharf and strolled down to the end. The walk took about five minutes. The Wharf was more of a really large wooden plank and less of a Wharf. I guess I’ve been spoiled having grown up with San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf but at the time I thought they should have named it “Long Piece of Wood with One Restaurant and a Dozen Fishermen”—at least they wouldn’t con people like me into wasting money on metered parking if that was the case.

Since we already had a parking spot we walked around the Wharf and found a conveniently located beach where we settled down to read. Marissa read “Sputnik Sweetheart” by Haruki Murakami and I read “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams. This was the first time all summer I had a chance to really relax. I cherished every moment of it, but after about an hour of reading our stomachs began to speak up. I asked Marissa if she wanted to go eat dinner and I then realized that I had reached the goal I had made in my previous entry: We were in Monterey by dinner-time!

We drove through the streets of Monterey from Fisherman’s Wharf to Cannery Row and found a nice little restaurant by the coast. We parked on the side of the road and entered. While waiting to be seated Marissa noticed a sign on the wall stating something like: “Warning: This location is known to contain carcinogens…”. We looked at each other somewhat uneasily but went on nonetheless. Why? I don’t know.

It was relatively early in the evening so the restaurant had plenty of room. We chose to sit outside. The waitress was really nice and the food was great. I don’t think either of us had any carcinogens, but you never know. One thing I do know was that there were about six birds that pestered us for food the entire evening. One of them was a giant sea gull that felt like staring me down for about three straight minutes. I think he wanted my bread roll. I chose not to feed them because I knew it would only come back to me in the form of a warm white liquid known as bird shit. It didn’t help to know, according to the waitress, that early in the day a bird shitted right in the middle of our table.

When we were done we wanted dessert and asked the waitress for advice. She told us to save our money and go down the street to the Ghirardelli store. I respected her honesty and gave her quite a nice tip. I paid in cash so as to get the hell out of there before the birds decided to drop a load on us. Luckily, we made it out unshitted upon. It took some time to find the Ghirardelli store but the wait was worth it. Marissa and I split a hot chocolate and brownie sundae. Finally: summer was here. My girlfriend, the beach, and a brownie sundae—who could ask for anything more?

Stay tuned for the next installment: Roadtrip to L.A. Part Deux: Why I Hate Driving in Los Angeles