Harold gave us a tow and we camped in the field behind his garage for the two days
it took for him to come up with the tires. He’s spent just about his entire life along route 395. As a young boy he discovered that he had a knack for fixing things – fixing things and keeping them running. He’d dreamt about playing professional baseball - made it to the minors but then came the war and he lost a foot in the pacific so he went back to fixing. The second night we all ate together. Later in the evening drinking and smoking he took out his dentures saying we seemed like good folk.
We could make it to LA in a day if we wanted but we’re in no hurry. Death valley or even a detour to joshua tree.
Internet not so often and sometimes when we least expect it - i can’t remember the last time somebody sent me a letter that was more than a card with a line or two. It wasn’t
something i thought about before this trip began but i’m remembering all sorts of things
i haven’t thought about in a long time