. elsewhere . . letters from the inaccessible .


18 september 2002

The Great American Fever Trip of 2002 (Part Two), or
  Wherein the Protagonist and His Love CHOMP Down

In our last installment, I told the story of the first Friday of the first honest-to-goodness vacation which we (reading my sweetie and I) have had in many a year. And that rolicking fun ride continues with the story of Saturday, wherein some power chose to smite us.

The evening started off nicely enough... the first night of the vacation we anticipated the excitement ahead. We were awoken, most unceremoniously around 2am by My Beloved feeling very ill and feverish. Food poisoning was suspected, as was a flu, but certainty was not to be had there in Morro Bay. She started taking ibuprofen and felt good enough to sleep.

The morning greeted us cool and hazy, the top of the Rock of Morro Bay obscured in gray fog. My sweetie was feeling much better, so we chose to proceed up highway 1. The drive was, to put it mildly, fantastic. We were feeling good, the car was driving well and the lovely sweet gray sky-goodness wafted and flowed over the hills, into the canyons, up and around the trees: words fail to describe, not because the majesty was overwhelming enough to make words puny, but because my word manufactory is tooled for a different purpose than to describe coastline and automobiles, the glee of first-hand physics experienced in hairpin turns.

After a few hours, we arrived in the microscopic town (apparently just a hotel with a few cottages perched on a cliff overlooking the coastline of Big Sur) of Lucia, and ate a small pre-lunch. My sweetie started feeling not as well, so another dose of fever-fighter was taken and we proceeded up the coast. The drive from Lucia into Monterey is a far less interesting one than that of Morro Bay to Lucia. We decided to drive, once we got onto the Monterey peninsula, the 17 mile drive, tourist-popular "scenic" drive through Carmel (again, this paled in comparison to that which we experienced that morning).

Unfortunately, illness was creeping back, fever and headache, aches in the back and side. Without a primary-care doctor nearby, we agreed that it would be wise to make a visit to the local ER, named curiously enough CHOMP (Community Hospital of Monterey Peninsula). After some hours there and (as we were later to know in better detail) a half-assed investigation into her symptoms, she was released with a tentative flu diagnosis, a fluffy orange giraffe (provided not by the CHOMP staff, but by yours truly) and an encouragement to continue on ibuprofen and tylenol. We drove up to the Hotel in Marina (right across, by the way from the impressively expensive Marina Dunes resort) and spent the remainder of the day convalescing, eating dinner at Denny's, and going to the drug store for more tylenol. Several hours of beautiful driving, some time spent in an uptight-what-do-we-do-now haze, and time at the hospital (treated by a doctor with some conspicuous psoriasis, yuck) well and truly wore us out.

Return again for the next day's story, including Pompanio (a completely inside joke which I refuse to let anyone in on; deal.) Pacifica McDonald's, the "Crookedest street in the world," more aching, fever and illness, and the special SF low-rent-district Days Inn.

musings of señor prod.

Pain is weakness leaving the body.


©2001 Timothy A. Clark -|-