Yeah, that’s right.  I’m going to China.

“Fat people are hard to kidnap.”

At 10 a.m. the next day, I walked up to his house, fully decked in my boat shoes, linen shorts, and Kangol hat.  I tried to find a blazer, but since I was moving, my more boaty apparel was already in Santa Barbara.

We packed up some food and water, then we hopped into his car and drove to the marina in Vallejo.  After unpacking the food and supplies, we walked down the marina until stopping at a cute little boat named Nonika.  We tied up ropes to sails, he explained and I forgot all the jargon and knots, and we took sailing pictures:

Proof that yes, I went sailing with my professor:

It was a perfect day for sailing.  There was just enough wind to make it a pleasant jouney, but not so much that it would be miserable.

If you’ve never been sailing, one of the first things you notice is that you rarely spend time with the boat level.  Most of the time, you’re at an angle something like this:

It was a totally amazing experience, and now I’m looking to find some sailing buddies in Santa Barbara. If you know of anyone who needs a deckhand, send them my way.

Of course, one of my favorite parts of the entire journey was that I finally got to use my boat shoes for their intended purpose. I was so excited about this, I think it was starting to get on the captain’s nerves a bit. Nevertheless, I still had to take a picture of the event:

More pictures can be seen here.

Thursday morning, I would wake up at 7:45 and talk to Caitlin. By 9, I would be at the Bike Barn helping Amy overhaul her pedals. After that, I would hop in my packed car and be on my way to Santa Barbara. I would go to the AT&T store with David at 4 a.m. to be hip and stand in the line for an iPhone 3G. At noon, we would leave for the airport, and several hours later, our family would be in Hawaii.

Here’s how it panned out:

Wednesday night, I thrashed my room. Well, I pulled pretty much everything out of the neat holes which make all my junk disappear. I was talking to Caitlin while this all happened, so she can verify that I was productive. I emptied my closet and bookshelves, and I slowly filled up my car, both trunk and cabin, with most of my life.

The high that day was 112º, so I was working shirtless. The trips to the car were rather enjoyable, since it was at least 10º cooler outside than in our stuffy apartment. With many trips and even more pauses, I managed to fill my car and fall on top of my bed at roughly 2 a.m. No tucking in when the nighttime air is hotter than your body temperature.

Since this last fact was the case, I ended up sleeping very poorly. I woke up several times because of the heat, one time bothering me enough that i actually flopped out of bed and turned on my fan.

Since it was still so hot, I fuzzed into the realm of the awake at 7:30, so I opened my computer then. Caitlin was getting ready for bed, so I, being rather groggy, was probably a less than chipper conversationalist.

This fact most likely added to the already mounting tensions of her being in a similar state of drowsiness, and the conversation lasted a good hour and half longer than intended, just so iron out all the extraneous factors for grumpiness.

Around 10:30, I started finishing packing, getting the things I used that night into a bag, then loading up the car once more. I finally left around 11:30, expecting to be in Santa Barbara by dinnertime at the latest.

About an hour into my drive, I noticed the engine was whimpering a little bit. It didn’t seem to be much of a big deal, since it’s a 1989 Oldsmobile, but that peaked my attention and alerted my interest in any potential problems.

A few minutes later, I came upon a rather large hill. Normally, the engine is stressed a little bit, and it slips down to about 65 mph without giving it more gas. When this happened this time, I figured it was just being sassy, so I pushed the gas, but nothing happened.

Instead, the speed continued to drop, independent of what I was doing to counteract it. I slowly drifted into the truck lane, topping the hill at 45 mph.

Once I was going downhill, there was no more problem, so I stopped looking for exits. The car responded to the pedals, and things seemed to be normal. Until I tried to change lanes.

It surprised me at first. The car jerked me forward a little bit, as if the brakes caught slightly on something. I figured I ran over something or there was a fluke in the system. It is, after all, my car.

So I tried it again. It turns out, the act of using my blinker lights was affecting the engine. I quickly put together that it might have had something to do with the hill, and at the same time, I noticed that the car was getting a little hot.

It seems the air conditioner was no longer working. It made the noises and blew air, but it wasn’t cold. I switched in on and off, to “vent” and back, but nothing was happy except for off.

Once the car got settled with the air conditioning off, it seemed to run normally. The blinker lights were still a problem, so I waited for really large gaps and simply acted like a jerk on the freeway.

Well, all was fine for the first several minutes of this system. However, when you’re going through 100º+ weather without an air conditioner, things get less than comfortable. Much less than comfortable.

Thankfully, I had filed up my Nalgene before I left, so I carefully drank my water sloppily, so that I would get my shirt damp enough to feel less miserable.

After about half an hour since the first of the problems began, it was getting unbearable. In order to continue living in a state that would be legally allowed to drive, I rolled down the windows.

Strangely enough, it did not occur to me that the system powering the windows might also be connected to that which controls the turn signals and the air conditioning.

This fact did occur to me, yet only when the engine once again failed to accelerate when I pressed on the gas. Unfortunately, the whole car was pretty much sleeping, so that meant drifting to the shoulder to ponder that was happening.

When I got to the side of the freeway, I looked at my situation. I had just exited I-680 for 101 S, so I was at a pretty easily recognizable location. I turned the key on and off, but the engine didn’t even turn over. I whipped out my AAA card and called the number.

As a AAA member who frequently travels and breaks down in Northern California, the following has come up more than once.

The AAA card has two numbers for roadside assistance: one for inside California and one for outside. I have always called the inside California number.

I follow the procedures, pressing all the buttons and reciting my membership number, until finally I reach a human being. I explain the predicament, the dispatcher asks a few more questions, then finally I am asked where I am.

This particular time, I responded that I just got off 680 and was currently on 101. I gave the next exit name, and waited. After a minute of confusion, the dispatcher asked me if I was in Northern California and explained that she would have to transfer me to the other office.

This has happened to me every singe time I have called AAA. Since I’m registered in Santa Barbara, they assume that I’m in Southern California, and it doesn’t occur to ask if I’m even in their jurisdiction before asking any other questions. It also doesn’t say anything about that on the card, so I’m left being a question-answering monkey.

Finally, I got to the right office, and the dispatcher was a very nice but mildly moronic man. I told him I just got off 680 and was sitting on the right shoulder of 101 S, about half a mile before Tully exit. He took about 3 minutes to find me, trying really horrible techniques.

“I’m having trouble locating you. Where are you headed?”

“Santa Barbara.”

“”Okay, I’m at Santa Barbara, and I’m looking up 101.”

“I’m by San Jose, just off of 680.”

“Oh, you’re way far north.”

Yes, that’s true. Thank you for being helpful.

In any event, a tow truck was sent, expected to arrive within 45 minutes. Since I was getting dizzy sitting in the car, I climbed out and sat against the wall. I grabbed my trumpet and a chair, and I practiced to kill the time.

Eventually, the tow truck arrived, but it sat in front of my car for a good 3 minutes. I packed up my stuff and was wondering what was going on, until the driver finally got out and yelled at me, “Where were you when I pulled up?”

I explained that it was hot, so I was sitting in the shade, then he told me to wait in the truck.

It was worn and smelled like cigarettes, but it was air conditioned, so I didn’t care.

The driver’s name was Mike, and he was a very kind gentleman. Well, he was roughed up, but he was decent to me, at least. He saw that I was a young college student, and since he has a son of his own, he wanted to make sure I was taken care of. He talked to my dad for quite some time, going over the options to get me home. After much talking, we finally decided to drop me off at the mechanic, only first stopping for some cigarettes.

Of course, as it turns out, the mechanic was incredibly busy. Even if it were something really simple, there was no possible way to get the problem even diagnosed that day.

Fortunately, my mother’s aunt and uncle live nearby, so I called them and had them pick me up. We transferred all of my belongings to their car and headed back to their place.

After a quick unpacking, I started sorting my things. Since Amtrak was sold out and there were no good flights running, the last option was the Greyhound. Of course, there’s a bag limit, so I had to limit what I was taking, cramming everything I needed into one checked bag, one carryon, and one personal item.

The evening went better than the day. Dinner, talking, sorting, talking, going to the Greyhound station. My bus was scheduled to leave at 11:55 p.m. and get in at 7:15 a.m.

I checked in the requisite hour prior to departure, and waited. And waited.

At 11:30 or so, I stood up to wait for the bus. At 11:55, i was still waiting. Around 12:05, one of the guys working the station told me I should check with the counter, since, of course, the bus broke down.

They said it would be an hour or so late. Since i had no other options, I waited. And waited some more.

Around 12″30, they closed the station, forcing everyone to wait outside.

Finally, my bus came, around 1:20 a.m. or so. It’s 1:47, and we’re just leaving San Jose. We should make it to Santa Barbara in a good 7 hours or so. Well, Probably a few more days, judging by my lyck today.

A mass of hammers, in the process of having cloth attached at various points:

A mass of dampers, seven of which had to have ingenious ways of affixing new springs:

A mass of naked hammers, getting ready to have felts and bridle straps all gluey and on them:

So right now, I’m finishing up the hammers. The stickers only need two dabs of graphite each, and the dampers are all done. Then it’s a wire brush on all of them, cleaning up the dust and grime, then back on the rails they go.

Then time for regulating it.

We’re college students, so it’s kind of assumed that you don’t turn on the air conditioner because it costs money. But when the low is 70º F, I think we need to make an exception.

We need some better holidays in America.

Here’s a picture of us (pre-China) for reference:

Because she’ll be there for a year and it’s likely people might be interested in what she’s doing, she started a blog of her own.  You can find her experiences at ducklingseat.com.  Go ahead, give her some traffic.