Leaving San Diego XL

Lee was soft-spoken, and spoke in a low tone of voice like a parent reading a bed-time story to a child, hoping sleep would come before story's end. A rolling monologue transpired throughout the ride. "If you push this button, it shows you how far you can go on this tank of gas. If you push that other button, you can look at the oil pressure. And if you push this button here, you can tell if one of the tires is low on air." At the same time, information was coming to me from the back seat on how to work the heater and air-conditioning controls. "Push that round knob on the left if you want it to get colder in here; work that other knob if you want all the air to come out the top and turn the knob on the right if you want it to blow harder. It won't get cooler, but will just blow harder." I listened to both at the same time, but not that hard. I already knew about the dash controls, but had no intentions of messing with the temperature. I was just along for the ride. Lee's rolling commentary faded in and out as the volume fluctuated. It was like listening to a Watergate recording with interruptions from a noisy air conditioner. "Yeah, you see, this road goes on down and comes out by the VFW over...(unintelligible conversation)...and their grandkids should never have been allowed to do that in the first...(unintelligible conversation)...log came through the windshield and killed them both. It was a real tragedy." I nodded in agreement. We were approaching "Dixon", a place where, according to the road sign, President Ronald Reagan once lived. This was a nice, sunny Saturday and good time for a garage sale. I spotted in front yards a pump organ, wooden wheelchair, 8-track tape player and waterbed...among tons of other valuable merchandise. I was finding the ride to be rather enjoyable...as long as I kept my brain in neutral.