Today was it. We woke at the crack of dawn, ok, 6:30, to pack, clean and be out by the time the maid arrived in "The Upper Rooms." And we took the Pacific Coast Highway - six of us squashed in the truck - to Manhattan beach.
It was a lovely drive. The sun has come out after two months of rain. Other than debris littered beaches and extraordinarily green hills there's no sign of the clouds that have covered the entire state for most of tour. The bouganvilia which hasn't bloomed yet in Santa Barbara County was out in full force by Malibu. And we found a one bedroom apartment. For Rent. $3,000 a month. I suppose if you worked two jobs and had a roommate you might have time to ... Listen to the ocean crash on the jetty (what is a jetty anyway?) on the way to your second shift.
Much rejoicing occurred upon the reuniting of the team. Thank God the other seven are back with us. One with much altered hair. Another with a new shiny ring on her finger, winning the best quote of the tour award ("Yessssss!!"In response to Bret's "Will you marry me?"). And we have our guys back! Oh the balance! Oh the logic! Oh the standing by and rolling their eyes as the girls one by one heard the engagement news and deafened overhead seagulls with the shrieks.
And then we got on the road again. The I-5. At 4pm. Bad planning, that. Four hours later we were forty miles down the road.
Minus a trailer. Because the brakes went out again. Which nicely puts us right back where we were before the break.