We made it from Pt. Mugu, also known as the Naval Air Weapons Station, or Pacific Missile Test Station, all the way to Richfield, Utah (see photo). I'm so thrilled to be more than half way home.
The trip so far has been wonderful, except for the forty-five minutes that we crawled through Las Vegas, and even that wasn't too bad. We sang our way through it. I had the iPod tuned to my five-star list all day. Believe it or not, we didn't even make it to the C's. (Yes, I have them alphabetized by artist.) When you have a favorites list that's culled from over 10,000 songs, you can expect it to take many days to play your favorites. I don't think we'll make it to Derek Coombs' "Freight Train," let alone "Who's Your Daddy."
I'm not always an orderly person. Maybe in some ways I'm obsessive-compulsive. I just feel like I need to do them in order. At least once.
One nice thing was that we never saw a single accident all day. That's a record. We sure saw a lot of cars pulled over getting tickets, though. I would estimate we saw at least two dozen. We just smile when it's someone who has sped passed us earlier. Yes, I sure do love that cruise control.
We'll stop and see my brother Pat and his wife Betty tomorrow. We've been teasing them that they have a "mirage" trailer. They bought it so that when he goes to remote locations with his hiking club, Betty can go along in comfort. Also, when they travel back east to see family, they have a built in home away from home. However, every time we've been to see them, it's somewhere else, and there's always a very good reason why we can't see it. Uh-huh. Mirage trailer. They're leaving on a trip Sunday, so they're picking it up from storage tomorrow and want us to stop by to see it. Right. I'll bet they're not home when we get there. Fifty cents, anyone?
Time for bed. I'm probably too excited to sleep, but I should make the effort. John's been out like a light for quite awhile. Nothing keeps him awake—except driving, which is a good thing.