We left Oregon on March 24 and drove south, staying at unremarkable campgrounds the first two nights. The trailer towed well over the mountains and down I5. Gasoline prices soared the farther we penetrated California. Rain dropped on us from Sacramento southward. Satellite radio offered relief from the monotony of driving.

Upon stopping for a meal break at the junction of I5 and Hwy 41, we met a guy and his wife who were traveling to Los Angeles for an Alzheimer Foundation event. He asked where we were from and I told him the Oregon coast. He said he had a friend in Otter Rock. Turns out the Otter Rock guy was a friend of a friend. What a chance encounter and interesting conversation.

After enduring intense rain squalls near San Luis Obispo, we arrived at our Santa Barbara County destination, El Capitan, and set up camp. Well, we unhooked the trailer, leveled it and put out the slider and awning. Home for the next few days. As the skies cleared and the wind rose, I freed a cork from a bottle of red wine and downed a few glasses. Sleep came easily that night.

Today, we went to the Santa Barbara Police Dept. for a "live scan" which is a requirement for serving as a camp host. Ten bucks each to be fingerprinted. Later, I got a haircut at what appeared to be a very popular Hispanic barber shop in Goleta. The oldest barber in the shop, about 40, did a fine job even though I was unable to select a number style. You know those numbered photos of guy sporting a particular haircut. The chart went to 38 styles but I just told my guy to give me an Ivy League, then explained what that meant. Upon entering the truck where she was sitting in the 70 degree cab, my wife looked at me and shook her head. Not the first time she has done that. Oh yeah, one of the other barbers in the shop had to leave for an appointment with his probation officer.