The Warning

I awoke to the sound of my iPhone ringing at 6am. The blues ringtone had melded its way in to my dream and between my eye mask & earplugs [a 2am cure for my sister’s full conversation sleep-yelling], I was at first oblivious to what was happening. The time had arrived. It was finally Thursday, Sept. 3. We would shower, pack the car, and hit the road for LA where we would no doubt have the greatest, most memorable night of our lives. We had 2 tickets to the Nine Inch Nails show that evening at the 1300-capacity Henry Fonda Theater on Hollywood Blvd. The show was part of the last leg of the Wave Goodbye tour, NIN’s final set of live shows. Everything started out according to plan. While Jenna was in the shower, I did some last minute research to confirm travel time and show details. Instead of finding what time doors were to open, I saw this news headline: “No show tonight at Henry Fonda Theater”. I read it again. And again. “Oh, Trent, nice try. You almost had me.” Then I read the details:

We’re very sorry to announce that Trent is ill, and on his doctor’s orders we will not be able to perform tonight’s show at the Henry Fonda Theater. This is the only information we have at this time, we’re posting this early announcement as a convenience for those of you who had plans to attend. Reimbursement details will be posted as soon as we figure them out; likely within the next 24 hours. We wish this wasn’t necessary and we’re very sorry for the inconvenience. Thank you for your understanding.

- NIN PR

What? Canceled? Reimbursement? No rescheduling? All that had gotten me through the last few weeks of hell at work was my supreme vision of the happiness that would no doubt follow seeing this amazing concert for which I had painstakingly secured tickets. My heart sank. I put on my rational cap. “People get sick,” I told myself. “Especially people who have spent the last 6 months on the road touring the globe. You did get to meet him in May.” But…but…he only had 3 more shows to go! My life is over.

I walked down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door. “Jenna. Jenna! Turn off the shower. I have some horrible news.”

Two broken spirits roamed my apartment. With no sense of urgency to get to LA, our departure time was slowly pushed from 7am to 8:30am, after we decided we may as well go anyway and try to have a vacation.

As we set off toward the 101, my mind escaped to a happy, optimistic place I like to call denial. Certainly, Trent would recover and the show would just be pushed til tomorrow, while we were still in LA. If not, Rob would give us tickets for the Saturday show. My brain knew that my psyche was in such rough shape that acknowledging this bad news would surely spur a nervous breakdown. Eventually, it was like, “What is this NIN show you keep speaking of? You’re driving the coast, baby. You have nowhere to be but the open road.”

Regardless, I was waiting for our luck to turn around. Jenna had flown in to SFO in the midst of a bomb scare. Walking by bomb squad vans and explosive sniffing dogs does nothing to settle already rattled nerves. Our 15-minute stop at Safeway (with 1 hour parking) nearly got us a parking ticket. She was placing it on the dash and said, “You got here just in time.” “No,” we said. “You’re 45 minutes early.” The low tire pressure light on my car turned on on the way home. I had to reset it nearly 5 times in the next 24 hours. All that plus the show cancellation, I was asking myself, “Am I ignoring signs right now? Am I saying a big “fuck you” to the fates?” And in my case, “Or am I being overly paranoid as usual?”

The Great Beyond

We continued down the 101 to 280 and finally over to CA-1, the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH). It wasn’t long before we were winding through eucalyptus trees and hugging the sides of hills, as we followed the coast line. It was breathtaking. With the cool ocean breeze perfectly balancing the warm morning sun spilling through the sunroof, my excitement for this trip was quickly returning. Despite everything, there was no doubt it was a perfect day for a drive.

With no show for which to arrive, we were free to take our time. We stopped wherever it was pretty and naturally, that was often. (I’ve geo-mapped all the photos.) We stopped for lunch in Santa Cruz. The pier was nearly void of other people. Our lunch at Riva Fish House, a casual place out on the pier, was fantastic. Fair price, good portions. The crab sandwich was amazing, and I was sad I couldn’t eat it all. Highly recommend. It was 12:30 by the time we rejoined the PCH. Four hours and we had traveled less than 90 miles. The remaining 360 miles of our trip were starting to seem a bit daunting. Regardless, we detoured in to Carmel-by-the-Sea on a whim. It’s tree-lined streets with village style boutique shops made for an inviting scene. The homes were all nestled under large shade trees. With the beach only a short walk down the street, it seemed like a great place to live. However, it would be too complicated to live in another “Carmel” with a different pronunciation. I may have to return to rent one of the cottages near the water. Seems like a great vacation. It was a beautiful beach with white sand and a cool breeze, but the water was still definitely brisk.

When Jenna let out a squeal at the frigid temps of the water, a man nearby replied, “Hey, this is the warmest it’s been! This is one of 2 great days we’ve had recently.” This exchange signed us up for another 15 minutes of conversation with this man and his little girl. He was a native Californian and filled us in on all the places we needed to stop. When he asked about our planned arrival time in LA, it seemed like there was an obvious answer. “Tonight,” I said. He laughed and continued, “You’ll never make it and southern California sucks anyway. Go to Yosemite and Sequoia National Park. Trust me, when you get to LA, you’ll be like, ‘Remember that jerk in Carmel? He was right.’ ” We thanked him for the tips and headed out. The challenge had been made, and now there was no way I wasn’t getting us to LA by dark. It was too bad I would have no means of telling him he was wrong.

That said, it was nearly 2pm by now, and there was no question the remaining 320 miles would be a struggle.

The next stretch of highway was more of an amusement ride than a road. It cut in to the coast in giant “U” shapes with unexpectedly high mountains on one side and the endless Pacific on the other. Holiday would have loved it. I say would have because at the start of this most scenic part of our drive, two semi-trailers pulled out ahead of us. First, trucks shouldn’t be allowed here. Second, how could this be the best route to anywhere? We managed to collect over a mile of traffic behind us. We watched the traffic fill in the entire U behind us…“still going, still going”. I could feel the other drivers cringe each time the semi managed to make a tight turn. The entire trailer visibly rocked & swayed, as oncoming traffic vacuumed itself to the mountainside, trying to make room. It was like watching a blind person crossing the street. The capabilities are in place but the chance for error is so high that it’s painful to helplessly watch. I know there were times where we at a complete halt awaiting him to make a turn where I had to close my eyes. If this guy rolled off the edge of the road (into the great abyss of the ocean below), my brain was not going to have any visual record. I left a gap in the traffic ahead of me so I could enjoy exactly one curve. Jenna & I let out a half-hearted “woo”. Once we cleared Big Sur, the road straightened & widened ahead of us, and I happily accelerated, anxious to surpass the semi-trailer-induced 20mph average we had endured for the past 60-70 miles.

Our focus was set on San Luis Obispo where we would rejoin the 101, where we planned to make up some crazy time since we were so far inland. As we cut through the valleys, we were surrounded by unfamiliar crops. Growing up on a farm it was weird being in that position. Thanks to some signs, we realized we were passing through miles of artichokes at one point. It was eye-opening to see the beaten down trunks of the workers in the fields as they slaved in the sun. Watching the temperature fluctuation between the coast and inland was our road trip game. We’d jump 30-degrees in a matter of miles. We encountered a sign that said, “Safety zone. Turn on headlights.” For the next 9 miles, we traveled on, looking for any sign of what this safety zone was all about since it was mid-day and a flat, open stretch of road. (From what I could find, it seems these signs are placed in locations where dust storms or heavy fog could appear suddenly. $200 ticket for failure to do so.)

We saw Hearst castle way up on a hill, stalked a Cintas truck for Jenna, and waved at every passing Mini (one waved back). In San Luis Obispo, we drove by Poly Tech and then saw a gigantic eagle symbol in the following hills, which seemed to be tied to the National Guard station around the bend. (No photos to be found, but here’s a history of the eagle.)The sun was setting as we neared Santa Barbara. I was hoping to see a lovely sunset, but the sun was at a weird angle behind us and there were no signs of a view worth stopping for. We still had 60 miles to go. Near Ventura, we came up on a long bridge heading out to an island which seemed to house palm trees and some neon signs. Some research uncovered it was Rincon Island, an artificial island built to house an oil pipeline to pump in oil from the offshore drilling station. It was shutdown last year.

At last we arrived in Burbank around 8:30pm where we stopped at the mall for dinner. We were tired and PF Chang’s sounded good. The back of the mall was painted to look like a studio lot, and as we drove from there to our hotel we went by the Warner Bros studio, noting signs for Ellen, Jay Leno, and 90210. We also saw the big WB water tower lit up in the distance. We passed along ABC, CBS, and FX before pulling up at Hotel Amarano. It was a great hotel, really convenient to Hollywood with big, comfy rooms. We got a sweet deal on hotels.com. It was around 9:30pm by the time we were checked in and we were beat.

I had snuggled in with my king size pillows on the pillowtop mattress, so ready for a good night’s sleep when I got a text. It was 11pm. Who would be texting me? It was Discover. They had noticed suspicious charges on my card. I called and listened through an automated recording of my last few charges, being asked after each if I identified the charge. Hotel in Burbank. Check. Gas in Carmel. Check. Direct marketing college sports. Chec…wait…no. Crap. I was transferred to customer service where the lady had to cancel my card and inform me of next steps. Finally, by 11:30, I was trying to sleep again but found myself staring at the ceiling, half debating packing up and driving back to SF the next morning before anything else went wrong.