In Star Wars, there were these Jawa people who wandered the desert plains in search of scrap metal and robots to hijack. They supposedly lived on some distant planet in a galaxy far, far away but I swear I saw a couple of them last night, cruising the parking acres of Harris Ranch near Coalinga, CA. They looked perfectly at home and quite comfortable. So did everyone else for that matter. Harris Ranch isn’t so much a ranch as it is a long-haul truckin’ oasis in middle of the nowhere that is otherwise known as California’s Central Valley. A barren place save for the mega farms, miles of uninterrupted pavement and the occasional gas station cathedral. Read on…

“He kissed her until her knees buckled and she felt like a swimmer taken with a cramp, sinking helplessly under buffeting waves, sinking deeper and deeper to the point where it no longer mattered whether she surfaced or not.”

Thank you Rosemary Rodgers. That little morsel is from Wicked Loving Lies—a story of tumultuous passion, impetous desire and searing love. I found it in the common room at the Fort Bragg Harbor RV park yesterday. This common room is also known as the bathroom, laundry facility, anonymous-stuffed-black-trash-bag depository and nightmare storage. Why am I reading such smut? Smart money is on me living alone in a trailer far away from home. But tonight, I’m on a stake-out and needed some good, ready material. Read on…

At high noon on this third Sunday in March, a good four tons of American-made metal left Sebastopol, California in search of a few good t-shirts. So begins Destee-Nation’s first great American Road Trip. This was the virgin trip for our 1970’s three door Chevy Suburban, Sue, and her charge, a twenty foot 1967 Silver Streak trailer, known only as Streaker. A righteous combination of machines by any definition and one that would be put to the test on this first day in search of the first Destee-Nation pit-stop: Boonville, CA. Read on…