Sacramento to San Diego

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We stayed with my dad's cousin in Sacramento. We planned on arriving on Saturday and leaving Sunday, but after the run-in with the deer, we decided to stick around an extra day so we could get the car looked at before we tried to drive it another 500 miles.


I'm glad they have three signs on this corner, because when I just saw the one or two, I wasn't so sure about it.


My beloved but damaged padiddle.


Look at all those identical houses.


Evidently, you want to live there. I must question your judgement.


I made attempt after attempt to do justice to those poor north-bound slobs' suffering, but it's really hard to depict their slowness as we breeze along in the car pool lane.


San Diego! Woot!


I like freeway overpasses. I think they're graceful.


And now, it is our turn in traffic. Welcome to southern California.


Turned out there was an accident just the other side of this bridge. If you ook at the full-size version of this picture, you can see that the freeway is clear just before it disappears under the bridge. When we drove by it didn't look like anybody was hurt.


But the traffic didn't last forever, and now we are only 64 miles from San Diego, after having travelled 700.


This sign gets me every time, but there's a good chance you won't get itm, so I will explain: In Computing, there are really two prime, rival text editors, Vi and Emacs. It's jokingly referred to as a holy war. They both do all kinds of fancy things that I don't begin to understand. I use Pico, which is the simplest, most straight-forward text editor out there. In art terms, it's like joining a discusssion on oil paint versus acrylic and rooting for crayons.


Unfortunately, "ave" in this context is just short for "avenida," but in my head, it's "ave" as in "Ave Maria"


The sign for the San Diego County line is one of the happiest sights on the trip. As a passenger, I finally had the long-coveted opporunity to get a good picture of it as we drove past. I was thwarted by bug guts.


The boobs! Nothing is large enough to come between me and the concrete boobs! Eric calls 'em the Dolly Parton Museum.


I don't remember what this is. It looks like agriculture, but we sure don't have any agriculture along the 5 in San Diego


Good ol' O'side.