In which Dr N disappears (Assorted scribes)

Awoke at 6.00 betimes. Dr N's temper as foul as his breath: he claims this is due to having had a poor night's sleep and having eaten of garlick. But which of us lay all night on the floor, after a confusion about our lodging, and which lay in a grand bed? Dear Reader, you know the answer to that question.

Our steeds - Santa Sophia and my sprightly Hermann - were soon laden with our bags and, once again, we pointed their noses towards the sea and began our travels. As usual, Sophia proceeded with reluctance, laden as she was with Dr N's portable wine cellar, while Hermann was keener to explore and had to be restrained. I have litel of import to relate other than that he is now LOST! Again! I turned my head but a moment to regard some passing doxy but it was sufficient for the good Dr N to vanish, as if by magick! By all the saints, for a man of undoubted learning and wisdom, he has a mighty slight grasp on his place in the world.

Yet is it not often so? Only a week past, we met with two other travellers on life's path. Hispanic of origin. The one was a aged knight, with a grand bearing and his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon - or perchance even beyond it. He was of stoic mien, much loving of ancient histories and their interminable telling - in which, it seemed to me, had common blood with my own Dr N. His companion, by contrast with my good self, was a sorry figure, carrying a satchel of maps, scraps of paper, ink - the wherewithall of a scribe's daily life. For it was his fate in life - as mine - to record the musings, the adventures, the fantastikal events into which the Don (for so he was called) transmogrified the daily dross of their lives.

Ye Gods, Senor Panza and myself are perhaps two of a kinde after all! For did not Dr N, only yesterday, ascend a local waterfall of this region. Twas barely worth the name of a stream, such as we have oft crossed on our travels in bonny Scotland. Yet mi Lord bade me set down in my diary that we had climbed as if into the heavens. 'It was a mountain, man' says he, 'Write that the waterfall that gushed from its top, was the like of which was never yet seen in auld Englande.' Or some such tosh - for he is capable of transports of delight when the mood is on him, as my aching fingers will confirm.

But since he is still lost, it may be that my fingers will find some rest tonight...and perhaps some other occupation. Methinks what pleasure may be had with the doxys of this region? I shall seek a glass or two of porter and a beef pie before setting out to seek what may be found. Until then I remain your humble servant and eternal scribe, James Boswell.



Chaos (Nick's version)

We were away from Yosemiteby 0815. Our aim was to cover as many miles
as we could through boring country back to the Pacific coast, so that
we could be within easy reach of Malibu the following day. I had an
additional objective, to check into a motel with civilised amenities
like a bathroom, where you didn't need to hide your toothbrush in a
bearbox.

We were heading South down Route 41, fasdt and boring stretching over
flat and scorched farmland, stopping for coffee and fuel. J overtook a
line of traffic and pressed on ahead. He knew that I was on the look
out for a place to stop for lunch. We had an important turn ahead at a
place called Shandon, to head for a place called Atascadero. J was
well ahead when he spotted a good place to stop. But he signaled to me
after I had zoomed past and I was unable to turn back. J said over the
intercom no worries, catch you up.

I was following the SATNAV, which ignored the turning L that we had
agreed to take. It took me a further 15 miles before I became
concerned about J not coming up behind me. It didn't help that my
mobile phone was flat (unable to charge it properly in Yosemite). I
also noticed that the R turn indicated on the SATNAV was an
alternative route, a later turn, to our agreed plan. So why had J not
appeared? I stopped and waited 15 mins. Nothing. He could have taken
the earlier turn, but there were other possibilities that would
require some sort of input from me that I had to consider, which were
in order of likelihood:
(1) J's bike had failed. He was at the side of the road getting his
hands dirty
(2) J had been arrested and was cooli8ng his heels in some
Sherriff's office, wondering where his criminal lawyer was, or
(3) J had had an accident.

I decided I had to go back to the place that J had found, if only to
discount the more worrying possibilities. No news. No sign. There was
nothing else for it but to get to Atascadero and our default meeting
place "the gas station in Atascadero". I followed the SATNAV which
again ignored the turn off onto H101, but which at least turned South
to Atascadero the longer route. Unfortunately the place randomly
selected in Atascaderoturned out to be on the North bound lane of
H101! I was wasting time. I found Atascadero eventually and made my
way to the default rendez -vous.

Two problems with this, none easy to foresee. The first was my flat
mobile phone. I was incommunicado until I could get it recharged. The
second was that, as I was to find out, Atascaderowas a three horse
town, boasting at least 5 gas stations, none of which had seen an
English biker wearing a yellow crash helmet.

After combing the streets of Atascaderochecking out the forecourts, I
found a good Motel. The manageress was an Asian lady who had emigrated
with her family from Luton5 years before. She is the only person I
have ever met with fond memories of Luton. She allowed me use of her
phone. I got through to Woogs at Malibu. She had received an email
from J. Thank God he was safe, and in no need of mechanics,
osteo-surgeons or criminal lawyers. He was looking for a motel. Woogs
would email him and tell him to stop looking and scoot over. I then
booked a twin double that was the last vacancy of the place, which was
most luxurious and spacious. Of course it didn't have a bearbox but
you can't have everything. After an hour or so my phone was
sufficiently charged to receive texts. J was booked into a motel down
the road, and so I invited him round to mine for supper.

Next door on the other side of the swimming pool was a Mexican
restaurant and bar called "Que Passa?", which was perfect for our
reunion, and, I couldn't help thinking, I highly relevant question
for one of us to ask the other. We downed several lagers at the bar
and then had delicious Mexican food, always full of surprises (usually
good ones). We parted to our Motels after that, to rest before the
final stage of our adventures.

My last thought before falling asleep in my enormous palatial bed was
that I would never ever trust that SATNAV again with anything but the
simplest routes.