Life on the 101

THE 101, as S.L.C. said of the Mississippi, is well worth reading about. It is not a commonplace highway, but on the contrary is in all ways remarkable. Considering the reach, from the border with Canada at the north, and the Mexico state of Baja California at the south, it is, as S.L.C. would agree, no slouch of a highway, curving its way through some of the best-smelling landscape you could imagine, and being remarkably free of leash laws, animal control officers, and cats. Were you to compare the 101 with the I-5 which goes in some places where the old 99 used to go, and doesn't at all go where it ought, the 101 would stand out even more than it does among roadways.

I've been traveling a chunk of it for some time now, roughly a hundred miles, from our base camp on Hot Springs Road here in Santa Barbara (next door to the wretched C.s, who are in no position to appreciate dogs) to the University where Boss has been teaching from beyond the time I came to stay.

Once you get Boss out of the house and into the car, there is a five-mile shot to the Summerland offramp at E. Street. You could get off at the previous exit, Sheffield Road, which suits my purposes on an L.A. day because that allows a trek up Ortega Hill, then a quick left for about half a mile to where Kit, the three-legged Aussie lives. I like it better when Kit can't get out onto Greenwell, the road that parallels the Main street of Summerland, curving down through an arroyo with a sharp drop-off on your right, and long stands of oilve and avocado trees on your left. When Kit is stuck behind the fence of where he lives, I can get off some good licks. I never allude to the fact that he only has three legs, saving my invective for his parental culture. When he gets out, he tries to bully me and infer that he is the alpha dog, as though he even knows what alpha means.

I couldn't help it. When I linked to olive trees in the previous paragraph, I came upon a painting by vG. You know, the one with the ear problem.

After we clear Summerland, we are on to the 101, southbound through Ventura, which has a Der Weinerschnitzel, should someone want a snack. Nothing like the Surf Dog out of Carpinteria, where I am appreciated and have an account. But I digress.

Soon after we are past Ventura, then the dregs of Oxnard and a westward turn on Rice Road, past some agriculture, but no hot dog stands or restaurants. Maybe a taco/burrito truck for the field workers, on occasion, should anyone be hungry. At this point, I try to nap, but it is no easy task because soon we hit 1, which has its own personality and scent, which reminds me as we pass Mugu Rock that we are fast approaching my favored spot in the world.

Deer Creek.

Deer fucking Creek.

I mean!