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Fields, clouds, rain, rays o God, fields, clouds. Ten silos pass on the left–grain? Soy? What fills the silos of the central valley?

A flawless day for driving to Portland, temperature oddly cool like a fall day, puffy clouds and pasteled blue sky. Moisture in the air, and sure enough it rains a bit, bright sun beaded on the vista before us. 98 miles to Redding. We hope to hit Eugene tonight, but will settle for less. Hints of Oregon in the angle of sun, a northerness that washes over our Suburban in gentle waves. We’re going to be in Humboldt County in a few days, so here’s a shoutout to all the growers and their homies:
Think globally
Smoke locally.

Steady, steady drivers Paul M. and Rick Shea, north through more cloud pillows that dump substantial rain, Suburban march takes us to Grants Pass, Oregon, first Hawks border crossing since last August. Rick’s getting a fair amount of “new guy” razzing, some of it clearly within the broad definition of sexual harrassment, but he absorbs it with his deadpan black humor. Rick’s seen it all and probably created much of it himself.It’s late night, and we’re beat, didn’t make it to Eugene. We might be in Grant’s Pass. After much cross bidding between Super 8 and the Comfort Inn, with cell phone communication between Paul M and Rob, the Hawks lodgings contract was awarded to Super 8, upon which wi-fi connection this text flies.

Note to fellow traveler bands: The Hawks haul all their gear, including amps and drums, into their evening accommodations, no matter how hopeless, no matter how far the rooms be from the vehicle. The night you leave the gear in the trailer, that’s when the evil ones strike. In this case it’s two and a half flights up to rooms 308 and 312. Now we’re really beat, fall asleep to Ren and Stimpy on the fantastic Super 8 TV.