When I posted last week, I forgot the second half of the joke. The full exchange goes
Hello, I'd like to make a reservation. The name is Jackson. Andrew Jackson.
I'm sorry sir, we don't accept reservations.
Well that's all you'll get.
The road trip was fabulous. I managed to avoid a coyote on the way out and fires on the way back. I soaked in a river, two hot tubs, and hot springs in Nevada and Utah. I walked through Redwood forests, along sandy, rocky, and glass beaches, up and down slickrock, and 10+ miles from the Marin Headlands to Fisherman's Wharf. I ate copious grasses, flowers, fruits, and pseudofruits native and foreign to California, tasty dishes from the kitchens of people related to mollybzz
, fantastic potluck dishes, and wonderful beverages ranging from Dr Pepper (for night-driving enhancement) to "four day old" green tea to California wines to mangosteen juice to homebrew beer and cider. I even ate at Woey Loy Goey, the same Chinatown restaurant my dad's still telling stories about from a trip in the early '70s. (The location has changed and the sign has "new" before the name, but the food is still good.) I played Apples to Apples, Scrabble, Boggle, and 20 Questions, all with formidable opponents (I've never been skunked in A2A before and I've yet to beat mollybzz
in a game involving letters.) The only rain in two weeks came in Nevada and I managed to get sunburned in a city famous for fog. In sum, 3500 miles of great fun.
Incidentally, if I ever move to San Francisco I may have to cut my hair and take many of my hats out of daily use. Fortunately, Silicon Valley doesn't seem to have the same blustery tendencies