When Andy asked me where I wanted to go for the weekend, Big Bear Lake was the first thing out of my mouth. It was one of the few places that are within the 2 hour driving range from where we live that I had never gone to before. Most of you may not know, or may not remember, that I used to live in Colorado for a good portion of my late teens\early twenties. With all that time I spent living in and around the majestic peaks of the Rocky Mountains, the last thing I wanted to do in Southern California was go hang out in less than impressive mountain ranges (the Sierras get more impressive the more north you go if I’m to be fair), especially with all the warm beaches to go to instead. But like I said, I’ve never been up there and it’s probably going to be a fair amount of time before I see mountains again. I don’t hear of many people heading to England for the” fresh powder”. Well, I’m sure they have some sort of powder but it’s not the type you ski on.
My younger years in Colorado. Yes, it was the Nineties. Yes, I love to scowl.
We started the drive up to Big Bear after getting off of work Friday night. This is a dangerous time to drive anywhere in Southern California, especially the route we had to take. In Southern California there is only one major freeway that goes from the beach cities to the inland cities, the mountains, and Las Vegas – the dreaded Hwy 91. To say the 91 is a parking lot on any given day and\or time is an understatement of extreme proportions. The length of the 91 from Orange County to Riverside is about 40 miles, but it might take you 3 hours to go that 40 miles. Most of you probably don’t give a toss about this information but I’ve got to tell you, if you find yourself having to take the 91 for any reason on a Friday night at 6 PM, take the 241 toll road for $5 and save yourself at least an hour of misery on that fucking Highway of Hell.
HWY 91: Avoid at all costs! Oh wait, you can't.
By the time we made it to the base of the Sierras, it was dark and it was starting to drizzle. Andy has had LASIK surgery so he has a hard time driving at night since most headlights create a halo effect creating another layer of the danger driving up the mountains. As he was driving, Andy began to fret. And when I say “fret”, I mean he started shouting, “I can’t see! I can’t fucking see anything!” over and over again. Giggling, I offered to drive. I had no problem seeing the road and as I said previously, I lived in Colorado so I was used to driving mountain roads. Andy refused to let me drive. Soon, the fog rolled in. It was heavy fog where you couldn’t see 15 feet ahead. Andy started to “fret” some more in between “whimpering” and “driving like a fucking girl”. I told him to pull over and let me drive. While he kept pulling over at every turn out to let faster cars by (i.e. all of the cars), he still refused to let me drive. So I kept insisting that he let me take over, in between giggling “girl” under my breath and using the GPS to tell him what type of turn was coming up. It was a long hour on that road and when the fog finally cleared and Andy felt safe enough to go over 15 MPH, he admitted that he didn’t want me to drive because of my “condition”. Like my hormones are surging so badly that I’d decide to end it all and purposely drive off a cliff because the fog was just too much for my “delicate constitution”. Grrr.
Imagine this, but with darkness, drizzle, and the cloud of Zeus upon you.
By the time we got to our hotel (cabin? resort?) it was 9:30 PM and we were pretty knackered. We popped open a couple beers (O’Douls for me - *sigh*), ate some junk food, and watched HBO until we went to sleep. I will have to say that the minute we were unpacked, I felt more relaxed than I had in months. This was going to be good for us.
*This post wasn’t supposed to be two parts but that’s what happens when my “delicate constitution” takes over. OK, I’m just hungry and its lunch time.