In the mid- 1990s, it seemed like a good idea to move north and join a band. So I did. I loaded up the Jeep pickup, and moved to Emeryville, California. Back then, Emeryville was still a seedy low-budget warehousing district. My buddy said I could stay in the practice warehouse...a fantastic huge room with one wall of glass panes that overlooked the harbour and container ship loading/unloading area. The place had no heating or cooling...and just a refrigerator, toilet and two-burner hotplate. My pal, the drummer, hooked me up with a cool job working across the Richmond Bridge at the Birkenstock Warehouse. The place was awesome, an early 1960s Jet Age/New Frontier/ International Style/ LeCorbusier/Buckminister Fulleresque inspired warehouse of the future. I believe it was originally the Rand McNally Publishing House distribution center back in the olden days. Lots of bio-inspired hanging trusses, open space, cantilevered weight distribution etceteras. Anyway, I ended up working there as a re-soler for people's old beat up Birks. After about 6 weeks, I couldn't take that job so I quit, and then I decided that the city of San Francisco was not really the place for a poor dude like me. I was going totally broke every two seconds, it costs $10 just to take a crap in San Fran, let alone finding a decent commode...it was all, like, impossible.
Driving down highway 99 through the heart of Central California is a blessing. Twisting through the dry Tehachapis in September is a joyful adventure. Stopping in Mojave to fill up the gas tank again...the Union Pacific roars by, heat and desert dust accompaning the noise of steel wheels on steel rails. Lightning flashes above, the smell of creosote and rain welcomes you home.
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