Some of you have asked how the drive to Yuma was. Well . . . I got here . . . safely, but as usual, all I have to say is, “It’s NOT easy being me!”

When will I learn to read the signs that Life puts in my path? I came very close to buying what I thought was a cute sweatshirt/tunic top at Farmer’s Daughter up at Bates’ Nut Farm on Wednesday but was told by the salesclerk that I “looked like crap!” Maybe that was the first sign, I don’t know. Maybe the second sign was the set of directions for a short cut over the mountains and through the Anza Borrego desert to Yuma that Heidi wrote on a cocktail napkin that night. And maybe the third sign was the fact that there had been a car-to-car shooting on Interstate 8 near El Cajon on Thursday morning causing a freeway closure “until further notice.”

Whatever the signs were, I failed to read them! While waiting for Interstate 8 to reopen, I drove up to have breakfast with Al & Rene.  I mentioned that the freeway was closed because of the shooting and that I REALLY wanted to get on the road to see my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter in Yuma. I told them that Heidi had scribbled some directions on a cocktail napkin, outlining an “easy” route through Ocotillo Wells that would be a good alternative to the longer way to Yuma via Interstate 15 to Interstate 8.

“It’s easy!” they said, agreeing with Heidi’s notes, “Just head up past Lake Henshaw, turn left then turn right! You’ll hit Interstate 8 in no time.”

So . . . . I gobbled up by “Al McMuffin,” took a detour back up to Farmer’s Daughter to buy the top that made me “look like crap,” then headed up Hwy. 76 toward Lake Henshaw.

Easy, peasy! No traffic, beautiful scenery, clear signage and WAY ahead of schedule. Being the wise person that I am, I did not rely entirely on Heidi’s map on the cocktail napkin; I ALSO programmed my car’s GPS with my son’s physical address and selected “shortest route.” I had double coverage!!

I sang along to the radio, daydreamed and fantasized about this and that, thoroughly enjoying the drive. I passed through Ocotillo Wells, marvelling at the wide expanse of nothing but sand dunes, RVs and dune buggies; then slowly the RVs and dune buggies became fewer and fewer. The little town of Brawley came and went. But the sand dunes didn’t.

“In one-half mile, turn right at Ted Kopff Trail,” the voice on my car’s tracking system ordered.

“O.K.,” I thought, “I’m finally going to start heading South!”

But as I approached Ted Kopff Trail, fully prepared to turn right, my heart dropped with a THUD!

“I’m not turning there!” I said to myself, realizing that I may have missed a turn somewhere behind me. Ted Kopff Trail is a dirt road, heading due South through miles and miles and miles of nothing but sand dunes!

I pulled to the side of the road, grasping for the map on the cocktail napkin!

“UGH!!!!” I muttered, remembering that I’d used the napkin map to discard the gum I’d been chewing! Try as I may to unstick the gum from the map, I just succeeded in making napkin scraps!!

Several expletives later, I cautiously started back on the current road, past Ted Kopff Trail waiting for my car’s GPS to acknowledge me with the voice, “re-CAL-culating!”

“Phew!” It had recalculated! Now I just had 9.2 miles “on the current route” before I was supposed to turn right again.

With Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody blaring from the stereo system, “Beelzebub’s got a devil for . . . . ”

“SH#T!!!!!!” I screamed out loud to no one but myself, “WHAT IF MY NEXT RIGHT TURN IS ANOTHER DIRT TRAIL?

“OMG — AAA will never find me!!! What am I supposed to say, ‘Hello? Yes, this is Peggy West and I’m out here in the Anza Borrego desert on a freakin’ dirt road to nowhere! Can you come help me? Nearest cross-street? Are you kidding me? There ARE NO CROSS STREETS OUT HERE!!! I’m past the 227th sand dune southeast of Brawley!”

Now the Eagles were singing, ” . . . and I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight!”

Really? I’m not sleeping in this desert tonight! Not with You. Not with NOBODY! I’d better find a paved road soon!! The warmest thing I have with me is a vest and I will DIE if I have to spend the night out here in the desert . . . with or withOUT the Eagles!!

I had visions of sunbleached cow skulls; then I imagined my own sunbleached skull on the Coroner’s table waiting for James to come and identify his wife’s remains!! I thought maybe I should put on the sweatshirt that made me “look like crap,” just to make the body identification easier!!

My next right turn approached and to my delight, it WAS a paved road, but I was the only car on it — in both directions — for 20.2 miles. Introduced into the monotonous expanse of nothing but sand dunes were several areas marked off by large rocks. I assumed they delineated campgrounds or something. Whatever. I’d never want to camp out there! I didn’t even want to be driving out there!

I DID put in three voice mail messages to Heidi, telling her that D-roads were NO fun by yourself. I don’t really remember what I said in the other two, but I’ll be really lucky if she still wants to be my friend!!

20.2 miles passed and I saw a sign: “Interstate 8 — ahead!”

GLORY BE TO GOD!!!!! I’M SAVED!!!!!

My “shortcut” through Ocotillo Wells took 2 hours longer than it should have! I called James upon my arrival at Patrick’s house.

“Hey! Did you hit any traffic on the 15 and 8?” he asked innocently.

“Nope!” I said, “I had NO TRAFFIC at all!”

There is NO WAY I was going to tell him about my misadventure! What happens in Anza Borrego, STAYS in Anza Borrego!

I DID tell my son what happened, describing the desolation, the dirt roads, etc. His eyes widened and his face paled!

“Mom!!! It’s a good thing that WTI is finished! You were in the middle of the Marine’s target fields!”

WTI stands for “Weapons and Tactical Instruction.” He had just finished teaching a 9-week course on using the artillery on Huey helicopters. I drove through the area that is used for target practice!!! The areas marked off with rocks that I thought were campgrounds were aerial TARGETS!!!!

So . . . two things:
1) It’s just NOT EASY being me;
2) Never . . . but NEVER trust the directions scribbled on a cocktail napkin!!