I set out the evening on my cross-country trip, with my truck painted, my clothes packed, flyers printed! The moon is so bright, it appears to be full but it's only a half moon.
Driving over the Dumbarton Bridge to Palo Alto, my first stop, the sunset is beautiful - just a hint of pink but mostly the slate grays, whites and pewters of the dusk fog sliding across the bay.
Several people, mostly men both black and brown, honk and show visible approval of the message. One cabbie makes sure I see his enthusiastic nods as he turns on his interior light in the fading evening. By the time I cross into the South Bay, two white men have passed giving me the finger and three large vehicles - first an SUV, then a late model 4 door dually pick up truck, and finally a smaller white pickup - swerve dangerously close to me, crossing the white lines. I cannot tell if they're expressing some risking form of disapproval or if they were just reading the side of the truck and swerved by mistake.
I drive for most of the nite, cutting over 152 to I5 - I wish it was daytime because if appears to be a beautiful drive thru coast hills and past a few reservoirs and state parks.
3:00am I stop at a rest stop. Returning from the bathroom, I see flashes of light by my truck - a young man, Amado, is taking pictures. He tells me he is against these wars now - he has close family who was killed in Iraq. And for what, he exclaims bitterly.
Amado brow creases his smooth, young face as he sadly declares things STILL haven't changed.
We speak of the DRONES, as this is the purpose of my trip. He has no idea they exist but he suspects another family member, who has been brainwashed by border patrol, might be involved. $150,000 a year and he was only supposed to work for a year but this year he was given a $25,000 increase - to risk his life and to maybe kill others.
It is very, very hot and I'm only in the valley, not the desert. I do not look forward to Nevada.