Bustin' into Oregon

Day 11

I awoke in generally high spirits, what with surviving the night and all. On today’s agenda: cave adventure. Micah and I pack up our stuff and drive out to Cave Junction where we (Micah) stop for a quick coffee before heading up to the Oregon Caves National Monument. Not only am I excited to see what the caves are like, but I have my first opportunity to use my National Park Pass (thanks FCTers). Everything seems normal enough until we start getting hit by a hail storm, followed by snow. What the hell is wrong with the weather? It’s late May and it’s snowing. And we’re only at 2000 ft.! Luckily it doesn’t stick to the road and my badass tires make it up the steep incline. After we cook up some quesadillas on the stovetop we meet Micah’s dad, the mayor of Montague who has decided to drive up from to camp with us for a night, and take a tour of the caves. The tour-guide is slightly obnoxious, but according to Micah the family with two little kids (plus one on the way) taking photos of everything (interesting and not) and touching things they aren’t supposed to touch are way more annoying. This is true. The caves are pretty spectacular (the photos I took kind of suck a little) so the only disappointing part of the trip is that entrance to the monument is free so I didn’t get to use my pass. Drat!

Most of the campgrounds are closed, which surprised us considering that it’s late May, and there isn’t snow in the campgrounds themselves, so we drive back down toward Cave Junction and camp at a bizarre RV/tent camping place. The guy behind the counter (who we later saw weed-whacking and smoking a cigarette simultaneously) tells us that the showers are only $0.25 for 10 or 15 minutes. That seems good. The question is why doesn’t he know if it’s 10 or 15? Suspicious. I later find out that it’s probably closer to 5 than either of the two previously quoted numbers. Still, pretty cheap for a shower.

The three of us have a great time camping. We luck out and the rain stops for the evening so we get a nice fire going. I do my first manly job of the trip and chop a bit of wood that I found down by Sucker Creek (real name!). Quinoa, vegetables, beer, and cribbage round out the evening.

Day 12

Instead of heading along the coast as originally planned, or heading toward Eugene, which was the more recently developed plan, we all decide it would be worth the drive to go see Crater Lake. Most of the trails are still under 6 feet of snow, but you can get up to the lake and walk around and take pictures and whatnot (and use National Park passes!!). I look on my map, which says that at it’s lowest point Crater Lake is -1900 something feet. I misinterpret that to mean that it’s 1900 feet below sea level, which seems mighty impressive since the mountains around it are around 8000 feet. A lake 2 miles deep!?! I’m there! It isn’t until we actually get to the National Park and read some literature on the place that I come to realize that I’m a bit dim. This doesn’t diminish the beauty of the lake, but does diminish the illusion that I’m even a little smart.

We walk around the Lake as much as we can (maybe 200 yards total), take copious amounts of pictures, and all agree that the 3 hour drive was 100% worth it. We make some lunch (cheese and avocado sandwiches, oranges, and Pecan Sandie cookies), walk over to the lodge/hotel, and take a final look at the lake (and Wizard Island (awesome name)). Micah and I part ways with her dad and take a long drive out to Eugene.

The drive wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that I once again showed my mental abilities by nearly running us out of gas. See, we went the scenic route through Umpqua National Forest, and I guess I just assumed there would be hundreds of Chevron and Shell stations in the pristine wilderness. For some stupid reason that I just can’t figure out, there weren’t any. The only thing that saved us was a little gas station in Oakridge that jacked up the price of gas by like 60 cents a gallon, but I had to at least buy us enough to get the hell out of the forest. It was a pretty drive, however, and I don’t regret it. I just wish I could be more smarter and things.

Exhausted, we pulled into our campground for the night: Walmart. I took a picture to commemorate such a wondrous journey in free camping. All was well as we made a little dinner. But then. Of course. A dude comes over to our van and tells us there’s no overnight camping. What the mother fuck? Turns out only SOME Walmarts allow overnight camping, and this one doesn’t. This pisses me off to no end (my grumpiness is compounded by how long it takes to switch the fridge over to propane - my hands literally cramped up from the pumping). I now hate Walmart more than I ever thought possible. No camping? Bye.

Instead of using Walmart as a home base, we drive into a little neighborhood and stealth camp on the street. I’m not graceful when I do this (I admit to being a bit scared) and back up a few times until I’m close to the curb and on level ground. Micah reminds me that if you’re trying not to draw attention, it’s probably best to just park. Not shure if im geting ny smrtr.

Day 13

We wake up early and clear out so that we aren’t terribly suspicious. After getting coffee we drive over to Spencer’s Butte Park to wake up and make some breakfast - eggs, tortillas, avocado, Tapatillo. The day is spend wandering through town, in and out shops, using Starbucks as public restrooms, and taking pictures of bizzare signage. The best sign had a picture of a sperm that read “cover me, I’m going in.” Awesome.

We take a bike ride around the river that runs through town and manage to spot a couple of otters! I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a river otter in the wild, so this is pretty damn cool. The sun comes out long enough for the ride to be warm and refreshing before the clouds came back and blanketed everything in grey once more.

We get lucky and spend Monday night in Eugene, which means one thing to me: Sam Bond’s Garage. Mike, Stacey, and I found this place on our road trip last year and figured out that Bingo night is the best night. They bring in Scott and Tom (radio DJs) to call out Bingo, and the dudes are fucking awesome. Micah and I drink some beers, play some Bingo (didn’t win), and listened to the absurdity of the commentary. Our favorite line came during a round of “Cursing Bingo” wherein the contestants let the caller know how they feel about the number, invariably leading to much cursing. It’s hard to hear what the people are yelling, but Tom always picks out the best ones and runs with them. This is what we heard him say after someone cursed at him: “Grandma Battlesnatch. The Power Ranger everyone forgets about.” We were laughing hysterically. Cheap beer and great comedy go hand in hand.

Day 14

Another night spent restfully on the side of the street, and we decide to treat ourselves to breakfast out (well, Micah actually treated me). Delicious organic vegetarian food from Morning Glory Cafe fills us up - veggie omelette with kale, mushrooms, onions, garlic, and squash, potatoes, cinnamon raisin bread (for me), and some weird concoction that seemed like huevos rancheros with tofu and tempe instead of eggs but also had potatoes (for her).

We walk around downtown some more, magically don’t buy anything (will power!), and get the hell out of Eugene. Don’t get me wrong. Eugene is great. But I’m ready to move on to something a little different. There’s only so much I can get out of a downtown before I either get really bored or really hungry. I wasn’t hungry, wasn’t buying anything, and wasn’t interested. So we move on to Corvalis, taking the scenic route along the Willamette (pronounced like damnit) River. We stop at a little County Park for some rest and what you’re reading right now before getting into town and meeting up with Micah’s friend Brad for dinner. He’s a cool dude; we have a couple cheap beers ($2 pints), a good chat, some nachos, and he lets us sleep in his apartment parking lot and take a shower!

****I am posting a link to more pics for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy****

http://s942.photobucket.com/albums/ad261/TheVanGuy/

Made of the strongest steel

Day 7

It only rains on certain days in my life. Those days? Van days. Every day we try to work on the van it rains. Without fail. It’s been hard not to get too discouraged, but I’m fighting through it. The most recent problem is the fridge, which emits noxious odor when it’s being used on propane. This is a problem because it turns out that the fridge can only run from about 10 hours off the auxiliary battery before dying. Battery while driving. Propane while parked or camping. So this is kind of important.

We take the fridge out, clean it, put it back in, and it’s the same smell. Crap. Stay positive. Stay positive.

Day 8

Ah, sunshine. Both in weather and temperament forms. The fridge smells, but the weather is nicer and Micah has now joined me in dear ol’ Humboldt. I was hoping all the van business would be taken care of by the time she arrived, but it couldn’t be avoided. Well, that’s not true. When she arrived I told her about the rear window incident by succinctly pointing to the parked backhoe and exclaiming “I straight backed into that hoe!” I’m hilarious. And I wasn’t even trying.....too hard.

With Micah aboard it’s also my cue to do something fun, so I take the opportunity to drive through the Bottoms in Arcata out to Mad River Beach, where we take a hike along the beach. The plan was to get to the mouth of the Mad, but it’s a hell of a lot farther than I thought, so we settled for a nice seat near between the river and ocean, which was nice enough.

I also got to introduce her to my family, and of course they fell in love with her. Runner up isn’t bad, and I’m OK with that position. All she had to do was be charming and smart and help with dishes and BAM! She’s now the favorite.

Since my dad and stepmom also came up for a visit (one goodbye is never enough), we all went out to Tomo’s - the local suchi eatery. Dirt cheap rolls (by sushi standards), made for a belly full of delicious dead fish. Yum. This night also proved to be the christening of the van. For both fun and privacy I moved out of my uncle and aunt’s nice soft bed and into the pop-top. And it’s a nice stormy night in the van.

Day 9

The highlight of the trip so far. By far. My dad, uncle, Micah, and I all go to “Sci-Fi and pint and pizza” night at the Arcata Theater. It used to be the main movie theater in Arcata, but ever since I left it’s been out of business. They just couldn’t afford the loss of one of their best and most awesome customers. But it has recently been revived into an arts and old movies type theater. So instead of showing the big blockbusters they have screenings of “The Big Lebowski.” And I don’t hear anyone complaining. Every Wednesday they show old sci-fi movies from the 50s and 60s. Entrance is free as long as you buy $5 worth of concessions. This would be mildly annoying except for that the concessions are beer, wine, pizza, french fries, burgers, chocolate covered rice crispy squares, etc. In other words, how do you ever spend less than $5? We all got beers and walked into the newly renovated theater, which has tables and chairs, a bar, and a full stage. It looks not too unlike the Mystic in Petaluma, but nicer since it’s been recently designed. We watch “Invaders From Space,” which stars Starman fighting off the Salamander people invading Earth and using radioactive beams they shoot out of their mouths to both poison and control people. Luckily, Starman is made of the strongest steel and fights them off using half-hearted acrobatics and fighting techniques that would only be used in a karate class for 3-year-olds when everything is taught in slow motion. He can also fly and turn left. I highly recommend it. The special effects are breathtaking, the costumes are inspired, and you’re on the edge of your seat the entire time because you just never know if Starman will show up in time to save everyone. Four stars.

This helped me forget that I had to repair my bike since it apparently got bent when I backed into the hoe. Fucking hoes. That’s one I’ll never forget.

Day 9

It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times. **This quote will only be understood by a select few** Everything is pretty much in order at this point. After a heartfelt goodbye from my parents Micah and I head out to Patrick’s Point for a bike ride, hike, and picnic, and to give my aunt and uncle a rest from all us rambunctious kids. The weather is the most perfect since I’ve been up here - warm and sunny. So we enjoy it while it lasts. Little bunnies, squirrels, and deer are happily wandering the park as we come jetting down on our sweet bikes. I gave Micah a bike for her birthday (it’s still early yet), and she’s trying to get the hang of it. It’s like watching a little kid trying out a bike that’s bigger than he or she is used to. It’s funny. But by the end of the trip she’s leaving me in the dust with her crazy speed.

The day is capped off by a soak in the Finnish Hot Tubs in downtown Arcata. A bit of hot steam. A bit of warm water and cold air. Frogs, bats, trees. A bit of naked. Nice night.

After the soak we sit in the cafe there for a hot chocolate and a go at the NY Times crossword puzzle. We suck miserably at it (our only justification is that it’s the Saturday edition). Damn you Will Shortz. But we don’t suck as much as the girl sitting behind us trying to answer such mind-busting trivia puzzles as “what makes soda fizzy” (she got close with carbon), and “what is the heaviest mammal on earth” (rhinoceros - swing and a miss).

Day 10

And it now is actually underway. After another sad goodbye, this time to my aunt and uncle, who have been housing, feeding, and helping me for the past 10 days, Micah and I set off on the grand adventure. Destination: unknown. We head north along 101, stopping for a nice hike on the cliffs above the Klamath River during which we walk past a ton of snakes (I think I saw 14), and watch seals, pelicans, and osprey down below. I overheard some guy in the parking lot say that the bird flying right in front of us was a peregrine falcon, but I cannot confirm this. We also stop briefly at Myrtle Beach on the Smith River, which was a beautiful clear green. There was a small set of rapids down river, but we just happened to stop at a huge expanse of river that was smooth as glass, allowing me to show off my tremendous rock-skipping skills. I threw one so perfectly that after it skipped 7-9 times it just started to glide across the water. If the county had set up some sort of super slow-mo camera to watch all the amateur rock-skippers they would have seen a man in a green shirt throwing the rock of his life. It must have skipped 30 times. I am the best. Bring it on.

All the camping along the Smith River is State Parks charging something like $35 a night. So Micah and I stop in at this little roadside store in Gasquet. I asked the guy about camping and he told us about some free camping up along Shelley’s Creek (just past Patrick’s Creek). And here I am. 2 miles up a dirt road, parked next to a creek in my van with the rain coming down. Eating a bagel. I’m now in foreign territory, but some things just never change.

**Note** Tonight also marks the first night where I have a nightmare about people sneaking up on unsuspecting van campers and try to kill them. In the dream three people barricade the van with their cars so that there’s no escape. But luckily I escape! (I drive forward instead of backward). Then I drive off. But along the dirt road I see a man stumbling and bloody. So I stop to pick him up. BUT!! It turns out he’s the bad guy. In an incredible display of horsepower prowess my van gains a great deal of speed so that I can slam on the brakes and make the bad guy going flying into the dash, breaking his neck. He’s obviously pretty strong too, as he doesn’t die. So I do it again. Victory.

In the end I wake up with lights shining on the van and my heart racing. I figure it’s some people shining their car lights on us, blocking us in. So I look out the curtains. No cars. Turns out the light is coming from what some people call “morning.” I rarely see this event, so it’s a little jarring. At least I’m safe.

Story time

Day 4

After so much misfortune, there are days when a man just needs some R&R and three burritos. Unaware of what my aunt Marika was thinking of making for dinner (hint: burritos), I thought to myself as I walked into a burrito shop, “boy, I did a swell job today of not setting things back. I didn’t even break a window. I deserve a burrito.” And I was right! And the Mexican gods (much kinder than the American or whatever gods that blasted the holy shit out of the mower just days earlier) bestowed upon me three little donkeys. One for lunch, and two for dinner. And since burritos are my favorite food, today was a good day. Capped off with a couple of Racer 5s and a paradoxically free Pay Per View movie (Fantastic Mr. Fox), and today was roughly as productive as the others while providing several times more burritos.

Day 5

Hank the Rat sat around all day, fat and lazy. Sure he shuffled around when he was hungry or needed to make rat turds (or, as Hank the Rat called them, turds), but generally speaking Hank just didn’t bother do take care of himself. Most days, Hank would eat his dinner of rotting or discarded whatever, curl up, and go to sleep. One day, Hank stumbled upon something he rarely bothered to pay attention to: a book. Today was a different day for Hank. Hank needed a change in his life. And a book was a good way to start. So Hank took the book (coincidentally starting another new change - stealing), and went back home to give it a good read. The book was called “Living Healthfully.” Hank learned to eat right, exercise, and take care of himself in ways he had never thought of before. He started to cook better meals (healthy muffins were his favorite), and he lost a lot of weight. A year later Hank realized he had become a completely different rat. He realized that everything he used to be was a thing of the past. So he made a batch of his favorite muffins. He then grew bored of his new life, curled up, and died.

Moral: Rats shouldn’t make muffins.

By Seth Tippey

(check photo below to see Hank)

Day 5 Part Deux

On a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean sat an old house built in the late 1800s. For the past century the house was occupied by the Mattsons, the family that originally built the house from leftover, discarded redwood. The house stayed in the family for generations. Over the years the family accumulated more miscellaneous things than could be stored in the garage, workshop, and house, so small lean-to shacks were built across the three acre property in order to make room. But these too soon filled to the brim, and there was no other choice for the Mattsons, a reclusive family set on maintaining their lifestyle, but to start dumping everything onto the grass and into the woods. They discarded cars, bathtubs, barrels of oil, tubing, hoses, metal frames, oil filters, buckets, motors, sinks, piping, and anything else that might at some point be useful but was currently not needed. And still the Mattsons kept to themselves, hiding away in their den of garbage. The property was soon overrun by trash, waste, chemicals, and rats. But nothing was ever thrown away. Soon, nothing else could be seen but generations worth of junk.

And on the inside, things were even worse. When the property was put on the market after the Mattsons decided it was time to move back to Arkansas, they began showing the property in its horribly dilapidated state to prospective buyers. And while they didn’t hide the horrid state of their dwelling, and were completely unable to hide the impossibly disgusting landscape, there was one terrible secret that the Mattsons kept from outsiders. For the past twenty years, there was a single room in the house that was devoid of clutter. Buyers were told that the family’s mother lived in that room and that she was not to be disturbed. Suspiciously, nothing else was said.

Eventually the house was bought. The garbage, discarded cars and oil bins all came with it. The acres of waste sat unmoved. The Mattsons changed nothing. They simply picked up and left.

But the door could finally be unlocked. Whatever was hidden could now be revealed. The ominous room, the only thing the family thought needed to be hidden, was a small room that housed only a reclining chair. Nothing else was in the room. It wasn’t until further inspection that the secret the Mattsons had been keeping became clear. The air was stale, the blue reclining chair reeked of urine, and the entire room smelled of stale excrement. When the ceiling panels were removed, thousands of flies came pouring out, filling the room. The Mattsons had kept their mother locked away in the small room, forced to live in her own urine and excrement in the small blue reclining chair while flies fed off her waste. The repulsive family kept it all a secret. Mom was not to be seen. They hid behind their wall of hoarded goods and mountains of worthless junk, keeping their mother invisible to outside eyes.

Day 6

Only one story from day five is true. And I’ll tell you one thing, it has nothing to do with Hank. For those of you somewhat befuddled by the past couple of stories, let me bring you up to speed. In order for this trip to happen my uncle needed to help me fix my van. And he did. So now I’m up here in Humboldt trying to repay the favor. My aunt and uncle, Robert and Marika, bought that property from the Mattsons up in Trinidad with the hopes of restoring it to a habitable state. They have made a tremendous amount of progress, but still there is junk buried throughout the woods. My uncle and I, over the past two days, have been filling a dumpster with roughly three to four tons of scrap metal. We started to pull metal out of the earth only to realize that the garbage went down several layers. The more we pulled out, the more we revealed. It’s absolutely amazing how much crap these people stored up. Imagine this scenario for a moment: you’re sitting and thinking about how much garbage you have in the garage that simply needs to go away. But some stupid part of your brain says “instead of throwing it away, why not throw it into the backyard, go and get more garbage, and then fill the garage with that.” And you do that for roughly 100 years. It’s disgusting.

So I went through a workshop that had drawers full of nuts, bolts, motors, old rusty tools, radios, nails, and lots and lots of rat turds. After we cleaned out the workshop we started to work on the hillside, where we got even more garbage. We filled the dumpster completely, and we barely scratched the surface. Unbelievable. And in case you were wondering, I didn’t shower last night. I thought the bed could use a little turd dusting.

It Begins

Day 0

There’s something refreshing about setting off on an adventure with your foot pressing the gas pedal down to floor, only going 35mph, and not getting impatient. After a morning outside in the freezing cold rain with my dad and uncle, frantically - and semi-successfully - trying to connect the auxiliary battery in the back of my marginally more beautiful van (I cover the rust with primer....on one side), my uncle and I caravanned up 101. We occasionally passed semis going a tad slower than we were, but more often than not we were the two vehicles in the slow lane getting passed by grandmas and beat up jalopies. There was no hurry. Our VW machines wouldn’t have allowed us to be in a hurry even if we had wanted to. Through a maddening flurry of downpours and sunshine, we made it home. My first home. Arcata.

To be fair, my uncle lives in Bayside, which, I came to find out, technically isn’t Arcata. But still. In my mind they’re one in the same. Heck, they share a police force (another fact I didn’t already know). So there I was, starting my van trip where I started my life - amongst the lush redwood trees of Humboldt County. Of course, since no trip starts quite as planned, I didn’t end up sleeping in the van. Before you start clamoring for my head and calling me a fraud, bear in mind that this might not be the only time on my “van trip” that I don’t stay in my van. Plus, there were two perfectly legitimate reasons why I didn’t sleep in my van: 1) Because of the aforementioned auxiliary battery debacle, my entire van was turned inside out to run wires from the battery to the alternator, from the battery to the battery, from the battery to the fuse box, from the battery to the inverter, and so on. There was nowhere to sleep. 2) We were running a test to see if the refrigerator could be fooled into thinking that the inverter was actually AC instead of DC and to see how long it would run. The only problem (as this method is quite sound), is the damn sound. The inverter runs its fan the entire time, and the inverter is right under my head. Well, it would have been had I slept in the van. Which I did not because of numbers 1 and 2.

No harm in starting a trip both comfortable and well fed, right?

Day 1

My wonderful caretakers turned out to be cruel taskmasters. The first day of vacation from real life and I’m put to work! The nerve. Luckily, being incredibly rich, they put me to work using only the best of tools. Case in point: a riding mower. Unfortunately, I came to find out that the best of tools were old and somewhat decrepit. Case in point: the riding mower.

Here’s a quick breakdown of how a day intending to be productive and fruitful quickly became frustrating and unproductive:

- We show up, realizing that we only have a single pair of ear mufflers. So my uncle drives back into town while I start mowing.

- After mowing for roughly 15 minutes, the blade belt snapped. So I start to sweep the driveway.

- My uncle returns with the extra ear protection. I attempt to weed whack instead, but the whacker won’t start. It’s flooded. He then leaves to buy a new belt while I continue sweeping.

- After putting on the new belt I return to mowing. After roughly 3 minutes the mower won’t move. Not forward, not backward. We discover that a different belt (we’ll call this the driver belt (technical term)) has fallen off.

- We take apart the mower to put the belt back on.

- After roughly 7 or 8 minutes of mowing, the mower stops again.

- We again take apart the mower, and figure out that one of the round spinny thingies that belts go around is loose. We tighten it. I mow like a mad man.

- Close to finishing, the mower dies. Out of gas. We refill the gas. The mower won’t start. We try again. The battery is dead.

It’s as if the gods were angry that on my first day of vanventuring I was attempting to work. But what the gods don’t understand is that without my uncle’s help I’d never have been able to even begin the trip. I was simply trying to begin giving back. Stupid gods. On the bright side, I learned that riding a mower around and around in circles is incredibly fun and might be a decent career move. I mean, even with banks screwing up and housing markets tanking, grass continues to grow and continues to need mowing. It didn’t hurt that I was mowing the grass atop a beautiful sunny hill in Trinidad where I could look out onto the white caps of the ocean and listen to sea lions barking. Well, when I wasn’t busy focusing on cutting every blade of grass while listening to the incredibly noisy motor of the green riding mower. Glorious.

Day 2

Copy. Rinse. Repeat. Only with more success. I worked on the van; I sat on the sweet mower, riding giddily around in circles; I pulled some pesky blackberry bushes and pulled some surprisingly more pesky ferns. And then, in a weird twist my uncle gathered up some strange objects: a long wooden post with a pointy end (perfect for jousting), some rags, gasoline, and a maul. I thought my uncle and I were about to go all Braveheart over some unsuspecting neighbors. In my mind we would be hooking the joust to the side of his jagdwagen (look it up if you’ve never seen one), dousing the rags in gasoline, wrapping them around the lance and setting them on fire. He’d drive toward those crazy neighbors while I stood in the back wielding the maul. Unfortunately, we used the jagdtwagon’s winch to pull a tree upright, the rags to protect the tree from harm, and the maul to hammer the post to hold the tree in place. Then we lit it ablaze. Kidding. The gas? For another project. I guess it’s all for the best anyway. He only has one neighbor (an old man who likes mowing grass as much as I do), and he’s out of town, so there really weren’t any potential victims for our 13th century hijinks.

Dinner was a trip down memory lane at local Hippy-Mexican eatery HeyJuans. Huge burritos, $3.50 pints ($2.75 all day Saturday!), and 10% off everything because it was Wednesday. Seriously. After eating our filling (and spicy) burritos we stepped outside to see a sad crime of stupidity taking place as a couple of young college students went into Subway. What the hell is wrong with people?

Day 3

One step forward, two steps back. Why is it that whenever you manage to get the auxiliary battery working you invariably back the van into a stationary backhoe and shatter your rear window? I’m doing my best to stay positive because these minor setbacks would be huge catastrophes in any other part of the country. Luckily, my uncle is the mother f’ing VW man. I’d certainly be sunk without him.

We went to Bob today - a recommended locksmith - to see if he could fix a little lock problem that I have with the water tank. Here’s how Bob plays it: “Well, it’s not getting done today. I left two minutes ago. And it’s not getting done tomorrow either. Maybe Monday or Tuesday at the earliest. I’m going out of town.” So we ask him what he thinks of the job and an estimate. “Well. To rekey this is going to take a while. At least an hour. And I might not even be able to do it. It might not work. Something like this will be thirty, thirty five.” We tell him we’ll think about it and come back Monday morning when he opens. “You come in Monday morning, I might not get it done until later in the week. Monday’s filling up. Got stuff for Tuesday.” We say alright and start to leave. “Going to a funeral in Sacramento.” Sorry to hear that. So we head down to the south side of Eureka to another lock shop and ask them the same thing. Their answer: “Eight or ten bucks. Be done by tomorrow.” Have fun at the funeral Bob.