When I was 15, my folks were vacationing at Lake Shasta...my uncle, a trucker making a weekly N-S fruit run, offered to pick me up in Santa Clara, so I could ride up to Shasta in his rig. We drove to Salinas to pick up his truck, but his spare driver was nowhere to be found. (I should point out that fifteen-year-olds on an adventure don't really clue in to what that meant) - SO off we went, running empty, to the Mexican border to pick up a load of melons and grapes...the first thing Uncle Roy did was drop a crate of grapes on the ground, say "oops", and put it in the sleeper for when the munchies hit. The load was destined for Seattle, where he'd pick up a load of apples to deliver back down in San Jose... by the time we'd driven from Salinas to somewhere near San Diego and back through Sacto, Uncle Roy was getting groggy...and driving up I5 with his eyes closed. God knows how he made it to Shasta, or anywhere else, for that matter...poppin' speed, I'd guess. It was a terrifying ride.
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