Brian fix-a-bout, Wash R.V., Oreo, and Stuft Pizza

(You should probably read two blog posts before this so you're not confused. Besides, there is good writing in there.)

I wasn't awake when Mom took out the dogs on the 2nd of March. We continued to play around after the previous day, where we had walked around, and played football. Everybody sort of lounged around a bit, taking showers and yawning as they drank coffee and orange juice. Brian, a mechanic who had helped us out a lot on the trip, was going to come and fix some problems in the motorhome. He was usually on time and unparallelled in his ability, skill, and niceness (for a mechanic) but this time his watch must not of been working. He was about thirty minutes late before Dad went to meet him and told him about the stuff that needed repairs. He had helped out a little bit yesterday, but done a lot of diagnosing, and today he had the tools for the problems the R.V. faced. What kind of problems? The door making a beep sound, cute and little, as soon as it shut. Some tail lights that had seen better days. My handle to my drawer underneath Rebecca's bed, puffed out and unable to lock, and most of all our hot water being hot in the beginning and then changing cold later. Brian would do all of these things, as Rebecca and I stood outside, out of the way, but at the same time out of something to do.

As a skinny blonde young mechanic paced the R.V. and used his tools of wrenches, hammers and screw drivers, two kids, two years apart, started off with football, and then did the zingers, which are metal silver balls that are magnets and made a zzzzz sound in the air when they join together. We couldn't have them by any metal. Then we took out weapons from the bays, Rebecca having a baseball bat hitter (rubber two pointed yellow big thing) also her staff, with me and my black stick which was my wand. The evil witch killed an elf who liked her, and Merlin finally took the magical staff when she made a student whiz fall into an abyss. It's a very complex story. I hid the staff so Rebecca would quit being the all powerful, that's the problem with playing with her sometimes...that she makes characters always that are strong and invincible. But anyway, Bane finally stopped her (I must admit I got that out of a wolf character in Mossflower) and they ruled alongside. They also played with the water fairies (some beach barbies, including a surfer named Drew) the animal fairies (one doctor and many girl small barbies) and the plant ones, same. There was the army, three green guys, and then the King who was Sheriff and the dirt fairies, who were evil and had black clothes. We formed a fun story about the water F's looking for a shark, and the dirt fairies attacking the plant ones. Fun.

Bane was a character who made them fight because he liked good entertainment. Pretty hilarious.

Later when Dad was talking to Brian and men came out with pressure washers, gun things that are long that shoot out water. Mom played football and told us something about called All Time QB. We were able to play with three people. I got knocked down and Rebecca was pretty hard core at her enthusiasm and innocence when it came to not knowing the game. She was pretty good however. Well, we played that and then I sat out with my red book in hand, thinking of as soon as I finished it to read a book about storytelling and Ireland's myths, as it was the month of March and Saint Patrick's Day was coming up. Although it was a thick book. Would I get it done?

Workers came with a trailer that they connected the cables to the guns too, rushing water over the roof and soaping it with dionized water. It's weird to be inside and have all that around you. If you wave at them, they never wave back. Can they even see us, I wondered. But I blogged seldom on that day, or on yesterday for that matter, just because I was enjoying myself and was kind of lazy. At about noon after Mom had made me a sandwich, she declared that because it was such a good place to ride a bike and I didn't have one we would be buying one around the area of La Quinta. I said it wasn't worth it and it might be stolen again, and that I didn't really need one...they would be scratched up on the bike rack. Mom wouldn't budge and Rebecca went with us in the jeep as Dad talked to all the mechanics and workers. He loves to start conversations, and thats the cool thing about him. But we exited the R.V. after going through all of the nice people's lots and all. Read the previous blog post for all of the descriptive details. We made for a rich area, kind of commercial and suburb like, where we would look at tomorrow as that was the day for the festival showing strawberries. We stopped at a tiny bike shop off the road to the left in a small shopping center. We walked in.

All these fancy mountain and street bikes, of various colors, designs, and sizes, were laid up on either side and above us. In the middle of the store was a counter where a guy who looked similar to my friend Rowdy was. He had a buzz cut, strong yet thin, had brown hair, and talked and acted like him. Was he a long lost brother or twin to my neighbor? I know that the Miller's read this so that's why I mentioned that. You guys are awesome and thank you for taking care of everything at home. Can't wait to see you!

He helped us out, but later we found out his name wasn't Rowdy but Bret. He was a smart kid, asking us if we wanted mountain or street bike, telling me ones in my size, as Mom said that we shouldn't get anything too expensive as it would get scratched up. I looked at a few I liked, but they didn't have the money. I remembered my last time in a bike shop in Maine where on my birthday I had gotten a bike. I didn't know until we were inside that they were getting me a new bike. I loved that bike and wished it was never stolen. Oh well. Bret thought on his feet after minutes of pondering He said a man wanted a repair of his bike and then never showed up to pick it up. Bringing it out, it was a black bike with worn out handles, and purple letters saying ANTELOPE. I hated black and purple as colors, and liked blue and red a lot more as I had looked at the other bikes. Mom called Dad and said outside as she consulted me that it was a great price, and although it was old, it could be scratched and it wouldn't matter because it was black anyway. Also, we could get a new one when we got home, and I needed to have a bike with all of the kids and at Motor Coach R.V. I considered. I hated the color and the form was fine, with the soft leather seat. Bret, using his resourcefulness once more, found a solution to a bit of the color.

He got white and black strap or handlebar tape, weaving it around the purple leathers. Replacing the old black handle bars that were about done, he got white ones that were fresh and soft. He got a kickstand for Rebecca and worked the whole thing out. I tested the bike and it ran fine, but you had to click a thing instead of turn it down to change gears. I was awkward on it, it didn't run as smooth as my previous one, and it was kind of hard to ride, but all in all it was alright and I was glad we had gotten it. We went to an ATM and payed the nice guy Bret in cash. Such a smart dude. On the bike rack it went home. Sadly to my sadness, Rebecca happened to be eating black and white cookies, Oreos. We were coming up names for this bike, Penguin, Zebra... and then Rebecca said it. Oreo. I didn't want my bike to be named after a sugary treat, but the name stuck. I would rather have something else. I hate that name.

I biked with Rebecca, and traded a Roman book for Hondo, a Louis L'amour book. I would try his style of writing out and see if I liked it. I loved riding on a bike again, the wind in my face, my hair twirling around, all that. It came the evening and after many nights of not eating food out we went into the La Quinta area, where some Spanish architecture is with the balconies and the cobblestone streets, like in the town of New Orleans. That's not French, it's Spanish, because when the fire occurred the Spanish, who owned the city at the time, said that their buildings wouldn't burn and used their own. Well, as the day slowly ended, we came to Stuft Pizza, which was brick and was very nice looking with a patio on the front. Inside they gave us a red beeper, with a lot of people in there. We were packed like sardines. We ate and looked at people on our left eating outside in the Italian like place, with all the ivy and crosspatch roof. As we sat in the harsh cold Dad talked to a lady on the left while we sat on a right bench, me reading. She was large, black haired, and young. She showed Dad pictures of a fantastic and unique place only south of here, where they have a salt sea, a rainbow mountain, and a desert full of hippies.

Read the next blog post to find out more.

We ate at a big round table and Rebecca got cold and sick, even though there were heaters. Dad told me a story of him and his then girlfriend Freda filling in for waitresses at a place they frequently ate at where they knew the people. They recommended the pizza that was named after Freda, and it sold like sunscreen. They called it "Freda's Surprise." It had all the toppings upon it, so it would probably be called an Everything Pizza nowadays. But the meal was good and we put it in the box. We later left and went to home, where we watched T.V. and hit the hay. It was an okay day. We played a little, washed the motorhome, bought an uhh... interesting bike, and fixed a lot of problems in the R.V. But the next day would be even better.

In Mossflower there are moles that make the tunnels to destroy the bad guy's castle. They are low life's and have bad grammar. I'm going to say Goodbye for now in mole:

Gudbi' fur noiw!,

Andrew.

:)