1 - The Sepulveda Pass

Hooters was quite the disappointment.  Indeed I expected to sup upon owl as we had with the Teton-wah Sioux, but found it nowhere on the menu.  Further, I was bewildered by the entree, "Buffalo Wings."  Our travels through the Louisiana Territory found us hunting buffalo regularly.  I can say with certainty they do not have wings.

From the beach side township we saw mountains before us.  It is here I must explain that Clark has an obsession to climb every single mountain we encounter.  His enthusiasm lead to great dissonance amoungst our band.  So much so it is only he, Sacagawea, her husband, Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, their young son whom we call "Little Pomp," and myself who were willing to continue on this journey.

The lovely girl at Hooters, Stephanie, who did serve us, (to which I can say her choice of attire caught my attention)  told us that the best route to cross the mountains was the "405 Freeway."   We all found this an odd title for a passageway through the mountains.  Stephanie explained another name for the path was the "Sepulveda Pass," which made much more sense to us.  Clark wanted to go, (naturally) so the we set out the next morn.

We took our wagons up the "freeway" Stephanie had mapped for us.   Indeed it was free at that!  The smooth path coddled the wooden wheels upon which we rode.  Never once did we fear the terrain tossing our wagon on its side, nor a concern that a horse would injure itself.  We did come across a great deal of other travelers here.  Their modes of transportation had amazing speed.  Although Clark would complain about these fantastic wagons, I was intrigued.  Our constant need for new horses to tow our wagons would be relieved by traveling in one of those vessels.  Jean Baptiste and I quietly agreed together we would explore this option.

It was then that a black and white wagon with a piercing scream I can only compare to innumerable hawks diving at their prey at once, stopped angular before us.  The horses reared back and it was all we could do to calm them.  A military man in a navy blue uniform (obviously a Spaniard) carried a gun at his side.  This prompted Clark to reach for his own shotgun beneath our bench.  But Sacagawea begged him not to create conflict until we knew if the Spaniard were of a friendly nation.

The soldier, who introduced himself as Officer Garcia, told us this freeway was not the place for our "old-timey" vessel.  He turned to me and asked for what he called a "driver's license."  I did not know of what he spoke.  The always easy to provoke Clark said frankly, "We are here under orders of the President himself."  This appeared to anger the uniformed man.  He ordered us out of our wagon.  I began to introduce the band to Officer Garcia who appeared to already know our names!  Although he was unfamiliar with Jean Baptiste, and remarked that he thought Sacagawea had married a man named John Smith.

Once we had explained our journey to Officer Garcia (who proved to be a model ambassador for Spain), he transformed his cold demeanor to a jolly disposition.  The soldier appeared to be humored by our band.  Having avoided a battle, we were much relieved.

In the end, Officer Garcia proved to be kind and guided us to the actual path of Sepulveda, adjacent to the freeway.  Here we met far less swift wagons and were able to crest the mountain to gaze upon the marvelous valley below.

Until tomorrow, my friends.