Do the words “Rode hard and put up wet” ring any bells?  That’s Bill and I as we drive north on I-5 through northern California.

Earlier today, after leaving Napa, we spent 45 minutes traveling five miles in a backup on I-80 where a collision with a half-mile long debris field had four lanes of traffic coned down to one.  Later, when we stopped for our Burger King two-for-one coupon Whopper, Bill exited the car and locked it while Bella and I were still inside.  When I opened the door, the alarm went off.  I managed to silence it, but in a way that turned off the automatic door openers.  Fortunately, several months ago, when the car battery was dead, a manager at the Speedway Enterprise location in Tucson showed us how to liberate the old fashioned non-electric keys that are hidden in the electronic fob.  So we managed to get into the car, finally.  

Then, in the process of getting to the gas station across the street, the GPS went flying off the dashboard and landed on the floor.  When I picked it up to put it back, I must have punched a wrong button, one that made the lady in the machine want to send us back the way we had come.

By the time we were back on I-505, we were both grousing at one another, and that’s unusual.  Most of the time we travel the highways and byways with barely a ripple in our little sea of amenity.  What the grousing really means is that we’re tired.  The driver is tired.  Bella is tired.  And the author is definitely tired.

According to the odometer, in two days under three weeks, we have traveled 2,478 miles.  I’ve done 27 hour long presentations and signed countless books. Any number of people have told Bella how cute she is.  Bill has kept us moving safely through a spiderweb of strange (to us) California freeways.  You really do need to be born in Oakland to fathom how to get around there.

We’ve managed to adjust our luggage so we can get in and out of hotels in a single trip.  That takes plenty of advance planning.  As for hotels?   We’ve seen plenty of those.  I don’t understand why they give you tiny plastic bags for ice and then put the button on the ice-machine in a place where you can’t hold the bag and press the button at the same time.

I’m ready to be home in our own chairs where our clicker will allow us to fast-forward through commercials; where I’ll know which side of the room contains the door to the bathroom; where Bella will not have to be walked on a leash; where we’ll have access to our own coffee machine.

Yes, book tours may sound glamorous, but there’s a whale of a lot of nitty-gritty that goes along with book touring.   I’m ready for this one, the Cold Betrayal tour, to be over.  The problem is, my other publicity team is already working hard to set up the next one for Dance of the Bones.

I remember how my mother used to say, “There’s no rest for the wicked.”  

Based on that, Bill, Bella, and I, must be really BAD!