In the sur-real kingdom of Lord morpheus.

---

San Joaquin Valley, Huron.
same day late afternoon.

I leave Jerry's Diner in good spirits due mostly to the blond waitress's well shaped bossom uppermost on my mind, let's not forget the cute smile she gave me when I payed my bill.
The down hill stuff is getting to an end when I finally enter the San Joaquin Valley, supposed to be one of the most fertile places in the USA and home to the big computer chips producing firms.
Cycling on and on through fields full with almond trees, peaches, orange trees with bright orange colored oranges, agriculture as far as my mind's eye can see.
Fresno is getting close, a reasonably big city and with it heavy traffic and related stressfull situations but I'm once again on my mental adraline high with the added advantage of the seductive smile of Miss Jerry's Diner's waitress's smile.
I cycle on and on, wait for red light traffic signs aplenty, smile at the faces of cops that look at me curiously from passing police cars, smile at the faces of black guys on the side walks that scream at me "hey mon, way to go. You do the world on a bike", their accents strong and heavy.
Somehow I manage to get through all the honking and high traffic....now this is weird after all these weeks of out in the open with maybe ten/twenty cars a day overtaking me.
With the help of the blond waitress of Jerry's Diner still in my mind's eye, I surviver this strange experience that is called Fresno and soon enough leave the biggest city of the valley behind cycling again through huge fields dedicated to agriculture.
I see cotton bushes and plums, I see olive trees and grapes, massive irrigation systems and when I've a break at the site of the road for a short break, I talk to mexican laborers surprising them with my spanish.
I pass gas stops and fast-food restaurants untill I finally make it to the run-down city called Huron, a city obviously dedicated to the mexican laborers I saw today sweating away, working their mexican *sses off on these agricultural fields that probably belong to big rich companies that cultivate crops on an enormous scale, these fields that one mexican laborer claimed "feed the world".
I find myself a small inexpensive motel with mexicans loitering and drinking cervezas in the courtyard.
Mexican music untill deep into the night, no doubt.
I don't care drinking a few well deserved caguamas myself before drifting off to the sweet oblivion of the dream world....in the sur-real kingdom of Lord Morpheus I experience a night of passion with the well bossomed waitress of Jerry's Diner.

---