By Lauren Gustus and Michael Hurlbut
Sports Editor and Assistant Sports Editor
Day One, Wednesday, March 13
12:27 p.m.: It’s barely lunchtime but Lauren and I feel like it’s 3 a.m. and we’ve been up for three days. I didn’t even make it out of Rho parking lot without breaking into the bag of snacks that my girlfriend bought me. Two cans of Pringles, a couple bags of beef jerky and Chewy Chips Ahoy will soon come back to haunt the atmosphere in the car as we truck on down the road.
Lauren took 10 minutes to explain all the features of the car to me since I’ve never been in one before. So far, morale is high, but rations are already significantly low and we’re not even through the Canyon.
12:48 p.m: We stop for gas just before the 101 in Calabasas and I make an attempt to put CDs in Lauren’s changer in the trunk. No sooner do I shut the lid and try to play them then the darn thing stops working all together. I had nothing to do with it, I swear. Nevertheless, we make our way onto the freeway and head towards 405 North to Sacramento. Lauren is changing lanes with reckless abandon, showing no concern for life or limb.
1:15 p.m.: I just avoided our first accident and I’m not even driving. Apparently Lauren just realized that mirrors were installed on cars for reasons other than putting on makeup. We made a pit stop at a Denny’s in sunny Bakersfield for my driver with the small bladder. As I looked down the stretch of highway past the restaurant, I can’t help but think how many hours it will take to get to the Bay Area, then through the rush hour traffic and finally to my house in Benicia. I’m thinking that if we hustle we could make it by 8 p.m. Far too long in my mind, but then again, I have no choice.
2:15 p.m.:The conversation in the car has gone from normal to downright crazy as the smell of green fields has left us delirious in the car. Lauren thinks we need to write a letter to Gatorade proposing a Diet Gatorade product with less sugar. I told her it’s probably already been done and wasn’t a success. My idea of a 24houreverything.com Website were quickly shut down due to recent failures in the Internet field. The topic eventually changes to a discussion on our roles in society and I’m left feeling as if I’m going nowhere in life. We really need the CD player.
4:45 p.m.: Hurlbut and I just traded places, which means our pace has reduced by a minimum of 15 miles an hour. He still swears he didn’t break the CD player, but I’ve found something much better in the glove compartment. An old workout tape mix with Mariah and Christina Aguilera circa 2000. Not yet old enough for us to reminisce over, just old enough to be annoying. Good news: Benicia, 99 miles.
5:23 p.m.: The Crime: Damaged Property. The Plea: Not Guilty. In an effort to shield his baby blues from the sun, Hurlbut breaks the visor. He then proceeds to blame it on me, saying “You rigged it!” My Saab is slowly falling apart.
5:32 p.m. We just made a left onto Highway 580, toward San Francisco. We pass by a mass of metal windmills on the hills of both sides of the highway. I told Hurlbut that Don Quixote would have had a hard time with those. He looked mildly amused.
6:24 p.m.: We arrive in Benicia and enjoy the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Hurlbut for the evening. Teri cooked a fine meal and we all relaxed in front of the TV.
Day Two, Thursday, March 14
8:45 a.m.: We’re at the McDonald’s drive-thru. I ordered a yogurt parfait and the woman handed Hurlbut an orange juice. Go figure.
10:42 a.m.: One hour to tip-off. We’re inside ARCO Arena, down on the floor checking out the scene. There are photographers and press people everywhere. Hurlbut looks completely lost with a camera around his neck and a lonely patch of carpet to sit on underneath the Pepperdine basket. He can’t decide whether to sit Indian-style or on one knee. Either way, he will later be asked to move by a significantly more experienced Sports Illustrated photographer. I began cheering loudly when the announcer gave the score of the Missouri/Miami game, with Missouri getting the win. Then I realized that I picked Miami in my bracket. Oh.
11:35 a.m.: Hurlbut declares “I don’t know what the heck I’m doing,” after attempting to take a picture of Devin Montgomery that may or may not have included the point guard.
12:05 p.m.: Hurlbut approaches the media table in a full-on panic. With a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, he sputters, “The camera won’t work.” After much finagling, I pull off a miracle. He fires off a shot and runs back under the hoop. Incidentally, the Waves lost the game.
4 p.m.: On the road again, we head south on I5 and in no time are at each other’s throats after Hurlbut pulls out the always funny “Lauren, quit farting” joke. I was irate. In retaliation I rolled down all the windows to air us out and watched as Hurlbut’s official NCAA photo armband goes flying out the open window. “Are you serious?” he screams. “You lost my armband?” I’m thinking he has pathological pack-rat tendencies when it comes to any sort of sports paraphernalia.
6:24 p.m.: Lauren and I just heard on the radio that the Zags lost and we’re going nuts. Our own loss today seems a little less bittersweet now that those overrated chokes from the Northwest are out. With a renewed energy in getting back to our beds, we floor it home, rarely letting the speedometer dip below 90. This is definitely scarier than any roller coaster I’ve ever been on because Lauren is one of the worst drivers I’ve ever ridden with. Maybe if I just fall asleep it will all go away …
March 21, 2002