Home of Flyod Landis. City of Old Western scenes, steam engines, and hot air balloons. According to a mural on a building I’m looking at.
Spelled Temecula and pronounced like above, with the emphasis on the ‘meh’.
That’s how you pronounce it. Not Temecooola, which is what I’ve been saying. And I’m here at last, writing this under the warm sun in Old Town Temecula on a park bench.
My dad and I woke up at 3am this morning and drove to the PDX airport with my bike box, a back pack, and a bag full of sandwiches. My flight took off at 6, with me lucking out that it wasn’t full (since I’m flying stand by). I transfered at San Francisco, and made my next flight too. We landed in San Diego and I found a bus that went to down town, got on it, and asked around to the other passengers if they knew if it went near the Gryehound bus station. It did, and one woman got off on that stop and showed me where to go. I walked four or five blocks and got on the Greyhound bus a half hour later for a 1.5 hr ride. Which brings us up to current time, where the oldies music is playing from the trees as I type using the free internet while waiting to get picked up by my host family, who I found on Craigslist. I can’t believe getting here was as easy as it was, considering all the things that could have gone wrong. The race starts on Saturday. Time to go. Bye.