My Own Private Kessel Run (Portland to Los Angeles)

​During the eighties and nineties, I spent a hell of a lot of time driving from Los Angeles to Portland. I made the exhausting long haul at least once a month and it was always generally related to some sort of writing work, stand-up comedy work or both. Only on very few occasions was I lucky enough to have a production company flit the bill and fly me down. The results of these trips are unimportant. After all, don’t they keep reminding us, it’s about the journey and not the destination? To me, the exhausting drive became sort of a challenge. How fast can I do this and how many vehicles will I go through to best my personal record? Han Solo did the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs. If parsecs happened to be hours and the Kessel Run was roughly the exact same distance as Los Angeles from Portland, I had a shot.
 
I had made the exact same run several times in the mid-seventies, but things had changed since the days of Discos and the Pet Rock.  Back then it seemed the trip took an entire 24 hours of 55 miles per hour traveling, a maximum speed imposed by then President Jimmy Carter. Sure, there were a few spots of freeway that you could open it up, but it was not until the rescinding of Carter’s maximum speed by Ronald Reagan that I was able to dream of competing with Han Solo’s record.

​First things first, divide and conquer was my rule on this run. Break it up to into fueling, eating and restroom stops. Keep in mind, the adult diaper had yet to be invented, so there was no cheating. Portland to Ashland is generally considered to be 4 ½ to 5 hours. Dedicate yourself to making it in 4. This is harder in Oregon as the State PoPo are a bit harder on enforcing the limit than their CA brothers. Top off the tank and drive the 2 hours (really more like 2 hour and 22 minutes) to Redding CA. Now, if you leave Portland by 6 am, you should arrive in Redding just in time for lunch at In and Out Burger. 
 
Hint. When passing through the infamous fruit inspection station shortly after arriving in CA, when asked if you are carrying any fruits or vegetables, do not, I repeat do not, whisper to the guard that you have the heir to the Safeway Supermarket fortune bound and gagged in trunk. If you insist on doing so, you will need to make up some serious time later.
 
Burn about an hour for lunch. You earned it. And, if you play your cards right, you should only be one hour off schedule. Trust me, you can make it up later.
 
From Red Bluff to Sacramento is your first chance to make up some time. Traffic generally flows a bit faster as you are now in the Golden State. You’re going to need it because Sacramento to Stockton is a cluster fuck of congestion. 49 minutes 6am on a Sunday. Not today, you are hitting it about 3 pm. Be patient, it will all be over soon.
 
Stockton to LA – 5 hours and 4 minutes
 
Here’s your chance to demonstrate some real skills. This thing opens up once you past the Westley Rest Area at the junction of 505. Once you pass that gas station on the bluff, open it up to what drivers in Montana affectionately refer to as, “reasonable and prudent.” Watch out for extreme boredom. This can be the killer part of the tip where every landscape looks very much the same. Lesser drivers have been known to become clinically insane, pulling off onto the closest rest area, ditching all of their clothing, and racing naked through California Poppies. And be sure and roll up your windows and crank up the air conditioning at Harris Cattle Ranch if you want to live. 

In only a couple of hours you will arrive at the Grapevine, my wife’s personal nemesis and the gateway to southern CA. As steep as the Matterhorn, this stretch of freeway literally climbs up into the clouds and has witnessed more deaths than the entire Civil War.
 
If you’re extremely lucky, you may even sport your first celebrity. On my first drive, I happened to spot Optimus Prime, the Transformer, disguised as a semi-truck hauling tomatoes. No time for autographs as I had already reached the summit and was now racing downhill and through the seventeen fir trees that make up the entire Los Angeles Forest. Do not tarry at the historic wilderness to count the buried bodies, you’re almost at your destination. All you need to do is get past Magic Mountain, the Budweiser Brewery and you’re in the valley. Congratulations. You made it. Why, you’re practically a Cannonballer.  
 
My best time was 14 hours and 45 minutes, arriving just before sunset. My worst time. Well, let’s just say I was a bit older, the car smaller, and when I stepped out after the thousand mile plus trip, I possessed the posture of a 1960’s John Carradine.
 
Cheers.           .