The fog this week has been unreal. Like something out of a movie, or Underwear Night at Studio One.
It's one thing to walk the dogs in it; I'm pretty certain they're at the end of their leashes even if I can't see them. It's an entirely different thing to drive in it.
Leaving town Monday and Tuesday was a white knuckle experience. Visibility on the highway was about 100 feet at best. I thought I was pressing my luck driving 60, but the locals all blithely zip around you doing 90. I'm really surprised you don't hear of more fatalities in the fog.
On a clear day, returning to the valley can actually be kind of awe inspiring, like descending into a Thomas Hart Benton painting. Yesterday was not one of those days. Right around Fort Tejon the view ahead, down the Grapevine, ended abruptly in a wall of haze the color of wet newspaper.
They can call if "fog" (or "fogg") all they want. Where I come from fog is white.
