Day 2 ...

(231 miles; San Jose, Calif. to Grass Valley, Calif.)

GRASS VALLEY -- Just realized I forgot to put my mileage on Day 1, so I'll go back and edit that in. Still not making much progress, geographically, but just wait until we hit the midwest. We'll be knocking out hundreds of miles a day.

Thought I was going to have to sleep in my car last night, or go buy a tent (which really I plan on doing at some point), because Grass Valley has beautiful scenery, mountains, tall evergreens and odd-looking elderly people wearing fanny packs, but it does not have many hotels. The Holiday Inn Express was full -- I'd have obviously known that had I stayed at one the night before -- and the office of the Stagecoach Inn closed at 10 p.m. There was a sign taped to the office door asking that you please not let out the cats. And I could hear them on the other side of the door, at least three or four of them, discussing something in cat language that I could not make out.

Eventually, though, I found the Best Western on the north end of town around midnight and it turned out to be fantastic and inexpensive, wireless internet (HALLELULAH!), soft pillows and no cigarette burns. I'm actually stalling right now, that's how comfortable it is.

Yesterday went well, got the interview with Rodney Wright, which you can read all about in Wednesday's column. Wright was impressive. It takes some guts to talk about your worst moments with a stranger and trust him to write it in a way that you feel is honest. He discussed everything, the wrecks and the alcohol problems and his regrets about not taking school seriously at Fresno State. I think he really feels lucky to not have killed anyone, and to not be in prison.

Here's a shot of Rodney from Tuesday's morning practice, surprisingly in focus for a photo taken by me.

I'm not going to pretend to know if Wright is a completely changed man. I'm not going to promise he'll never drink and drive again. I don't know. I think I feel better that he isn't making wild promises and acting overconfident, the way he used to in college. One thing is sure. The guy has skills. He might not be quite big enough, but he has the talent to play in the NFL. We'll see if he gets another chance.

Don't forget, the San Jose SaberCats play at 1 p.m. Saturday on ESPN. (I get $50,000 cash every time I mention that.)

I'm not saying what I'm doing in Grass Valley because I get the feeling that I'm going to strike out finding former Fresno area athletes as much as I'm going to hit homers, so I won't get your hopes up. And this way you won't know when I can't find someone, and that way only one of us will be disappointed.

I'm looking forward to today, actually, because I didn't see much of the Sierras last night when I was just lost and looking for a vacancy sign. I did get to drive through Cool, Calif., which has to be in the top 10 named cities in America. It was dark, but I did see "Cher's Hair Salon." I did not see Cher, though. I repeat. No Cher.

Scariest Driving Moment of the Day: This is actually a two-way tie, which is never a good thing. On I-680 there is a toll booth after some sort of large water-crossing, right before it connects with I-80. Native Californians probably know exactly where this is, and what the overpass/bridge is called and the name of the reservoir, and the Native American who discovered it, and the schedule of toll booth worker who was not smiling when I pulled up. All I knew was there was a toll bridge because it said so on my mapquest directions.

I had scraped all the change off my desk and threw it in my armrest before I left. Unfortunately, the toll was $4. I stared at her like she'd just ask me to talk to an army of chocolate ninjas about a peace agreement. FOUR DOLLARS! Tolls are supposed to be 75 cents, maybe $1.25 if there's a draw bridge and a dragon involved. I had about $3.25, in a big pile, most of which was nickels and pennies. The long line of people behind me waited ... and waited ... and waited. Finally, I just admitted I didn't have $4 and that I would have to go back. I considered crying. She said I couldn't go back because there is a toll for that. I assume there was a toll for crying as well.

She said they would mail me a bill, and a $25 fine, and then someone behind me decided they couldn't take any more and said they would pay my toll. A miracle. I gave her $3, a dollar of which was in dimes and nickels, and waved to the truck behind. Now, I am obligated, by having watched a Haley Joel Osment movie, to pay it forward. Add a goal to the trip. I have to do a good and selfless deed.

I was on such a rush after the toll booth that I took the wrong highway in Sacramento and headed toward South Lake Tahoe instead of Reno. So I looked at my handy, recently-purchased atlas and thought, "Oh, look. Hwy. 49 cuts over, no problem." And that's how I ended up on a winding road in the mountains doing 20 miles an hour for nearly two hours, as the people with the cats at the Stagecoach Inn went to bed early.

Memorable Radio Songs of the Day: "In Your Eyes," Peter Gabriel; "Fool in the Rain," Led Zeppelin; "Plowed," by Sponge. (If you haven't heard it, or like me, had forgotten about it, "Plowed" is a great song; and even better, a great driving song. It's one of those you look down and realize you're doing 108 mph and didn't know it.)

OK, I'm off for the day. Let's see if they've cleaned up Nevada.