LOS ANGELES -- The limousine pulled up in front of my hotel, and Charles got out and opened the rear door for me.
Charles is a chauffeur, which means he was much better dressed than I was.
Charles was going to drive me to Bakersfield, a city about 112 miles to the north in the San Joaquin Valley.
In Bakersfield, I was going to give a speech to the staff of the local newspaper, where a friend of mine had recently become an editor.
I can drive, and it'll take me about two hours, right? I had asked my friend on the phone.
"Well, more, depending," my friend said.
Depending on what?
"On the weather," he said. "Last week the Grapevine was closed because of snow."
The Grapevine?
"It's a 9,000-foot-high mountain pass that you have to drive through," he said. "Or you could fly. Small props fly here from Los Angeles."
Forget it, I said. Don't you read the papers? Flying in small props is now considered more dangerous than eating red meat.
"You'll be fine driving then," my friend said. "Just take reasonable precautions."
Such as?
"You keep an aluminum blanket in the your trunk, don't you?" he said.
An aluminum blanket?
"In case you get stuck in a snow drift and have to preserve your body heat," he said. "It also makes you more visible to the search parties."
Search parties.
"An entrenching tool is also a must," my friend said. "Fishing line and hooks, of course. And some beef jerky and water purification tablets. Are you getting this down?"
I will as soon as my hand stops shaking, I said.
And then I got an idea.
Rather than becoming a member of the Donner party, I said, why don't I hire a car and driver to drive me to Bakersfield? That way, I can relax and throw Granola bars out the window to stranded motorists.
My friend said that sounded OK to him and he could sneak it onto his expense account as "Lunch with Nancy Reagan."
L So I opened the Yellow Pages and called a limousine service.
"What kind of car would you like?" the guy asked.
Uh, I guess a white stretch limo, I said. With a moonroof. And a TV.
"Is this for a prom?" the guy said. "Or are you transporting a string of girls?"
Neither, I said. I'm giving a speech at a newspaper in Bakersfield.
"Then may I suggest a dark blue Lincoln Town Car?" he said.
So that's what I ended up with. And a driver, who told me his name was Charles and who was now standing next to the car holding open the rear door.
I could sit in front, I told Charles.
"Wherever you'd like," he said.
Or I could drive and you could sit in back, I said.
Charles said he couldn't do that and so I got in the back seat.
And for the next 2 1/2 hours, I learned a lot of things I never would have learned if I had driven myself or taken a plane:
Charles is a referee in a semipro football league, he runs a company that cleans up construction sites, and he went to high school with Sparky Anderson, manager of the Detroit Tigers, and Don Buford, former Orioles outfielder.
And -- get this -- Charles knows O. J. Simpson.
"I drove him to the hospital when his first child was born," Charles said.
And what kind of person is he? I asked.
"Nice," Charles said. "Very nice."
[Lucky for us the jury is sequestered or else Judge Lance Ito would have had us both arrested for even discussing this.]
The Grapevine was very impressive, with large electronic signs that said: "Gusty Winds Over Summit."
Because of all the rains, Bakersfield looked very green and gorgeous. Did you know, by the way, that Frank Gifford was born there? Or that "Jurassic Park" and "Thelma and Louise" were filmed there? Or that Bakersfield is the Pistachio Capital of the Universe?
See what you miss by not taking limousines?
I gave my speech and Charles drove me back to Los Angeles. It was a swell evening, and I told him the next time I needed a driver I was certainly going to call him.
I was so excited, in fact, that I almost forgot to take off my aluminum blanket.