Jan. 3, 1998: Tex Take Two

At the free continental breakfast at the La Quinta (which in Spanish, according to a famous comedy routine, means Next to Denny’s), we met an older traveling salesman named Frank. As we spoke, he told me I need to get an agent in LA, and also that I’d do well to tie-into USC. People might not have much advice to offer if you move to many cities, but it seems almost everyone knows the recipe for success in LA. Frank seemed to have the handle on the basic ingredients, didn’t he? Bidding him adios, we loaded our cooler with more than our allotted number of free bananas, got in our truck and were on our way into our ‘hump-day’ — the day in our journey when we’d pass the half-way point.

A very thoughtful gift mixtape from our dear friend Tommy Ewasko made the day’s journey feel even more surreal.

We made our miles pretty easily on a day that covered us in clouds and threatened to do even worse up the road, but as we moved along, the clouds stayed light and occasionally flashed a little bluish hue. We tried to stop to go to the river walk in San Antonio, where I’d hung-out thirteen years earlier on one of my two ‘liberty’ days during Air Force basic training. We looped through downtown, scared some local sidewalkers by raking our trailer against a sidewalk for a few feet, finally found a parking lot with enough space for us and got the rig parked. The only problem was that we were taking up four parking spaces, and according to the sign, we were supposed to deposit $5 per space. After a 15-second conversation involving priorities, etc., Beth was spotting me as I pulled clear of all four spaces, then jumping aboard and helping me guide our vessel back into the westward I-10 stream.

Remember those 15mph we lost on the sublest of hills in Florida? Texas’s foothills (they’re not shown as mountains on our map) made molehills out of them, and enforced even greater speed losses on our Isuzu Turbo. Bear in mind that so far in the trip I’d done all the driving, and that except when slowing or stopping, the accelerator has been smooching the floor-panel. In these foothills I learned that pressing the gas pedal pill into the floor even harder still couldn’t keep us from dropping toward 30. But for every foothill climbing action, there’s that partying, sailing free, hauling ass 70+mph reaction on the other side, and believe me, those are the times to live for. Where Louisiana’s roads were maddening, the quality of Texas tarmac makes these payoff downhill flights fantastic. Or maybe we’re just getting a little road-punchy?

Most of the way through the day I realized the beeper (the only way anyone can currently reach us) had not been accounted for. It was officially put down as missing after a thorough check. Our day ended at Fort Stockton, Texas. Texas’s wind did a number on us as we unloaded into another La Quinta. We enjoyed a surprisingly good dinner at ‘El Corral,’ the hotel’s restaurant, then went back to the room to savor the easy-going company of our strung-out gatos. We set the alarm for an early start at 6 am, although the cats evidently had their own ideas about what time our day should begin.