First of all, this is a notice to any robbers, thieves or bad people surfing the internet-- DO NOT TOUCH MY HOUSE! We have the police on alert, neighbors snooping around for suspicious behavior, a loud and alarming security system and a dog that will tear you apart and spit you out so don't mess with me, my house or my vicious attack dog. You have been warned.
With that said, we are out in the not too sunny state of California waiting for the rays to pop out and shine down on us, however, no complaints on today's 60 degree temperature reading.
Our trip here was pretty much a non adventure until we hit Texas--more on that later. We survived Kansas thanks to a recommended podcast on NPR titled, Serial
. Fascinating radio listening and it made the miles fly by. This was notably helpful since America is a pretty big place even when you start in the middle and head west.
Back to Texas--We were buzzing along the highway, it was dark, we were tired and had about an hour left of driving before we would reach civilization. Remember, Texas is known as the Lone Star state which seems an inappropriate moniker without a lone star in the sky to guide us along its miles and miles of vast uninhabited emptiness. Traveling over the crest of the hill, we saw fires burning, hundreds of cars and trucks at a standstill and no red flashing lights so whatever happened, just happened. My sweet but impatient husband couldn't wait my suggested five minutes to see if traffic would clear. Nope, he had to make a u-turn because he knew there had to be a shortcut to get us off this blocked highway and to our hotel sooner rather than later--big, big mistake.
The road--and I use this term loosely--was a step above a cowpath winding through the back side of what I imagine Hell might look like in Texas. Picture the color of huge pools of the blackest of black oil at the bottom of a deep dark well--are you getting the idea--on a road that hardly could be called graveled (Robert Frost's poem title, The Road Not Taken
, seems appropriate here) and, to top it all off, in a state where I do believe the chainsaw murders began. As Rob posed as the master navigator, I drove swearing and muttering under my breath that if we make this out alive, someone (like the person sitting next to me in the car) will pay for this-- the road swerved left and I went straight--because I couldn't see a darn thing. Slamming on my brakes and then screaming a few choice words, Rob quietly said, "I think we turn left." REALLY? Turn left as if there was a left turn lane or a light or... something. Remember NOTHING was out here except for a few bunnies hopping in the middle of the path. One thought did cross my mind--food, we could survive on bunny meat for at least a week if we didn't become victims of a chainsaw murder.
After what seemed like hours of twists and turns on this-- shouldn't even be considered a road-- road, we found an outlet and departed this maze to find the highway to heaven leading us to our --never thought I'd see it-- hotel room. If I wanted to be like a Texan cowboy who could hold my liquor, I would have tied one on but instead kissed the parking lot ground and the civilization surrounding it. Rob was completely unfazed by the whole ordeal and calmly announced we only had a twenty minute delay in our arrival time. Of course this was reported from the bathtub he had to sleep in that night.
Fortunately, all's well that ends well--we've made amends, he is no longer in the bathtub sleeping quarters and shortcuts are, from this day forward, prohibited on any future trips.
Thanks for reading # 66 of 7777.