DAY EIGHT - Friday, October 31, 2008… Happy Halloween !!
Trish was the waitress at the Days Inn restaurant who served me my complimentary breakfast at 6am. It was only about 250 miles to Taumie's house, so there was no need to get an early start, but my clock was set and once that happens, it's very difficult for me to sleep in. It bugs the heck outta my girlfriend, and I do feel sorry for her, 'cuz even on a weekend, I'm up and at 'em usually no later than 5:30 or 6.
I remember thinking my Dad was nuts for getting up so early, and now… it's me who's nuts. I'm a lot different from my Dad in some ways, but in other ways… this nut didn't fall far from the tree.
As I was leaving Sweetwater around 8am on a relatively small highway, I stopped and asked an old cowboy if he could confirm my direction as being correct. He said, "Yup, you're goin' the right way… just follow down this road a while, 'til ya come to a really big hill, then turn left… that'll take ya to Bronte." I remember thinking to myself… with all this flat terrain, his idea of a really big hill and mine where most likely, substantially different.
Sure 'nuff, my turn was clearly marked with a 'Hwy 70 South' sign, and the really big hill the cowboy had described was a slight rise of about 50 feet or so. Yep, one thing about Texas… it definitely has a whole lotta flat in it.
Bronte (pronounced Bront) gave me my first of many examples of the wonderful people in Texas. It was difficult for me to get out of the MMGS parking lot because of all the attention I was getting. Ok… all the attention Ally was getting. First it was Felicia, an employee at the MMGS. She was wearing bunny ears, and when her co-worker Trish and Eleanor the manager came out to meet Ally, she was nice enough to let Ally wear them for one of the pictures. Felicia wanted to buy Ally from me, but I told her she was not for sale and there was not a price I would accept.
One of my very favorite comments about Ally came next. An old cowboy was walking past us (Honey, Ally and me) and didn't even slow down… just said, with a really heavy Texas-cowboy accent… "Nice alien ya got there." He didn't even turn his head or slow down, he just kept goin'. It still cracks me up when I think of it. "Nice alien ya got there." It isn't just me, is it? That IS hysterical, right?
The next Bronte local who came up to chat with me introduced himself as AC Hammer… yet another old cowboy. I told him people in town were acting strange… like they saw an alien or something. He smiled and said, "I been livin' here in Bronte for comin' up onna hunnerd yers… and folks in these parts don't have much ta get 'cited about… you and yer alien are purdy big news for us." The sound of this Texas drawl was becoming familiar and comfortable to my ear. It reminded me of the time I spent in the Smoky Mountains, in North Carolina. It's a smooth, easy, relaxed way of talkin'. If I end up movin' to Texas, I think I'll be talkin' like them right away.
My next stop was about four miles short of Santa Anna. I had miscalculated the amount of fuel in Honey's tank, and had run out of gas. Rats. Oh well… I had all day to reach Taumie's house and it was still early. I coasted to a stop… lit a smoke… pulled out my (replacement) journal… and waited for a car.
I waited there on the side of the road for only about five minutes when I saw a car coming towards me in the distance. I took off my white t-shirt and as the car approached, I started waving it over my head, as a signal that all was not well. I saw two women in the car as it sped by, hardly even slowing down. They were laughing at me. I noticed the car had California plates, and smirked. "Typical Californian," I said out loud to myself.
The next car appeared on the horizon about two minutes later. I saw it had Texas plates as it pulled over and stopped. Roger got out… listened to my sob story… and tried to convince me it was safe for me to leave Honey and Alyson on the road. He said he was on a schedule, but that he'd call his father-in-law, who only lived 10 miles away to come and pick me up.
After about five minutes of him trying three different numbers, he had to give up. He again explained to me that most people in Texas were nice and trustworthy and that he was confident my bike would be ok for the length of time it would be left alone, and that he could be late for his appointment, to take me back to Santa Anna to get gas and then bring me back to my bike.
I told him that even if it was true, about being safe to leave the bike, I just couldn’t take that chance, and would prefer to wait for the next car that stopped. I thanked him for his more than generous offer to be late for his appointment to help a complete stranger, and asked him if everyone in Texas was so nice. He replied with, "We like to think so," as he drove off with a wave and a tip of his hat.
I didn't have to wait more than about 30 seconds for the next car to approach. It was a van… it was slowing down to stop,…and yep, it had Texas plates. Out of three cars that I'd seen since coasting to a stop, the two that stopped were locals, and the one that didn't was from my home state. Sometimes, like when I lived in Seattle for seven years, I'm not proud a Californian. It is not a stereotype about what you hear about most of them. Too busy to give you the time of day most of the time… at least compared to the slow-paced style of most of the rest of the country I've experienced.
It's the rats in a cage syndrome… that's what I call it. When you put too many people in too small a space… they start to eat each other. I've always considered myself a country boy, and hope I never have to live in a big city.
Anyway… Ron was driving the van that stopped and he did have the time to go the four miles to Santa Anna and back. When he got back, he refused to take any money whatsoever. I was astounded. If someone from Cali had even bothered to take the time out of their busy day to stop for me, most likely they wouldn't have even considered helping me without getting something in return for their effort. Which is ok, I would've been happy to pay $100 or so. It woulda probably cost me at least that much, for AAA to bring me gas.
I reminded Ron of the gas he had used to help me, but he held fast to his don't worry about it, happy to oblige attitude. I showed him the $20 I put in my white t-shirt and then wrapped around the gas can, as I put it in the back of his van. I gave him a business card and told him if he was ever in my area, I'd like to buy him a meal or something. He looked at the card and said, "Oh, you're from California… so am I." I couldn't believe it… it turned out he had recently moved to Texas from Southern California. 'Hurray', I said to myself, not everyone from California is a jerk.
I checked the time after gassing up at the Santa Anna MMGS and was amazed that it had only been a mere 45 minutes from the time I coasted over to the side of the road. Once again, I thought of that white light protective energy my brother Bev had shed on me, the morning of my departure. I thanked him again and also thanked myself, for my normal it's better to be lucky than good belief system.
My last stop before reaching Taumie was Lampasas. It was about 4pm and I didn't want to show up at my niece's house hungry, so I pulled over at a Dairy Queen. It was the first junk food I was gonna eat on the trip, and it sounded really good to me at the time. Taumie's house was only about 30 minutes away, so I wasn't concerned with the siesta affect, plus… I wasn't planning on eating all that much junk anyway.
55 minutes later I walked out of the Dairy Queen. I had wasted more time there, than I had when I ran out of gas on the highway. Amazing. The place wasn't empty by any means, but it wasn't packed either. I have no idea why it took so long, but after about 15 minutes, it turned into a game for me. I was curious to find out just how long it was gonna take to make a hamburger and onion rings. Oh, the shake, that's right… I ordered a chocolate milkshake. Perhaps they had to get the milk for my shake from ol' Bessie out back.
In any case, I made it to Taumie's house in Killeen before dark. I know, I’m sorry… I've been saying Austin all thru this story, but they actually live about 45 minutes north of Austin, next to Fort Hood… the largest Army Base in the world. I'm not sure why I kept saying Austin, maybe it was because I figured you'd know where that was, rather than a smaller town that was probably only gonna be recognized by the Veterans out there reading this story. Or maybe I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised? Oh wait, you're probably not as easily amused as I am. Oh well, in any case, Killeen was now my home for the next few days.
Taumie is my sister's middle child and oldest daughter. She and her kids and her kids' kids, have upheld their responsibility to keep the world populated… that's for sure. I like to say about our family… "We're Mexican, and we breed like rabbits."
That reminds me of a joke. My Mom told me this joke, and since then, it's been one of my very favorites. It is not a politically correct joke, but I have told it many times without any problems… probably mostly because I always tell my audience that I'm ½ Mexican, and that my Mother, who was 100%, is the one who taught me the joke.
Here it is:
A mother duck and baby duck… a mother skunk and a baby skunk… all four of them were walking down the side of a road. A car came around the corner and ran over the mother duck and the mother skunk. The baby duck started to cry and the baby skunk asked him, "Why are you crying?" The baby ducks says, "The car just ran over my mom, and I don't know what I am yet." The baby skunk says, "Well, let's look atchya… you've got feathers, webbed feet, and a bill for a nose… you must be a duck." Then the baby skunk starts to cry. The duck asks him why… same reason… "The car killed my mom too and I don't know what I am yet." The baby duck says, "Well, let's look atchya… you're not black and you're not white, and you smell like hell… you must be a Mexican."
I just love that joke. Most of the Mexicans I tell it to, love it as well. That's one of the many things I've always admired about my brown skinned relatives… most of them are very self secure, and have no problem laughing at them selves. Mexicans… in my experience… do not take themselves nearly as seriously as white people. That's one of the things I've always admired about them (us)… they typically have a great sense of humor.
There are other things too, like… the importance they put on family… their honesty… generosity… things like that. Often, I am more proud of being Mexican than I am of being white. Although… my heritage did give me a decent 'pick up line' that I used when I was a young buck. I used to say, "I'm half Mexican and half Dutch, which makes me a Viking Lover. I just love to rape and pillage. First I rape them, then I make them love me." I know, pretty crude, but…it was surprisingly effective at times.
Taumie and her husband Gerry (or Ug for short) made me feel truly welcomed into their home. Out of everyone in my family, Taumie and her 'brood' seem to understand, or at least tolerate me better than anyone else. We call each other the black sheep of the family, but don't worry… we know our hearts aren't black. Maybe it's because our hearts are so big, that we sometimes have problems with other family members. Or maybe it's because of our higher intellect. Or better looks. Or maybe it's 'cuz we're all so darn modest. In any case, I was really looking forward to spending a few days with them. I always feel better when I'm near them. Thank you for loving me Taumie. I love you more.
After unpacking Honey, I was too tired to go out trick or treating with the family, so I guarded the house for them and passed out candy for a while. About 15 minutes after Taumie came home to take over for me, I was sound asleep, grateful that the neighborhood was a quiet one.
2,395 total miles. After subtracting 200 miles for my layover time in the GPA, then dividing by 5 travel days… I come up with an average day's ride of 439 miles. Not a huge number, but not a tiny one either.
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