Or, No Comfort For The Wicked...
Hey Gang,
So anyway, 5 AM comes awfully early in Round Rock, Texas. And 4 AM, the time
I actually get up for the day, comes, naturally enough, even earlier than
that. I wanted to be up at 5 so we could be on the road by 6 and miss some of
the traffic... Traffic avoidance should not be a big problem this Monday
morning.
Perhaps the biggest problem on this trip has proven to be the difficulty I am
having sleeping, but what the heck, it is all grist for the mill. Thankfully,
my sleeplessness has nothing to do with the Alpine and doesn't have too
terrible an impact on Janet although it sure keeps her up some, too.
By 4:30 AM I am showered, shaved (at least in those places where I still
shave) and ready to walk Roxanne, Dana and Brian's Boxer-Bull one last time.
Roxy is still just a pup and very excitable but she knows the leash and waits
fairly patiently for me to cinch her up and open the front door.
When the door swings open the humidity hits me like a hammer. It is not yet 5
AM and the weather is absolutely miserable. There is not a breath of cool
breeze anywhere. Maybe 85 degrees and 95% relative humidity. It rained much
of yesterday and, for my money, I would far prefer it was raining right now.
I stagger out and stumble around with the pup for a few minutes, as long as I
can stand, before returning to the house.
Back inside, I murmur a few words of encouragement to Janet as she fumes and
packs the car. The packing operation is traumatic for her but she always gets
it done and I am again amazed as I watch this huge mound of stuff disappear
into the 'Pine. I putter around, putting half-a-gallon of water into the
radiator, checking the oil, re-checking all the electrical connections, and so
forth.
Promptly at 6 AM we exchange hugs all around, wipe a few tears off each
other's cheeks and Janet and I wedge ourselves into the car. 'Beamish starts
instantly on half choke and we back out into the street. We pause and wave
into the darkness as I ease in the choke and slip the shifter into first. I
resist the urge to tap a little farewell "beep-beep" on the horn.
To be honest I don't know if I resist the horn-honking impulse because it is 6
AM and I am a good citizen or more because the horn button is... Well, it is a
little... different. To honk the horn one extends one's index finger rigidly
and pokes one's rigid index finger into the right side of the steering column.
"Beep-beep!" I always feel like I am sticking my finger into a mouse trap,
know what I mean?
We are still sniffling and probably still waving when we pull into the Wag-A-
Bag half-a-mile down the road to load up with 6 gallons of Texaco's finest, 93
octane at $1.13 per gallon.
Bearing a single large Styrofoam cup of java to share between us, we run north
up IH 35 for about 10 miles before heading west on Texas 29, a good four-lane
highway with much heavier traffic than expected. In the morning darkness and
with the heavy dew I am not comfortable driving at more than 60 mph although
the speed limit is 70 and cars and trucks pass me like I am standing still.
Interestingly enough, all the poking and pulling Brian and I did on the
various electrical leads yesterday seems to have helped the high beam
indicator and the tach. The high beam indicator is now bright enough to blind
a fella -- considerably brighter than the high beams themselves, it seems to
me -- and the tach now holds steady on the indicated RPMs. Of course, the
tach is still grossly inaccurate but now it is steadily inaccurate. Maybe
that is how it will go with this car... I will try to fix something, fail, but
accidentally improve something else.
Hey! It is better than accidentally screwing something else up!
Just as dawn breaks the traffic eases up a bit and I let the hammer down just
a touch, picking it up to the legal limit. The car just hums along, lots of
power in reserve should it be needed. One of the biggest similarities I have
noted between the Tiger and the Alpine is that both cars seem always anxious
to pick up the speed, always wanting to get it on up the road.
Janet and I pass the big ol' coffee cup back and forth and it is soon empty.
As the light improves and traffic thins even more, we can see the Colorado --
the "little Colorado" to those of us who are familiar with the other Colorado
River-- and it is swollen and angry this morning, easily several feet higher
than the last time we saw it.
This area, where there is a little village every 20 miles or so, is where the
Central Texas Hill Country begins to gradually change into West Texas and it
is particularly beautiful this hot, sticky, hazy morning. Post oaks and live
oaks abound and cattle and goats graze in the mist everywhere.
The road narrows down to two lanes but it is still a very good road, smooth,
nicely curved with good banking, and well maintained. Unfortunately, the
speed limit is still 70 mph which is way too high considering the number of
cross roads and the quantity of farm equipment in the area. Ain't nothin'
will get your attention like coming over the crest of a hill on a curve
breaking to the right and finding a hay wagon using up all of your lane and
most of the other lane.
I generally hold my speed at 65 and this is far too slow for some of the other
drivers... At least 6 times during the day we are passed on a double yellow
line.
Anyway, we cruise along, passing through Bertram and Burnett and then crossing
the skinny part of Lake Buchanan... a truly beautiful view in the misty
morning air. Surprisingly enough, the surrounding area is, for the most part,
pretty Third World looking.
In Llano we stop at the Hungry Hunter for breakfast. It is just before 8 AM
and the idea of fried eggs does not seem totally outrageous. It is a decent
enough little restaurant with a non-smoking section and they serve us quickly.
Like most places through this part of the world, the bacon is very good and
the eggs fresher than you would normally expect.
As we leave, I release the custom Granny Joad hood latch and lift the bonnet
to add half-a-gallon of water. A 90 year-old man comes out of the cafe,
glances into the engine compartment and pauses. I know he wants to say
something so I give him a smile. He looks at me a moment, shakes his head and
walks off to his pickup.
That's what I get for smiling.
As Janet comes out of the cafe -- she stayed behind to pay to the bill -- I
turn back to my waterboy chores. Wonder what that old boy wanted to say? My
bet is he was going to claim his uncle used to have a car just like 'Beamish
but decided "that dog just won't hunt."
Leaving Llano we pick up Texas 71 running northwest to Brady, another smallish
city. In Brady we hit US 87 for an easy run on mostly four-lane road up to
San Angelo. Just after we leave Brady I get the 'Pine back up to 65 or so and
hold it steady for several miles when the engine suddenly dies.
Sigh....
Since I have plenty of speed up I slip the clutch in and spend a couple of
minutes feeling around behind the ignition switch, something I have done a
number of times recently. I do not find any loose wires and when I let the
clutch in the engine does not restart.
As we coast down to about twenty miles per hour I again depress the clutch and
hit the starter. The engine springs to life instantly and we accelerate off
up the road. I begin to wonder if the ignition switch itself may be bad. I
think it was Jay Laifman who suggested taking the key out of the switch while
driving, not a bad idea at that.
Sigh....
We pull into our motel in San Angelo at 11 AM, by far the earliest we have
hung it up on this trip and we have covered only 211 miles. So why hang it
up? Because that is the plan! Stick with the plan! Tomorrow is also planned
to be an easy day.
And we can breathe! The air temp here in San Angelo is 93 degrees but the
humidity is down around 50%! God, it is wonderful!
After unloading the car we take a little nap then go out and find a little
lunch. We cruise through Ft. Concho which is, of course, closed on Mondays.
Ft. Concho, was a very important fort in the mid 1800s, serving as home to
both white and black cavalry troops. It was vital in the "taming" of the
Comanche and it closed down about 1889 but much of it has now been rebuilt and
restored and I would very much like to tour it.
Closed on Mondays...
San Angelo is a thriving little city, Convention Center, Riverwalk, Theatre,
and so forth. It would be worth spending some time, like a week or so, here
some day... But not on a Monday.
--Colin Cobb, Packin' It In For The Night In San Angelo, Texas
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