Wilder by Far

A look at life with the Wilder family. Updated most weekends and some vacation days. You can contact me at movingnorth@gmail.com..

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Sunday, March 25, 2007

"Whoa, slow down there maestro. There's a NEW Mexico?" - Mr. Burns, The Simpsons


Ahh, New Mexico. Would we ever get there?

When last we left, our intrepid travelers were six hours across Texas, yet still in Houston.

Texas is still a big state.

As we drove across Texas, the rain came down in sheets thick as lead, the pillars of heaven shook. Okay, not so much. It rained really hard. The Mrs. slept, and The Boy kept asking “are we still in Texas” whilst Pugsley went from manic sadness to manic happiness, sort of like having a little Russell Crowe in the back seat.

We finally stopped for lunch in Waco. The Mrs. and I, never having been to Waco, had our discussions of “do you think they get tired of you asking them where it is?” conversation, and decided that it was best not to stir the ghost of Janet Reno. Instead, we took the high road and headed for Whataburger®. We fed Pugsley from their waste grease trough, and The Boy set up a refinery and turned the rest of the grease into a passable (and tasty) fuel.

Normally, I would have been in full travel mode, that is, unless the bladder is in burst mode for at least ¾ of the inhabitants of the car no potty breaks – I can categorically state that no American has died of a burst bladder since 1934. No drinks for anyone. Ever. Drivethroughs only. It is a harsh and desolate drive, bereft of fun. Since we were hideously off our timeline, I gave up. We no longer needed to have a Hitler family vacation.

Leaving Waco, we finally hit Ft. Worth at rush hour. At a construction zone. Needless to say, well, that chucked us another hour behind schedule.

At that point, it was 6:00 PM, and we’d planned to be in Ft. Worth by noon. It was very tempting to just turn the car around and head back to Houston, curl into a fetal position, and give up completely on getting anywhere. It was like the weather, the dogs, the road, and the bladders of each member of my family were traitorously conspiring to keep the car mired in the sluggishness of the road.

Only an hour or so past Ft. Worth (where there appears to be a natural gas well for each and every citizen) The Mrs. demanded I stop and purchase pain medication to attempt to kill the tiny men with compressors attempting to inflate her sinus cavities to the size of hot-air balloons.

The upside is that the apparent speed limit on Texas roads is nearly 90 MPH. That’s nice. It was dark, and finally we hit the outskirts of Amarillo. The Mrs. had previously been pushing to get a nice hotel, pointing them out as we passed them on the roadside, wistfully, imagining the soft, fluffy beds and sleep that could be found in each one, only to have her hopes dashed as our car sped by at nearly the speed of sound.

My relentless driving finally broke her spirit. By the time we hit Amarillo (which translates from Spanish to mean “Land of Yellow Hotels”) she had given in – we could drive to Albuquerque. Me? I’d given in to her viewpoint. A nice fluffy bed in a La Quinta sounded good to me.

We found our La Quinta.

We’d traveled six hundred miles.

We had yet to slip the surly bonds of Texas and fly free.

Next:
Texas Waffles, Bad Sheep, Green Chilies

5 Comments:

Blogger FDR said...

When last we left, our intrepid travelers were six hours across Texas, yet still in Houston.

HA! Great line. Someday I'll remember not to read your blog with a full mouth of coffee.

4:20 AM  
Blogger Jacie said...

John, as I read your travel post, I was reminded of the first long distance trip I took with my boyfriend. He being a Rabbit and me being a Turttle, we were to drive from Southern New Brunswick to Toronto and be there in no more than 12 hours. That means, two, 3 minute pee breaks, two gas stops and only eating on route. Well I was in shock and complained for at least the first 6 hours. My guy catered to these complaints by telling me we would stop at the next coffee shop, knowing that there was not another until at least an hour. Curse Curse! I have now done a little species jumping and have become a rabbit myself. I look forward to reading about your New Mexico adventures. I've always wanted to visit that state. Sorry for the book!

6:31 AM  
Blogger brotherbill said...

What? You've never heard of Depends®? Never a need to stop. NASA tested and approved. A-OK. When in Houston do as the Houstonites(rhymes with uh, ...Houston! We have a problem)do.

Oh, and 965.606 klicks a day is just a day's work for a for a real truck driver. Real truck drivers don't wear Depends®. KTSSU&TRSD.

7:31 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Next time you plan a trip around the greater Texas region, you should tell readers in advance. Some of us would have been eager to have a beer with you!

(That was my second choice comment -- someone else beat me on the Depends thing.)

11:53 AM  
Blogger John said...

fdr,
Thank you, sir! Iced tea works better.

jacie,
No problem!!!! I'm a rabbit. Though I'm getting to be a turtle as I age.

brotherbill,
See, Pugsley wears 'em, and he never complains about stopping a bit. He can also have precious, precious water.

anon,
Beer. Mmmm. I'd stop for a beer. Mmmm.

6:15 PM  

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