" A flyspeck on the map - a rest stop on the way to the ski slope. I can't even get real drugs here." - Booger, Better Off Dead

This is the underside of a picnic area I saw on the roadway. I decided to do an artsy picture. I call this one, "Woody Allen meets Woody Harrelson at Starbucks and they fight over who has to pay for the creamy cappuchinos so they channel the ghost of Woodrow Wilson to settle the issue bloodlessly."

After stopping at the Capulin Volcano, I began to ponder. Although this particular volcano was older than recorded human settlement, there have been volcanoes that have gone off while people were around (Pompeii, Krakatoa, Russell Crowe) and I wondered what would have happened if Al Gore had been a Roman Senator . . . I think it would have gone something like this . . .

Senator Albertus Goreus (the Elder): “My fellow citizens of Roman, it is clear that by starting fires to selfishly heat our house, we are causing what I call Global Core Heating. If you look at my PowerParchment presentation, you can plainly see that the number of volcanoes is directly related to the number of Romans building fires. I suggest that we abandon fire and freeze to death in the dark. Thank you.”

Regardless, we were headed back into Texas. Sneakily, I lulled The Mrs. to sleep by listening to a financial talk radio show. My plan had been to attempt to drive as far as possible before stopping. Preferably, we’d stop at home. If I could only figure out a way to make The Mrs. sleep for another nine hours . . .

A ways past Amarillo, we decided to stop because fluid system pressures had reached a critical level, so announced by The Boy. Conveniently, a rest stop was only two hours down the road. (I know I’m evil). And, what a rest stop it was.

In New Mexico, we’d stopped at a rest stop along the interstate that had a bucket covering a hole where a toilet had been broken off, with a rotting ceiling and a decorative pond that hadn’t seen water since around the last time Courtney Love took a shower.

The Rest Stop of the Gods.

In Texas, along a (sparsely) traveled road, a 65,000 square foot rest stop awaited, complete with:

• free wireless Internet,
• driving directions computers,
• covered picnic area,
• play ground,
• cable television,
• vending machines,
• free Pez and pantyhose dispensers,
• and the nicest public restroom I’ve ever seen . . .

There were granite counters in the restroom and marble tiles on the floor. This particular rest area was bigger and nicer than any house I’ve ever lived in or visited.

The Central Brain of the Rest Stop. Oh, sure it looks friendly, but I've learned from movies that all computers look friendly until they lock the doors shut and try to impregnate you with their computer baby.

My guess is the difference between the rest stop in New Mexico and the one in Texas was all the sweet, sweet oil and gas money that fills the coffers of the state (which, like Alaska has no state income tax) so much that they were embarrassed and had to build a rest stop fit for conversion into a palace for the Queen should she decide that England just wasn’t big enough and pick Donley County, Texas as the place to move the monarchy to.

Even the sign for the place cost more than my car. If you notice the monitors, it hooks into the cameras for the central computer brain. Perhaps this is where that whole "computers taking over the world" thing starts - a rest stop in Texas.

We got back on the road. The Mrs. finally put her foot down, metaphorically, and said that, since up ahead in the distance, she’d seen a shimmering light. She said her head was heavy and her sight was dim. We had to stop for the night. In . . . Quanah, Texas.

See, the rest stop is even hooked up to teh Intrapipes. Fear the rest stop! It probably paid for all these nice upgrades itself!

We stopped at the Best Western and grabbed a room. I ushered The Mrs., The Boy, and Pugsley up into the room, and proceeded to make the trip down to the car for the 721 pounds (6 kilograms) of necessities that we’d brought with us. As I opened the trunk, another couple with kids were unloading their car.

“Hey, didn’t we see you at the volcano?” By volcano, they meant the one we’d been at nine hours and hundreds of miles ago . . .

Indeed, when The Boy and I were running down into and back up from the crater, I think we made quite an impression on them. We Wilders are like that – not everybody thinks of running into a volcano, though I will admit the running away from the volcano isn’t an original idea. Soon enough, the Wilders hit the pool, only to be followed again by the people I now call the Stalker Family.

The Wilders and Stalkers had fun in the pool, including the water-phobic The Boy. He impressed the young Stalker ladies by doing math I thought beyond him . . . “If you’re twelve, you were born in 1995 . . . “

My son, six years old, was hitting on the twelve year old Stalker girl.

I’m going to need to keep a sharp eye on The Boy.

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Newbie Alcohol Users
10 Years