Richard & Suzanne & Duncan's Big 2015 Road Trip
Richard & Suzanne & Duncan's Big 2015 Road Trip
Richard & Suzanne & Duncan's Big 2015 Road Trip
Note: Clicking on any of the pictures will bring up a larger version, in a click-thru album for that day. Enjoy!
This trip began, with planning, preparation, and packing - all performed, of course, at the very last minute due to a megamongoproject deadline at Richard's office and Vacation Bible School for Suzanne and Duncan. But soon all was loaded into the vehicle and we were prepared for this year's Big Road Trip.
Oh yes - which vehicle? As long-time Big Road Trip followers know, from the very first BRT in 1997 until 2011 we counted on our Mighty Truckasaurus, a 1988 Chevrolet extended cab pickup that Richard's owned since he graduated from college. But increasing fuel prices and occasional malfunctions (including a sleepy speedometer and an appetite for front wheel bearings) resulted in the Truckasaurus being benched, and we took Suzanne's Monte Carlo coupe on the 2012 through 2014 trips. But fuel prices have dropped a bit, we miss having all that interior room, and the truck promised it would be on its best behavior this year, so we started the V-8 engine and pulled out of the driveway, right on time.
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| All aboard! | And we're off! |
Ha. Like that would happen. Make that 2 1/2 hours behind schedule. But still time to have fun and flee the state.
The rubberized asphalt of Interstates 17 and 10 were not seething masses of packed traffic on this Saturday, and the miles rolled by under the truck's new humming tires. In Eloy, the big red numerals showing $2.59 brought us into the truck stop for a top-off of the 30 gallon tank, and Duncan discovered that the discounted "do rags" just don't look right on top of (or under) his coonskin cap. By the way - get used to that furry headgear being in many of this year's pictures - since he obtained it at Scout camp a month or so ago, it's barely been off his head.
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| Swooping by the Phoenix skyline | A productive first hour on the road | Duncan's being careful, not fuelish |
With a full tank and comfortable seats, we rumbled into the Old Pueblo, and exited the freeway to get a to-go dinner at a favorite spot. The deep-fried goodness of Lucky Wishbone has been a favorite of Richard's since he attended the University of Arizona back in the 80s, and Duncan's also grown to love the grease-enhanced yumminess of well-seasoned steak fingers. But also occupying the parking lot next to Mission Road and Silverlake were a passel of lil' fuzzy critters, who looked like and acted like prairie dogs, only in a more-compact size. We watched them cutely cavort in the dusty scrub for as long as the heat would let us, and then back into the blast of the truck's air conditioning as we motored southeastward on the superhighway into the late afternoon heat.
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| Mmmmm. Deep-fried steak fingers! | Cute lil' fuzzies pop out to say hi |
One endearing enterprise seen in many small towns across the United States is the family-owned ice cream stand. While we have nothing against Dairy Queen, Tastee-Freez, or any of the other national chains of frozenness, the family-owned places often show a bit more hometown character and fun. Which brings us to the burg of Benson and its aptly-named Old Benson Ice Cream Stop, right there between old US 80 and the busy rail tracks. This place boasts over 50 flavors of soft-serve joy, and Duncan appreciates the opportunity to get a big dish of egg nog flavor any time of the year (with sprinkles and a cherry on top!)
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| A mucho cool stop in Benson | Service with a smile | Yum. With sprinkles and a cherry. |
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| A classic overpass at the 80/86 junction |
The oddball rocks of Texas Canyon are tumbled and jumbled by the roadside as the freeway snakes its way into the slightly-higher elevations. And before it got to the point where we were taking the scenery for granite, the billboards we'd seen for many a mile announcing some upcoming "Thing" became so numerous as to be overwhelming. So it seemed like the "Thing" to do to exit as directed and park under the screaming-yellow-hued facade of The Thing to see what Things may be found within.
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| Oddball rocks add scenery | What's at the exit? Oh, some Thing. | Just one Thing after another... |
We paid the exorbitant $1.00 admission fee to stroll behind the door, follow the yellow footprints, and see what "Things" lay along the path behind the main store. We did see some interesting "things", including old vehicles, antique artifacts, and interesting folk creations hanging menacingly from the ceiling, a few of which might pop up again in a nightmare or two.
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| What Things await? | Stomping down the feet of yellowness | Weird stuff lurks above |
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| 100-octane nightmare fuel | Chief Wantumstuff | Wooden you know the tourists would show |
Then, in its protective case of slump block and glass... The Thing itself. Duncan crept up, gazed into its terrifying mystery, and...
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| Gazing into the unspeakable mystery |
(no, we're not telling you what it is... :)
Visibly shaken by this existential revelation, Duncan staggered back to his parents, and it took a few minutes of tourist trap therapy in the well-stocked Bowlin's gift shop for him to recover coherence. We finished our visit by using the convenient machine to smoosh a bright copper penny into a "Thing" that would commemorate our visit, and then back into the truck to complete the first day's driving.
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| A penny for your Thing? |
The darkness thudded upon the desert as we whizzed past Willcox, Bowie, and San Simon, the slightly-crosseyed headlamps of the Truckasaurus blending into the white and red stream of vehicle-borne illumination outlining the highway. A large yellow sign materialized from the darkness announcing our arrival in New Mexico, and a few minutes later the high-pressure-sodium glow of Lordsburg appeared on the horizon. We exited onto Motel Drive to see that many of the properties which gave the street its name had fallen into disrepair or outright ruin, casualties of the freeway bypassing the town many decades before. But the smiling metal horses and elephant of the playground in front of the Holiday Motel still greet travelers, and we settled into a spacious and clean room at a very reasonable price, watching spooky Doctor Who reruns into the wee hours on the flat-screen TV.
The travel alarm beeped us into consciousness after our night's slumber, and after a warm shower and some breakfast-shaped objects in the snack bag, we were ready to face a second day. Duncan was raring to git out to the playground just outside the motel door, and the weathered yet welcoming horsey swings and merry-go-round made for some happy laughs and excellent exercise.
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| Jumbo fun at the Holiday Motel | Gleeful boy on happy horses |
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| Always time for a spin! | Paleolithic playgrounds are the best |
After packing up and checking out (and finally getting the truck rearranged into travel configuration), our bellies notified us that the snacks in the room were but a prelude to a decent meal, and so we toodled up old US 70 & 80 seeing what was new in the old town. To our pleasant surprise, there is something new in one of the old storefronts - the Whistle Stop Cafe, a happy little eatery serving up most excellent food in generous proportions to locals and travelers alike. Richard's club sandwich was so big he could've shared with a good-sized club (but so tasty he kept it for himself), and Suzanne's taco salad and Duncan's big burger were also pronounced most satisfactory. These entrees were accompanied by beverages served in old-fashioned bottles or up-to-date cans, with Dunc selecting an unconventional Fanta apple soda (the verdict: "great!").
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| Clean-as-a-whistle interior of the Whistle Stop Cafe | Happy family ready for good eats |
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| Let's just skip to lunch | Don't see this flavor too often at home |
After the ample leftovers were stowed in the ice chest, the truck was turned eastward, and after a brief stop at the edge of town to feed the 'Saurus (and resist the mind control of the New Mexico lottery ball), we rumbled out into the southwestern deserts to face our day's destiny. Although the billboards implored us to leave our cash at the roadside emporia, we resisted their call - but the volume of truck traffic and other vehicles on the Interstate had Richard scanning the unfolded paper map and pondering options.
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| The Giant White Ball commands you: "GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!" | "Son, let go of the steering wheel." |
Perhaps there is another way.
We exited the freeway and pointed the blue nose of the truck southward on highway 146, where the bustle of the superhighway was left far behind and the immense desolation of the open land could be fully appreciated. There's almost zero traffic on the narrow and lumpy lanes of this byway, other than the green and white Border Patrol trucks that reminded us we were approaching the frontiers of this land. In Hachita, we veered left onto route 9, reducing our speed (slightly) as we traversed freshly chip-sealed pavement and watched swiftly spinning dust devils suck tan sand into the clear blue sky and up toward the fluffy white clouds forming themselves into entertaining shapes.
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| Quiet antidote to the busy freeway | Turtle, snail, or snake that swallowed an elephant? |
Columbus, New Mexico is only a few short miles from the border of old Mexico. This had world-shaking consequences 99 years ago in 1916, when a large raiding party led by the notorious Pancho Villa himself attacked the village and killed a number of residents, resulting in General Pershing and the U.S Army invading Mexico to try to bring Villa and his bandits to justice. Although the expedition was unsuccessful in enveloping Villa, the boots-on-the-ground experience gained by the troops proved most valuable less than two years later on the battlefields of World War I. And the diplomatic impacts of the raid and reprisal were inextricably intertwined with the instability of global politics and warfare, with some calling this area the "Far Western Front" of the Great War. The old El Paso and Southwestern railroad depot has been converted into a museum commemorating the events of that fateful year and of the railway that once linked Columbus to the rest of the nation, and we wandered the exhibits, climbed the rail cars, ogled the exhibits, and generally had a pleasant visit.
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| Old EP&SW depot now a museum | Southern Dunc-cific | Getting his caboose yanked by the caboose |
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| If there are 2 semaphores, it's a whole phore, right? | The "Really Wild Western Front" of WW I | Our apprentice safecracker |
An hour or so of contemplative driving followed, as the rusty steel fence of the international boundary intermittently came into view and we passed under the watchful eye of those countless green-uniformed officers in their dusty trucks. And somewhere along this quiet highway, a couple of our electronic devices assumed we'd brought our passports and switched into "international roaming" mode, prompting some very quick reprogramming before we could be dinged with a hefty bill in a strange currency.
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| Uh oh. |
As we approached the Rio Grande, the empty desert gave way to exurban development and industry, and without a sign to mark the spot we found ourselves across the state line and within the limits of the city of El Paso. A drive downtown revealed the crowds arriving for the Chihuahuas baseball game and departing the busy border stores, and after stops for $5 Little Caesar's pizza and some Gulf gas (and a metal sign demarcating everything behind the front seat as Duncan's "Man Cave"), we wandered onward into the West Texas afternoon, interrupted briefly by the intrusive cameras and brief questioning at the checkpoint, as Richard fumed at the insanity of it all - everyone knows you're not supposed to use Clearview text in black on a light-colored sign!
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| The back seat becomes... the Man Cave! | C'mon - no Clearview on a light-colored background! |
A sentence sure to chill the heart of any roadtripping parent: the plaintive utterance from the back seat of "I haveta go to the bathroom...", invariably timed to occur at a location of maximum distance from usable facilities. After interrogation by the parents as to why this condition wasn't noted at a previous point, the dreaded follow-up: "reeeeeally bad." Richard goosed the Truckasaurus' engine into overdrive as the DMI's numerals showed us actually traveling at the 80 mph legal speed limit, and the green signs of Sierra Blanca were a welcome sight as we zoomed into the service station. Duncan set a new 50 yard truck-to-potty record as his parents wheezed in pursuit, and all was well again, aided by ice cream sandwiches gratefully purchased to satisfy that pesky "customers only" sign on the restroom door. But where'd the bloody nose come from?
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| E's havin' a bloody good time. |
Departing Sierra Blanca, the signs guided us onto a frontage road, which rolled on and on into the western wastes. This was fun for a while, but the absence of an eastbound onramp was starting to be a worry. It was then that a quirk of Texas freeway geometry was noticed: to get back on the superhighway mainline, we wouldn't merge, but must turn.
Yes, a 90 degree turn.
From the frontage road, directly onto the freeway.
From the median.
After crossing the westbound lanes at grade with maniacal 80 mph traffic zooming directly toward us.
Ooh, this was gonna be fun.
All the truck's flashing lights were activated as we revved the V-8 engine and gunned it directly across the westbound lanes, skidding to a halt in the median and patiently waiting for an ample gap. Then a hard left with simultaneous maximum acceleration, and we rejoined the freeway flow with an intact vehicle and elevated adrenaline levels.
The town of Van Horn sets where US highway 90, which travels all the way from the Florida Atlantic coast, ends abruptly here at old US 80. Ol' 80 is gone now, but the town still serves I-10 travelers with fuel, stores, and lodging. We cruised the town from end to end in the late afternoon light, dismayed that the mini-golf course was closed but that there were a smattering of mom 'n pop motels that looked they might be good for a night's rest. We selected the Village Inn based on its classic sign, stonework exterior, and the Adventure Cycling Southern Tier decal by the entry and the friendly welcome from the owners had us thinking we'd have a very pleasant stay. OK, the room could have been a bit cleaner, but it had lots of space and a hard-blowing air conditioner, so no reason to be grumpy. After watching a very nice sunset and saying goodnight to the birdie in the nest just above our door, we settled into the big beds (barely bothered by the trains outside) and hoped for a restful night.
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| Old US 80 where it meets US 90 in Van Horn |
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| Settling down at the Village Inn | Careful stonework of the motel walls | Looks like we chose wisely |
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| Sunset in Van Horn | Sign framed by sunset clouds |
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| Goodnight, motel | And goodnight, little birdie outside the room |
Richard had expected to be awakened by the alarm at, oh, 7:00 AM or so. Instead, he was rather roughly shaken awake from the motel bed by his lovely wife. A glance at the iPhone's display: 4:15 AM.
Hmmm. Something unusual must be happening.
Suzanne urgently explained to her semi-conscious hubby that something very strange (and NOT in a good way) was occurring within her body, in a manner that had never happened before in her entire life. She was feeling extraordinarily itchy everywhere and her hands were tremendously swollen, with symptoms that indicated something far worse than a bug bite or minor rash. The health plan nurse line was called on the toll-free number, and the recommendation was that due to the severity of the sudden symptoms and the possibility of severe respiratory complications, we should immediately proceed to the nearest emergency medical facility.
Here's the problem: we're in a small town. In the Trans-Pecos region of west Texas. And initial investigation by Richard on the Internet indicated that there was only one hospital serving the entire four-county area.
Which, to our great fortune, was only 11 blocks away.
Richard assisted a sickly Suzanne and a grumpy Duncan into the truck, then drove through the darkness to the red-lit signs denoting the emergency entrance of Culberson Hospital. As mentioned earlier, Culberson is the only emergency medical facility for a big chunk of west Texas, and its classification as a Level 4 trauma center means that staff are on hand 24 hours to deal with a wide variety of medical surprises, such as the one that we were about to present them with. Fortunately, there were no other crashes or cases being seen in the well-equipped emergency department, and Suzanne's condition was swiftly assessed by the trained nursing staff. Steroids and industrial-strength antihistamines were injected into her beleaguered system (ouch), and after a couple hours the swelling diminished and the welts receded, and we all began to resemble normal humans again (albeit missing a large chunk of badly-needed sleep and a $125 copay).
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| Not exactly where we wanted to be... | A "hive" of very unpleasant activity | Way past 'puffy' into 'dangerously swollen' |
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| Trying to take his mind off his mom's plight | Goofy guys + lack of sleep + emergency room |
After tele-consultation with the on-call physician, Suz was discharged and we returned to the motel in the mid-morning sunshine. Given the type of day we'd had so far, the motel staff was more than gracious in accommodating a late check-out, and we departed Van Horn on US 90, welcoming the 75 mph speed limit and absence of busy traffic (other than the TxDOT paving crew). The only excitement along this stretch was us being dive-bombed by a crop duster spraying a grove of nearby trees, with the plane's swooping and buzzing providing some aerial entertainment.
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| McDonalds pancake makes a perfect smile | And now we're strafed by cropdusters |
North of the village of Valentine, a solitary well-maintained white building stands by the highway. This ordinarily wouldn't be anything notable, except that it looks exactly like a high-end boutique that had mysteriously teleported from Palm Beach or La Jolla to the sun-baked scrublands near the Rio Grande. And displayed on the facade and awnings, in the appropriate corporate script, the words and logo: Prada. Yeah, that Prada. Now we aren't typically the type of folks to frequent high-end shops such as this, but its unexpected location induced an application of the brakes on the truck and a stop to see whatheheckwuzgoinon. And although there were no staff on premises, the elegant pumps and purses on display did look to be genuine Prada merchandise, even if the location seemed a bit out of place. A plaque nearby explained the mercantile mystery: "Prada Marfa" is a conceptual art project created by a local group, and not exactly a Prada outlet store (although Fondazione Prada has bestowed its official blessings on the piece).
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| Small boutique in the middle of nowhere | But we don't have outfits that accessorize... |
Today's segment of highway continues our paralleling of the border with the Republic of Mexico, and the green on white trucks of Border Patrol continued to comprise a large portion of the otherwise-minimal traffic. But then an oblong elliptical shape of white materializes on the horizon, and soon is determined to be a blimp used by patrol agents to detect unauthorized border crossing by air or other means. Again, not your usual expected scenery.
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| Admit it. "Surveillance blimp" sounds funny. |
What do we make of Marfa? We'd heard a variety of stories - expensive lodging, eclectic characters, maybe frou-frou, maybe not. The Marfa we saw looked to be a town mixing maybe a bit of poverty and pretension, but mostly just a basic burg with its courthouse, mini-marts, and downtown storefronts - oh, and the car displayed on its nose at the old service station at the junction of 90 and 67. Here we replenished our supplies of snacks and Diet Dr. Pepper, and then curved eastward as the highway ascended into the Davis and Del Norte mountains.
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| Court house square of Marfa | Very, very contemporary | US 90 winds through green hills |
A name like Alpine might conjure up vistas of chalets, lederhosen, and snow-capped peaks. But Alpine, Texas is a bit more down-to-earth than that, although the higher elevation does cool things off a bit. Alpine is the home of Sul Ross University looming on the hillside, and also the site of a Penny's Diner, whose chrome-covered exterior and friendly cafe-booth interior suited us mighty fine for lunch. Chicken-fried steaks and big ol' burgers were consumed as Duncan played one of the activities in his "100 Ways to Waste Time" book that has been a very useful attention-occupier on this travel. Today's time-squandering task: "Eat a cracker. But using exactly one hundred bites." No problem for the Duncster, as a hecto-nibble devoured the saltine exactly as directed. Time: wasted!
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| Welcome to Alpine, y'all! | Odd shops of Alpine |
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| Late lunch in a shiny spot | Chowing down with Rocky and Boo-Boo | Time-waster challenge: Eat a cracker in 100 bites. |
As we ambled out of Alpine, we noticed that what looked like a small band of rain showers had chosen to position itself in our path. We didn't think much of it, as rain had already been our intermittent companion on this trip. But just before we hit the leading edge of the precipitation, we noted the shade of the cloud and rain had grown much darker, and within seconds we were greeted with sheets of rain in near-Biblical proportions.
But this rather puny yet very nasty storm wasn't done yet. Seconds later, the unmistakable roar of very large-diameter hail making seven-mile free-fall contact with a truck's expensive sheet metal and paint assaulted our ears. Richard had to make some split-second decisions as we all prayed the windshield wouldn't shatter while the icy spheres exploded around us: do we turn around, keep going, stop, or panic? The decree was to continue onward as fast as the flooding roadway would allow us, in hopes the hellacious hail would cease. And about a minute later we were clear of the hailstorm, and less that 10 minutes yon we were back in Texas sunshine - which revealed a Truckasaurus hood that would do a golf ball proud with its freshly-acquired dimples and wrinkles. But we were alive, functional, and running, so the newly-lumpy truck was accelerated on through Marathon and eastward across the south Texas wildlands.
After seeing several instances of the distinctive shapes of VORTAC air traffic navigation beacons along today's drive: "They should paint those like sombreros."
The skies remained sunny as we passed through Sanderson, noting the presence of several cheerful-looking motels arrayed along the highway, along with several service stations of varying levels of openness dating from decades past to the present. But it was still too early to cease our day's driving, and instead we took a break at a store for facilities and snackies. Noticing a bicycle laden with Nashbar waterproof panniers leaning against the outside wall, Richard struck a conversation with its rider. Mr. Thomas Young was on a two-wheel journey from the Texas Gulf coast to the cool peaks of Colorado, and other than an unfortunate blowout seemed to be doing fine.
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| Abandoned service station still sits quietly on US 90 |
We wished Mr. Young well as we departed southward, continuing our travel through the undulating flagstone rock cuts exposing the eons-old geology of south Texas. The sun behind our seats bathed the quiet scrublands in heat as the miles rolled away and the clock unwound the hours. We were late into Langtry and missed the museum documenting Roy Bean's iron-fisted 19th-century judiciary, and so we journeyed on to where the US highway spans the broad Pecos River on a bridge of deck-trussed steel. At the roadside pullout overlooking the Pecos gorge, Duncan found himself a new multi-legged centipede buddy to share travel stories with, and we gazed complacently at the multitude of cattle and goats grazing on the old abandoned alignment of the highway used before the stout steel span was in place.
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| Leaping the broad Pecos | "Can you see Santa Rosa from here?" | A new centipedal buddy |
We're running out of Monday, so we'd better git along. The sun glinted off the waters of the bi-national Amistad Reservoir as the bridge carried us over an arm of the lake next to the truss spans of the parallel Southern Pacific rails. Then into the lakeside developments, which transitioned into the busy streets of Del Rio, the business hub border city of the region. We didn't have any pre-set plans for lodging, so a glance at the TripAdvisor app revealed a number of family-run motels, but with one receiving notably more-positive reviews. We veered into the portico of the Whispering Palms Inn and shut off the engine, and the exclamation from the back seat that "the swimming pool has a waterfall!" put to rest any ideas of looking elsewhere that evening. The man behind the front desk turned out to be not merely an able clerk but a savvy owner, and Rakesh spun the story of how a multimillion-dollar renovation had transformed a dump into a very nice place to stay. Apparently much of the clientele stay here while seeking medical treatments in Mexico, and he noted how Del Rio had helped its sister city Ciudad Acuna recently when a tornado tore through the neighborhoods across the river. Meanwhile, Duncan had found the pool and was splashing most happily under the waterfall, diving and delving into the illuminated blue depths. And after the swim and chat, we helped ourselves to some good stuff from the lobby's well-stocked food bar, tucked Duncan into his little inflatable bed (provided at no charge to let us all doze more comfortably), and retired for some well-earned rest as the palms whispered outside (hey, what did they say? They weren't supposed to know that!...)
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| Union Pacific and US 90 span the Amistad Reservoir | Passing the "sniff test" in the lobby | We think this place will do for tonight :) |
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| Conked out after a very very very long day |
The Whispering Palms whispered its call of comfort as we slept right through the alarms, but a quick pack-up (aided by a very-well-stocked breakfast bar) and another enjoyable chat with Rakesh the proprietor kept us happy as we loaded up the truck.
Let's check out Del Rio. It's a border town, but it's actually set in a mile or so from the actual Rio Grande boundary, with its sister city Ciudad Acuna several miles hence across the busy bridges. We drove the one-way streets through the center of the city, admiring the stately trees and green laws.
But as we made our return loop through Del Rio's downtown, Suzanne turned to Richard with an expression of gravest fear in her face and said "I feel like I can't breathe. I may need help."
Richard, ever the caring husband, made some sort of offhand comment about how if she could say that, she must be breathing. After the appropriate amount of angry semi-violent feedback was applied, Richard understood the severity of the situation, and asked the GPS to please find the nearest hospital (and wouldn't you know that for some reason the GPS menu put that at the very top of the list for destination options). And so after about five minutes of speedy driving, we arrived at the emergency entrance of Val Verde Regional Medical Center, where Suz was whisked into a treatment room and pumped full of additional epinephrine, steroids and antihistamines, as the red pustules of hives spread like waves across her skin and body.
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| Our grand tour of Texas emergency rooms continues. Dagnabbit. | At least there's pretty flowers on the hospital grounds |
We were touched by the tender demeanor of the primary ER nurse, whose bellowing "Yew must be allergic to Texas!" added a bit of humor, even though none of us (including the medical staff) had absolutely any idea exactly what in Texas she was allergic to. But after the ministrations of modern medicine (and another $125 copay), she was released with a long list of prescriptions which needed to be filled before we could resume our oft-interrupted journey. Given the esoteric nature of some of the requested medications, we thought the local Walmart might be the best bet, but a one-hour wait for filling was somewhat discouraging. The wife and kid whiled the waiting time by browsing the aisles and obtaining yarn and snack food for the coming week, while Richard took the Truckasaurus out to seek fuel for both family and vehicle - both of which were found only a block away at Rudy's BBQ, where the tank got 22 gallons of unleaded and about a pound of perfectly seasoned and sauced pulled pork was purchased (with a bottle of Frostie blue cream soda as an added treat for the Duncster).
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| We visit the most fun places! | Pretty colorful Wal-fish |
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| Gasoline. Meat. What more could you want? | That does look remarkably refreshing | Thanks! I'll take it! |
We feasted on the BBQ as Del Rio receded in the rear view, but a glance at the little clock on the dashboard (itself a souvenir from our 2003 trip) revealed that our schedule for the day was smashed beyond recognition. We zoomed eastward on the four-lane 75 mph speedway of US 90 as the billowing dark clouds of Tropical Storm Bill revealed themselves on the horizon. But even a fast drive is better with a bit of a break, and as the expressway became Uvalde's main street, we sought a place for a restful stop. Alas, the Rexall downtown was closed and for lease, but on the east side the video marquee of Uvalco Farm Supply looked like the kind of place that would combine interesting wares with functioning plumbing. We received a big "Howdy!" as we beelined for the bathroom, and then perused the shelves filled with electric fence insulators and galvanized pipe. Duncan wanted to test out the double-bitted axes, but we limited our purchases to a big refill of weedwacker line (a most useful souvenir) and thanked them for their service.
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| Big Road Trip, meet Tropical Storm Bill. | Seal-shaped cloud on the verge of the storm |
Great news: We see the skyline of San Antonio unveil before us! Good news: it's still daylight! Not-so-good news: we're five hours later that we would've preferred. We looped around the south side of downtown, pulled the Truckasaurus into the entryway at the Hilton Palacio Del Rio, and proceeded to amaze the bell staff with the sheer volume of luggage and other items we deem essential for a four-day stay at this high-class property. We decrypted the workings of the space-age elevators (one must choose the desired floor on a touchscreen by the door before boarding) and ascended to our 7th-floor room offering an entirely acceptable panorama of the convention center and nearby streets (rooms that allow viewing and/or bombing of the Riverwalk are a heckuvalot more expensive). The bags were offloaded and we settled down - but wait. There's an event function tonight. And we're reallly late.
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| We made it...? |
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| Looks like a decent place for a meeting | Dumping out the Truckasaurus | This room just might be marginally acceptable :) |
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| Spot the family! | Oh. There they are. | Nice view, if someone wasn't in the way |
Richard parked the truck for a well-earned rest at the multi-level garage across the street, then walked several blocks to the Buckhorn Saloon and Museum - only to find that the event was in the process of shutting down. Several remaining attendees did ask about how Suzanne was doing (ah, the joys of instantaneous social media), and fully understood that she couldn't attend. There wasn't much time to look at all the intriguing displays, including the Texas Ranger Museum, but the Buckhorn looked like a great destination for future visits. Then back to the room via a roundabout path to reconnoiter for supply and feeding locations, and then back up to the room for an evening on the balcony watching the tropical storm clouds billow.
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| Evening on the Riverwalk |
Today begins the first day of the National Committee on Uniform Traffic Control Devices meetings, so Richard awakened quietly and snuck out the door very early to face many many consecutive hours of engineering meetings (even lunch ended up being a meeting).
Suzanne and Duncan had fun instead. After being pleasantly surprised by a gift basket thoughtfully provided by the hotel management after they learned of Suzanne's earlier misfortunes via social media, they began their day in a dino-rific way by seeing "Jurassic World" (in 3-D IMAX!!) at the cinemas in the downtown Rivercenter mall. They then made their way a few blocks to one of the greatest shrines to Texas liberty - The Alamo. As they toured its hallowed halls, they learned the details of the brave stand the Texians made against Santa Anna and his troops on this site long before the turista cantinas and theme restaurants invaded and occupied the nearby lands. And the Crockett-esque coonskin cap {procyon acrylicus} already near-permanently attached to Duncan's head (itself a souvenir from Scout camp back in May) guaranteed a warm welcome from the staff.
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| We think they like us? |
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| Ah yes - we remember! | A rememberable penny |
After the Alamo, Suzanne and son visited the local Ripley's "Believe It or Not" Odd-itorium, where they met a mastodon and peered into displays on the tall, the small, and everything in between. They touched a salvaged chunk of the Berlin Wall as the interpretive information tried to give our young boy the history of that brutal barrier and a feeling for world tensions in the 60s through the 80s, and then a visit to the "4-D" movie theater made for a more-lighthearted time. Also on site is a Tussaud's wax museum, where Duncan and the mom interacted with lifelike replicas of the famous and infamous, and posed for photos which in real life might earn a tackle from a bodyguard or perhaps a nicely-worded restraining order.
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| Meet the mastodon | Exploring a chunk of Cold War history | Duncan's really tired |
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| Hangin' with the bug-eyed folks | Believe It or Not - a Dunc-resistant box! | It moved us in ways we couldn't imagine |
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| A preview of future summit meetings? | "...and thanks for plugging my new best-seller!" |
After the waxy works were wandered from, wife and kid arrived back at the hotel around 5:00 PM - only to find out that Richard was still working, this time with a small team of people on a signing proposal. But if you have to keep working after hours in a small group, why not do it in a nice venue - such as at a cafe table fronting the San Antonio Riverwalk? The proposal was crafted as the tourists strolled by and the ducks waddled to and fro to check on our engineering progress.
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| If you gotta keep working, why not here? | Webfoots waddle along the walk |
Later in the evening, after the work was finally wrapped up, several members of the committee and our family set out along the winding paths of the Riverwalk to hunt down some decent Texas-style food. This mission was slightly complicated by two things: one, a thunderstorm had turned some of the walkways into flood channels (it may be scenic, but it is a working river), and two, the trivial fact that Duncan had fallen in with a group of folks who had walked far away from his hapless parents. We weren't too worried about the boy (OK, Dad wasn't too worried), and we were all reunited as the group was seated at a hefty table at the County Line BBQ for great piles of meaty grub, and stories were swapped well into the night.
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| A fine place for a meaty meal | Post-first-day NCUTCD BTC dinner | The salad urges us to dynamic action! |
If this is Thursday, it means another loooong day of meetings for Richard. Important, yet boring. Back to him later.
On this day, Suzanne and Duncan thought that venturing elsewhere in San Antonio sounded fun. They hailed a taxi in the hotel driveway and upon boarding, Suzanne asked "take us to the Children's Museum!" The driver promptly did - or should we say, quickly delivered them to the old site of the Children's Museum downtown, which was very much closed - a fact that the family was fully aware of beforehand.
Why is that meter still running...?
After some remedial navigational resetting, the taxi drove by the colorful sign and deposited the twosome at the front door of the DoSeum, a place of learning and fun for kids living in and visiting the San Antonio era, with the emphasis on "do", just as the name implies. At this place of hands-on activity, Duncan helped build a city and big blocky structures, engaged in make-believe medieval and frontier adventures, channelized some hydraulic hilarity, produced avant-garde videos, and built and programmed Lego robots, combining two of Duncan's favorite obsessions. As noted earlier, this was a brand-new venue for this this museum, and unfortunately as Suzanne was following her little minion through the place, she discovered that one newly-installed but hard-to-see platform was a tripping hazard - the hard way. Ouch. But the pain subsided and the blood stopped, and they taxied downtown to return to the hotel.
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| A convoluted taxi trip to the Doseum | "He built this city..." | Splish-splashing time |
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| Sir Duncsalot at your service | Our frontiersman stands watch | Critics had mixed reactions, saying the plot seemed "disjointed" |
By about 7:00 PM or so, the NCUTCD technical committee meetings had sputtered to an exhausting yet productive end, and Richard rolled the enormous bag of electronic equipment back to the room. There were still a few fleeting moments of daylight left, so the entire family plummeted back down to the Riverwalk level on the unorthodox elevators to see what evening fun could be found. We spied a flotilla of burbling boats plying the waters carrying gaggles of gawking tourists, and decided that seemed like a effortless way to tour the waterways. We boarded a brightly-painted boat, and listened to the captain spiel a long string of stories of dubious veracity regarding downtown San Antonio and its history, and floated below the verdant greenery, tall buildings, and inebriated passers-by. After waiting for the watery traffic signal to clear us past the floodgates, we completed a loop and then veered into a side channel dredged nearly a half-century ago to serve HemisFair Park, site of the 1968 world's exhibition that prompted the construction of our hotel and several other landmarks.
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| The Riverwalk beckons with scenic paths and high-dollar food | Enjoying a twilight cruise | Busy bustling boats burble by the banks |
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| Bells symbolize the historic missions of Bexar | Tower Life Building soars above downtown | Is the tower tumbling upon us? | Now you can see the gaggle of gargoyles |
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| There's even a traffic signal for the boats | Aztec idol says "Nyah nyah" | Cockrell Theater mural commemorates ancient history (like Mercury launches) | Tower of the Americas shines in the night |
After our aquatic excursion, we began to wander our way along the Riverwalk to seek a satisfying dinner, dodging the masses of happy humanity and clouds of bubbles from the vendors. After a short discussion factoring in everyone's fatigue levels, the plan was changed by near-unanimous vote to "Let's go back to our very comfortable hotel room and send Dad out to get dinner." And so it came to pass that Richard embarked on a mission through the dark streets of downtown to hunt and gather for the gang. Many of the interesting eateries were just closing their doors as he approached, and so the Chili's restaurant in the Rivercenter mall (where the boats float through the expansive atrium) seemed like the most family-friendly option. Chicken chunks, big burgers, and slabs of steak were hauled back to the Palacio, and we enjoyed a relaxing evening of take-out while watching strange G-rated movies on the room's TV.
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| Son is zombified by the bubbles | River stays festive long into the evening | Goodnight, Riverwalk! |
Richard quietly slipped into the hotel hallway around 7:30 in the morning to head up to his final day of NCUTCD meetings. Today's session was up on the 22nd floor of the Palacio Del Rio, and the scenic views out the windows was nearly as compelling to the weary attendees as the important traffic control business debated and discussed between the council and membership.
But a few minutes after 10:00 AM, Richard reappeared at the room. Turned out the agenda was blown through in a surprisingly swift manner, and his toil was complete.
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| How can we concentrate on meetings with this view? |
Now what? We have a unanticipated free day (at least what's left of it). What shall we do?
Hey - how about Sea World?
Yes, the seemingly-landlocked city of San Antonio has a fully-developed outpost of the Sea World franchise, on the northwest outskirts of the city. This actually isn't too surprising, as the salty brine of the Gulf of Mexico is only about 130 miles away. And so we drove the Truckasaurus down the spiral garage ramp, by the old motel signs and mercados of old US highway 90, under the approach path of the gigantic military cargo aircraft landing at the nearby Air Force base, and continued out beyond the beltway.
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| Overcast in the rainfall: humongous C-5 landing in mist |
And when we were almost to the outer-outer beltway surrounding San Antonio, the signs for Sea World appeared, and we parked in the vast expanse of the enormous parking lot. Fortunately, the weekday crowd didn't look overwhelming, and the overcast skies left over from Tropical Storm Bill's passage kept the temperatures in the tolerable 80s. We handed over the discount ticket vouchers we'd purchased back in Phoenix for just this type of tourist contingency, and walked under the arched stained-glass entrance into the park.
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| Let's 'sea' some stuff | Arriving at the home of "Orcinus Howdyall" |
So what now? Duncan was bewildered by the place - he'd expected something resembling a conventional aquarium, and mumbled something about the lack of visible fish and sharks, although the flock of flamingoes on display was cute in its unique pinkish way.
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| Hello, flamingo. |
Thinking that perhaps a show might improve everyone's mood, we filed in and sat down on the blue seats, noting the advisory printed in front of us that there was a possibility that we "might get wet". And although the name of the show was "Azul", the colors of the costumes and surroundings were much more than a monochromatic blue, with acrobats, high divers, graceful swimming gals in synchronous harmony, and cavorting porpoises leaping amid the spectacle. And a comic protagonist bumbling his way through impossibly challenging situations. But the true stars aren't azul, but blanco - a set of white beluga whales that with their unique domed-nose style steal the show, and whose squeaky lines received the biggest applause.
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| There are many colors in Azul | Dolphins with altitude |
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| Spashing with the cetaceans | "And they called it beluga looooove..." | A bevy of belugas |
But even though it was a rather good show, we hadn't really gotten "wet", other than the sweat rolling off our bodies in the humid south Texas air. And after discussions over a waffle cone or two, Duncan found the solution - a Sesame Street-themed play and splash area near the center of the park. Dunc changed into swim gear in record time and dashed under the jets and spouts, yelling gleefully as he attempted to organize the other splashees into some rollicking games.
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| Refreshing break on a muggy day | Aw, son, yer all wet. | Just. Imagine. All. That. Stinky. Matted. Red. Fur. |
The parents, though, laden with not-as-waterproof bags and expensive electronics, were left watching the Duncster on the outside, happy for the boy but grumbly from the heatmidity. The offspring sprung through the ropes and tubes of the surrounding climbing structure to dry off after the spraying silliness, and then a towel off and a wander by the outdoor pond to visit some photogenic quackers continued our visit.
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| Toodling thru the tubes | The ruler of all he surveys (for today, anyway) | A pair of puffers |
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| "Psst. C'mere duck. Have I got a deal for you." | Pretty duckie |
The mascot of Sea World is Shamu, a black and white killer whale (or orca, for those preferring a less-murderously-descriptive term). A number of these intelligent and playful cetaceans reside at each Sea World, but we'll be danged if we could tell you exactly which one was Shamu (unless it's kind of a "Shamu of the Month" assigned on the bulletin board in their backstage basin). But anyway, several tons of flying blubber arcing gracefully from the cold water into the geodesic sky can be very entertaining, especially when accompanied by professional narration and a light and sound show. And at the afternoon Shamu show, at the insistence of our son, we sat in the rows labeled with the dire warning "you're probably gonna get real wet." And as Mama Orca and her baby plopped sideways into the water directly in front of us, a wall of 50-degree high-salt-content water came whooshing directly at us. Dunc shrieked happily as it hit, but Suzanne had wisely anticipated this contingency and deployed her umbrella horizontally, deflecting the briny blast. Into Dad. No problem. :)
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| Hi, Shammy! | Every whale gets into the act | Cavorting orca |
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| Our little one with her little one | A cent to commemorate our visit |
Is it lunchtime yet? Uh, several hours ago. So after some rather good BBQ chicken and side dishes, we wandered over to the waterski show, where Richard's attempted consumption of the leftovers was interrupted by the rooster-tail wake of a jet ski dumping a gallon or so of murky pond water into the to-go container. But aside from this, it was a fun show, with power boats dragging ski jumpers over ramps and around the lake and other impressive feats of watercraft.
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| Maybe it wasn't the best idea to put the banana peels at the top of the ramp | Yeah, we want one of these | Every show is better with bubbles |
There's a lot more to Sea World, both in terms of acreage and activities. And it was about this time our aching feet were realizing just how much there was. Dunc wasn't all that interested in the several scary twisting roller coasters, but did see a game that offered an irresistible prize - a cuddly stuffed Shamu. The threesome competed fiercely for the win, and Duncan was elated to choose a fuzzy orca to join our traveling menagerie.
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| Step right up and try yer luck! | The big winner selects his whale |
A rest in the cool confines of the penguin exhibit to see the beaked buddies waddle and dive under a simulated Antarctic sunset refreshed us, and we were ready for more fun. Duncan remembered there were kid-suitable rides back by the splash zone, and we indulged him by returning to the area for some up and down and side to side action amid the goofy-looking fiberglass fish and silly stars.
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| Rides with oogly-eyed starfish are always fun | Wacky fun and fish lips |
A faint sound of sea lion barking led us up the hill to another stadium, where we watched the pinniped panoply of Sea Lion High, the story of several brown flippered friends attempting to get their "seal" of graduation. This would have been fine, except that it was decided by the cast that cheerleaders were needed - and of all people, Richard was tapped to join the squad. Mr. Moeur gamely threw his still-recovering-from-surgery body into the act, and his ungainly kicks and thrashing pom-poms met with... modest applause.
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| Matriculating into Sea Lion High | Showing a balanced approach to ball play | Encompassing a perfect pinniped circle |
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| Rah rah rah! Richard shows off his kicky moves |
The sun's going down and time for the evening Shamu show. Another Shamu show? Hey - why not. Only this time, Duncan raced down the stairs to the very first front row right up against the thick glass, while the parents placed themselves within view but just out of reach of the splashes. And as the orcas sped into the arena and began their performance, Duncan leapt up waving his arms with extreme excitement. This was not missed by the trainers, and the largest of the whales was guided to a place directly in front of our son, given the go-ahead signal, and a few seconds later everyone within a 50-foot radius of the boy was completely, totally, and utterly... drenched.
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| The evening Shamu show is bathed in color | Duncan gets DRENCHED! |
Time to go yet? It's been a long day, and Duncan's sloshing rather unsteadily. But still time for an evening snack on the way out the gate, and then the long drive back into the city, where the sport of dodging unpredictable partygoers made the final few blocks rather memorable. Then into the shower and to the beds for our final night's rest in the Palacio's care.
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| A funnel cake to finish a long day | Mr. Choco-Covered-Marshmallow Face |
After that long day (and night) at Sea World, it was going to take a lot of motivation to get going on this Saturday. But imminent eviction will do that - we knew we needed to be out of the hotel by check-out time as they needed the room for another happy traveler.
Why do we have so much stuff with us? Oh yeah - we're driving the truck this year.
When is check-out, anyway? Noon. Hmmm. Call front desk - is 1:00 PM OK? Why thank you.
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| Crushed by Mom's overstuffed suitcase |
Suzanne assembled our personal items while Richard trudged back and forth and up and down between the hotel and the Mighty Truckasaurus parked in the garage across the street. After the third load or so and the occasional assistance of Duncan, he thought he might stop at the front desk and settle up the hefty bill. However, a minor quibble about an imbalance between the numbers on the bill and the ones quoted in the reservation did result in some escalation, but was successfully and amicably resolved without resorting to the use of nuclear weapons (and an even-later check-out time with pool privileges was bestowed).
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| Finally getting Dunc a dunk in the hotel pool | Walking on water |
And so after the room was thoroughly searched for fugitive belongings and the final load was hauled away, Richard summoned the family from their poolside fun as we boarded the truck to commence our return journey. Since we had up to seven days to cover the 1000 or so miles back to Phoenix, we weren't in our usual manic hurry, and we leisurely drove along the route of old US highway 87 to leave downtown behind.
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| Farewell, downtown San Antonio |
Like many former US highways that have been bypassed by higher-speed freeways, Fredericksburg Road is a mix of the old and new, with old gas stations and restaurants repurposed into tire shops or thrift stores, a supermarket or two, a few motels that continue to serve travelers (or locals, or others) mixed in with the hollowed shells of those motor courts that couldn't hang on, and an eclectic mix of signage and architecture that if anything is not boring. But little in our decades of travels could prepare us for the sight we beheld in the northbound lanes - an enormous classic curvilinear green sign proclaiming "Cool Crest Miniature Golf". Now long-time followers of our Big Trips know we make a point of stopping for at least one round (or more) of colorful putting whenever our travels and schedule allows us, and how could we resist a course dubbing itself the "World's Finest"?
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| Oooooh. mini-golf! |
A voice from the back seat: "But I'm reeeeally hungry." And a concurrence from the right seat. Guess it had been a while since our cobbled-together breakfast.
"OK - we'll look for lunch first." And only a few short blocks farther north, we spotted what looked to be a nice place to eat - the Hut Diner. But the sign on the door said they closed at 3:00 and the watch said 2:55, so we screeched the truck into a spot and scrambled in the door. A very wise choice, as the Hut did feed us quite well at very reasonable prices, and even the plates for the kids' menu were most generous.
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| Happy comfort food at The Hut | This is the kid's plate |
OK, everyone's fed and happy, and the Hut is closing for the day. Now can we get some golfing in? Of course. Back to the seemingly-well-hidden driveway for Cool Crest, and up to the greens for play. It turns out this mecca of miniature golf has been here for nearly 90 years, with one course having its winding green ways established all the way back in the 1920s. We chose to play the 1959-era course, which was slightly more family-friendly and yet still quite a challenge with its deceptive hazards and steep slopes. The exceptionally well-landscaped surroundings conveyed an atmosphere of peace and serenity, which came in handy after those putts which assumed unexplainable trajectories.
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| Not just mini-golf - historic mini-golf! | Inviting greenery and colored balls await | Many levels of historic putting fun |
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| OK, this one's got a little bit of a lie to it.. | Elegant symmetry of dimpled spheres |
And somewhere near the 12th hole a rumbling was heard, and this time it wasn't just Dad a mite irked that his shot went kerplooey instead of kerplunk. Moments later, the heavens did open upon us, and torrential rain began coursing down the undulating fairways. Given the nearby lightning strikes and the fact we were holding long pieces of conductive metal in our hands, we chose to discreetly and gracefully retire from the grounds - naw, we just ran like heck for the truck.
After resuming our course up Fredericksburg Road, an occupant of the vehicle noted that although we'd had quite the nice lunch, no dessert had accompanied it. This was remedied when we saw the arched blue roof of El Paraiso Ice Cream, which by the name seemed to have exactly what we wanted. However, it's not a place with scoops or sundaes - El Paraiso sells paletas, a Latin-themed version of the frozen treat on a stick. But to us, ice cream is ice cream, and at 50 cents a bar, we were definitely in the mood. We weren't quite brave enough to sample the pickle flavor, but the cookies and cream, cheesecake, and chocolate varieties were quite satisfactory.
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| Cool post-mini-golf treat | We were not brave enough to try the pickle flavor |
Lunch - check. Mini-golf - check. Thunderstorm - check. Ice cream - check. What more could we possibly do? A suggestion from the rear seat: "Does San Antonio have a Lego Store?"
Yes, yes it does.
We merged onto the I-10 freeway, looped up and over the convoluted ramp leading to 410, and over to the local mall, where it seemed like the rest of the population had also decided to escape the rain. We coaxed the truck into a parking lot and chose a random entrance, and to our good fortune found the Lego Store with a minimum of walking. Duncan was again in his retail element, zipping to and fro asking "Canwebuythisplease??" along with other brickaficianadoes young and old. Richard noted the Pick-A-Brick wall had some unusual and hard-to-find items such as little Lego claws, eyeballs, and picket fences, and set about layering up a container with the loot, while Suzanne helped her son winnow down his want list to a reasonable-enough size to fit into the "trip souvenirs" category, helped greatly by a friendly yellow-aproned staff member.
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| Maybe we oughta pay attention on this ramp? |
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| Duncan's second-favorite stop on the trip so far | Very helpful person wears the yellow apron |
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| Expert layering in the pick-a-brick cup (is it staring back at us?) | If they're "souvenirs", it's OK to buy them, right? | Medieval warriors with seagulls. Nothing unusual here. |
And after the minifigures and kits (including one for Mom) were rung up, we plowed through the crowds with our yellow bags out to the truck, and then realized: it's late in the day, we have no arrangements for overnight lodging, and we're still in the city (and can't really afford to go back to the Hilton). So again to Fredericksburg Road we veered to inspect a few of those historic motels we'd seen earlier in the day. This didn't get off to a promising start, as the first two properties we stopped at looked OK on the outside but downright scary on the inside (and overpriced, too). And although the Starlite Motel may not have the charm of a neon sign or stylized exterior, it had clean, comfortable, and secure rooms, and turned out to be a wise choice. But although we now had a room, there was an unresolved question of dinner, and so Richard was ordered to forage for pizza and yummies. And as the final rays of the sun illuminated a rainbow over the H-E-B store and the snack cakes were bagged, it seemed a fitting end to an interesting day.
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| Getting groceries under the rainbow |
They say June 21st is the longest day of the year. Let's hope that it's a good sort of long.
We bounced out of bed and performed the usual morning preparations, knowing that even though San Antonio has been fun, we'd soon better get serious about actually leaving the city. But today is also Father's Day, and it would only be proper to honor the commander and chief pilot of the mission with a fitting brunch - preferably at an old time cafe with great food and a historic porcelain and neon sign out front. This is old US route 87, right? Should be something - yes, there it is - the classic facade of Dewese's Tip Top Cafe, in business since 1938. Although very busy, we were promptly seated, and soon we were savoring first-rate chili burgers and chicken chunks, as Duncan surprised his dad with a home-made card in between other shenanigans. But wait - the desserts were even better, with monstrously tall slices of chocolate and lemon meringue pie (that being a favorite of Suzanne's father) served up for additional fluffy layered bliss.
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| The Tip Top Cafe - a old highway classic | Been around for quite a long time |
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| Father's Day at the Tip Top | Greetings, Mr. Cup Face. | Mega-meringue! |
The satisfied family re-boarded the truck as Richard set course through the north San Antonio neighborhoods, bouncing over the speed humps while being amused by the unconventional signs. Bandera Road was eventually reached, and we figured we'd see where that highway might take us (hint: maybe someplace named... Bandera?) The strip malls and car lots gave way to pastures and trees as highway 16 wiggled its way into the Hill Country of central Texas.
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| Unconventional speed hump signs in San Antonio |
And as promised, the road did arrive in the burg of Bandera, the self-proclaimed "cowboy capital of the world", whose storefronts, awnings and boardwalks gave a tangible representation of its western heritage. But something was a-raisin' a ruckus as we arrived - a lightning-tossin, toad-stranglin' thunderstorm arrived 'bout the same time we did, and a stop in the general store suddenly seemed far more appealing than navigating flooded asphalt amid scorching strikes. We hurried in the door and dried ourselves on the wooden floor, and saw that the ol' store was inviting indeed - all sorts of interesting crafts and other items, a fully-stocked old-fashioned soda fountain, and a working restroom, which according to the signs had an actual ghost un-living in the closet across the hall. We settled onto the swiveling stools for some scoops of ice cream as the rain sheeted down outside, and then selected a few choice items for our use, including stocking up on explosive caps for Duncan's six-shooters at home and a cute semi-inspirational hand-painted sign for Suzanne.
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| Bandera - the "cowboy capital" | Ripsnortin' thunderstorm roars through |
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| Old-time general store | Do not disturb the supernatural occupant | Seated at the old-fashioned soda fountain |
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| Silly signs | Suz finally got around to purchasing one |
After saying our farewells to the store staff, we moseyed back to the truck as Richard plotted our next leg. Even in this hyper-digital age, our family still uses paper maps for road trip navigation, as they allow the reader to take in both the big-picture view of the area while simultaneously displaying some level of detail. And the TxDOT highway map was showing what looked to be a somewhat direct yet scenic route to the west, and so at Medina we veered onto ranch road 337 to continue our day's drive. The signs warning of numerous motorcycle fatalities might have been the first clue that this wasn't your ordinary road, but the leafy trees spreading over the winding ways, along with the knowledge we didn't have to be anywhere in a hurry, reassured us as we continued. But the curves got tighter and the grades got steeper as we entered the scenic heart of the Hill Country, and the relaxed driving style adopted by Mr. Moeur gave us much time to admire the views as we plummeted, corkscrewed, and climbed.
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| Cruising the scenic Texas backroads | The road map didn't show this much wiggliness | Impressive Hill Country vistas through the mist |
At Vanderpool, we stopped in the local store for an afternoon snack, amused by the collection of old gas pumps stashed in the back 40, and then continued on 337 and thence north on road 336, which continued the woobly alignment and sundry scenery. But 336 had an additional surprise - a lack of fencing, which combined with the abundance of cattle grazing in the area meant we were faced with some big beefy roadblocks, standing astride the centerline like cud-chewing non-reflective barricades. We activated the warning lights and patiently waited for the moos to moove on, and eventually the bovine barriers ambled off the pavement to greener grass, allowing us to resume our travels.
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| Need a fill-up? | Big meaty roadblock on Ranch Road 336 | Their theme song: "Don't Fence Me In" |
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| Hey, he looks just like the warning sign | Moos look at Moeurs | Bye-bye to the moos in the rear view |
The last time we'd been through the Hill Country in 2003, we'd seen a ranch or two with some most exotic livestock, and we thought it's be interesting to see something a bit different on today's drive. And just outside Rocksprings, behind the tall fences of the Agua Vida Ranch, we did spot animals usually more associated with the African veldt that the scrublands of Texas. The oryxes weren't too inclined to pose for us, but we did squeeze off a good shot or two before merging back onto the highway to complete the day's drive.
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| Odd and exotic animals at the Agua Vida Ranch | Hiya, oryx! |
A piece down the road is the town of Sonora, where Interstate 10 meets US 277. The old business route still had a functioning motel or two, and we picked the Economy Inn for the night's stay. Other than a slightly-malfunctioning shower, we had a good evening's rest, with a father-son twilight stroll to Dairy Queen providing a pleasant finish to a fun day.
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| Staying in Sonora - a nice town | Official Texas Stop Signs in a darkening sky | Messy race between a melting cone and eager boy |
We awoke from our snorin' in Sonora and tossed the stuff back in the truck, advising the motel staff of the minor problems with the plumbing on our way out the door. After a loop east thru town, we turned west on I-10 and merged into the stream of transcontinental traffic. Prior to the building of the Interstate, this was the alignment of US route 290, and in a few places vestiges of the old highway still exist as ranch to market roads, winding a more leisurely route through the hills and plains. We exited onto the old highway for a while and crossed the 1930s bridges and sharp corners, appreciating the the unique history and the nearly-nonexistent traffic.
Ozona bills itself as "The Biggest Little Town in the World", and if a traveler chances to exit from the freeway onto the streets lining the green central square, the town does have a sense of charm and history that might not be evident to those rumbling by on the bypass. Appropriately wearing his coonskin cap, Duncan clambered up onto the statue commemorating Davy Crockett, whose name is attached to the county of which Ozona is a seat, and Richard scouted out the area for anything interesting.
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| Ozona: a friendly lil' Texas town | Climbing Crockett |
We hadn't really had much of a breakfast this day, and lunch was starting to sound good. And what better road trip lunch could there be than one at the picnic tables on the green lawn of the square, with freshly-made takeout burritos from Bryan's Poco Taco as the main course, made even more memorable by the brisk breezes trying to turn our items into edible flying objects.
One of the highlights of each year's road trip is discovering unexpected, interesting, and unique places. And small-town variety stores rank high on that list, especially ones that are more down-home than frou-frou, and are more focused on the useful rather than the merely decorative. And Ozona Mercantile with its bee-ootiful sign certainly looked like it might be one of those fun discoveries. The selection of items within was definitely kid-friendly, with high-quality crafts and toys, plus a selection of clothes and other stuff. Although much of it was tempting, Duncan decided all he really needed was a simple squishy light-up robot, which most fortunately was on the "half off" shelf.
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| Ozona Mercantile: a happy little place | We welcome our new squishy overlords! |
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| Squishbot is more powerful than a freight train! | Ringing up the new squishy buddy |
But as much as the Mercantile was great, the Ozona General Store just down the street was just as good, just maybe even a bit better. Clean, organized, and exceptionally friendly, from the brightly-hued stacking chairs and play pools on the front portico to the yards of yarn in bulging bins, from bungees to organizers to Legos to tarps to dice, everyone in the family found what they wanted at very reasonable prices. And the friendly folks helping us around and ringing us up added to our aisle-prowling satisfaction. We'll definitely have to drop by again someday.
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| Another great place in Ozona - The General Store | General store stuffed with useful and wacky items | Of course they have Legos. And of course he found them. |
After a mandatory outbound stop for Dairy Queen, we oozed out of Ozona, zigging and zagging on diagonal highways while juggling our soft-serve and other items as we settled back into rural travel. They say that everything's bigger in Texas, and that definitely applies to the wind - today, Richard was fighting the Mighty Truckasaurus into a crazy crosswind, with the gusts tossing our three-ton truck from edge to center as the local birds were seen frantically flapping away - and ending up flying backwards. Once we reached US 67 and turned west, the smell of sulfur and the presence of numerous overloaded semi-trailers and maniacally-driven pickups made it clear to us we'd wandered into the "oil patch" region of the state, where roughnecks work mighty hard for long hours to extract gooey crude from deep under the dry earth.
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| That magical moment of Blizzard inversion |
We drove for many miles by the busily-bobbing "grasshopper" oil wells dotting the landscape before coming upon the small town of Rankin. We veered into town to see if there was anything interesting, but alas many of the storefronts were shuttered, with a forlorn fiberglass cow hovering above what looked to have once been a rockin' BBQ joint, but was now left to dust and rust.
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| Must've been quite the place, but now the steer stands lonesomely |
But off in the distance - happy noises. Happy playing noises. Happy swimming-type noises. Over there across the highway and railroad tracks, next to the high school and its artificial-turf football field. Looks like a town park and swimming pool to us. Son, would you like us to stop for a swim?
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| Ready for play at Workman Park | Splish splash swimming stop | Making a sploosh in the clear inviting water |
The crystal-clear waters of the Upton County Pool did look quite inviting after a day of driving, plus the crowds of kids meant Duncan wouldn't be bored. And you can't beat the price - "Y'all are free." :) The spiral slide and boingy diving board were put to good use by Duncan and his dad, and attempt by the younger Moeur to drown, er dunk the elder soon degraded into an all-out mirth-filled swim battle, with the locals egging the guys on.
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| Swooping down the water slide | "I'm not really trying to drown Dad" | Leaping into the west Texas sky |
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| Who let THAT guy on the diving board? | We think we broke him. |
After that refreshing respite, we adjourned to the colorful equipment of Tommy Workman Park next door, where Dunc dried off in the "spin cycle" of the steel-plate merry-go-round and everyone had the chance to play with a cute little puppy visiting the pool and parkside.
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| Now to dry off with some pleasant play | So sharky | Finishing with a spin cycle |
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| Always time to cavort with a rambunctious puppy |
After a return to the road on a northwesterly trajectory, another half hour of driving lifted us into the town of Crane, where on the south side of town an enormous piece of crane-shaped metal statuary (bird crane, not construction crane) stands watch over visitors and locals. And next to the gruidic greeter is Stone's Hardware and Home Center, which itself has a metallic menagerie of spot-welded and painted metal animals, flowers, birds, and other creatures suitable for parking in a garden or porchway. And they even have bent-pipe spinning amusement rides just perfect for the back yard of a growing boy, but with a size and price that precluded our purchase (get over it, son). Duncan did get his heart set on an adorably silly metal snail, and somehow persuaded the parents to purchase the item as a durable reminder of this trip's fun.
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| Can you guess the name of the town we're in? | Mighty metal menagerie musters |
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| Fear the flamingo | Looks like fun, but won't fit in the truck |
After a subsequent stop in Crane for steak fingers and chili dogs at Howard's Drive Inn, we resumed our journey across the west Texas wildlands, the oil wells nodding in agreement. And although we'd grown rather used to the brown and tan of stubbly grass and clay-rich dirt, it was somewhat of a surprise when suddenly we beheld shifting dunes of whitish sand far more suited to the Sahara or other ultra-arid places than what's expected in rural Texas.
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| Culinary artistry in a Styrofoam container | Sahara? Tattooine? Glamis? Nope - Texas. | Drifting along the open road... just like us |
But after several undulating miles the dunes were done, and not long after we passed under Interstate 20 and into the town of Monahans along the busy UP rail tracks. We'd heard stories of ridiculously overpriced motel rooms in the various regions of the United States currently subject to aggressive oil exploration, and in the past had taken some measures to try to avoid evening stays in those areas. But a plummeting sun and destinations up ahead that wouldn't be fun after dark (or justify backtracking) meant we were seeking affordable shelter for the evening here in Monahans. A quick peek at TripAdvisor confirmed our worst financial fears - the chain motels were priced uniformly well above $150 for even a basic room 1-bed room, and so we prowled old US highway 80 through town to seek less-costly options. Of the few motels not left in long-abandoned ruins, the small Silver Spur looked the most promising, and so we inquired with the very nice lady at the front desk regarding availability. She showed us a room with two beds - at least that's what we thought they were - the darkness of the room prevented confirmation. The sink faucet handle had vanished and the water stains looked like they dated from the Eisenhower Administration, but the AC blew cold and the minifridge worked, so after some diplomatic negotiations regarding the room rate it was ours for a night for a sum somewhat less than $100.
We moved in, applied a Vise-Grip from the toolbox to the sink handle, and rigged up an interior light pulled from the storage area of the truck. Once illumination was applied, it revealed a carpet that resembled the cab floor of a roughneck's pickup, only somewhat grubbier. The proprietor apologized again as she attempted to clean the flooring (at these rates, could they please invest in a decent vacuum in the future?) until it was marginally acceptable. The rest of the evening was reasonably uneventful, with the rumbling of the Union Pacific trains barely registering on our rest, and the beds rather comfortable and bug-free.
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| If the motel faucet isn't user-friendly, make it so! |
A gray and drizzly morning greeted us as the door of the motel room creaked open, and we dismantled all our jury-rigged equipment and exited onto the quiet streets of Monahans in search of some breakfast. We recalled seeing a Huddle House by the I-20 interchange and thought that would be a good choice for our first meal of the day, especially given the likelihood that we wouldn't have another chance to visit that chain for quite a while. The service was efficient and the food was very good, with wondrous butter-soaked waffles and stacked sandwiches among the family's selections.
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| Old US 80 in Monahans | Checking in on "Shelley" the snail | Starting the day with Huddle House yum |
We motored out of Monahans northbound on Texas highway 18 through Kermit, and a few miles north of that town Richard turned the truck east onto FM 874, and then north on FM 1218. The state highway map had put a wild idea in his head that perhaps something interesting from a geodetic perspective might await ahead, and he keenly scanned the surrounding area while zooming in the GPS display to maximum magnification.
There, over to the left. A pole, standing all by itself, with a weathered-to-illegibility sign mounted on it, at the edge of an open field. Check dashboard DMI reading: milepost 319.94. That might be it.
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| Along FM 1218, a solitary post is seen. What might it be? |
Richard stopped the truck and walked across the deserted highway toward the pole. As he approached, he discerned a square plaque set into the ground, with what looked like a surveyor's brass cap set in the center. Yes, this just might be it...
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| Hmmm. There's an interesting plaque here. |
Richard looked directly down at the cap, and was pleased to see his search had paid off. The pole, plaque and cap demarcated the exact opposite of Four Corners - the far southeastern corner of the state of New Mexico.
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| The southeasternmost point in New Mexico! | Nearly new brass cap on the boundary corner | The very opposite of Four Corners |
The family piled out of the truck for all the usual obligatory bi-state photos and fun, and that was when it was noticed there was a second cylindrical object set flush into the earth adjacent to the plaque. We pulled it out, and discovered it was a geocache made from a colored glass jar, filled with items that cachers had deposited during their visits. Plus two scorpions that had crawled into the hiding hole.
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| That looks suspiciously like a geocache | Whaddayaknow - it is a genuine geocache | Say hi to the critters lurking in the hole |
As Richard attempted to coax the scorpions to a less-threatening place, Suzanne signed us into the log in the geocache jar and Duncan carefully chose a few Legos to be left behind in the cache as a memento of our visit. The jar was carefully resealed and redeposited, we re-boarded our vehicle, continued north for several miles, and after nearly 11 days we hung a left turn and finally departed Texas for the duration of this year's trip.
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| Adding our names to the geo-roll | And leaving an item (Legos, of course) |
Jal, New Mexico is distinguished as being the southeasternmost town in this rectangular state, and does offer several services for travelers, including an Allsup's station with fuel and sanitary facilities. And on our visit it even offered some zero-cost bonus entertainment - a delivery truck had just completed a shipment, and chunks of dry ice littered the parking area, releasing their carbon dioxide vapor into the morning air. Duncan found this fascinating, and a few impromptu scientific observations were made of the sublimation and the effect of supercooled solids on a few objects.
Looking at the map, New Mexico route 128 seems like it might be a quiet highway serenely traversing some lonesome lands. The oil-fueled reality, though, is much different, as 128 teems with overloaded semi-trucks laden with sloshing tubs of corrosive chemicals, veering onto dirt turnouts and turning onto the roadway without warning as they service the wells and rigs of this far corner of the state. Warily avoiding the speeding trucks, we continued westward, and then followed a map and GPS-negotiated "shortest practical alignment" to our next stop, which ended up taking us on a shortcut between US 285 and US 180 that involved narrow twisting county roads with some very "experienced" pavement.
But soon we turned onto the high-speed divided lanes of US 62 and 180, hung a right at Whites City, and spotted the sign denoting our in-depth destination for the day.
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| So we heard about this hole in the ground... |
This was Duncan's first time to Carlsbad Caverns, and on a warm desert day the idea of burrowing deep into the cool ground did seem like a good one. We parked amid the cars, trucks, and motor homes sporting a wide variety of license plates, got the obligatory stamp in the National Parks Passports, and boarded the industrial elevator to plummet an ear-popping 700+ feet deep into the ancient limestone.
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| Getting the National Parks Passports duly stamped | Going dooowwwnnn... |
Deep under the planet's surface, we appreciated the paved walkways that allowed for us to wander amid the impressive formations without the need for boots or ropes (although some of the ups and downs were rather strenuous). Recessed lighting displayed the spectrum of colors impregnated in the stone through millennia of erosion and percolation, and we wandered amid the massive stalagmites and under the slender stalactites, occasionally feeling a mineral-enriched drip or dribble falling from the high rocky ceiling.
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| A modernistic kiosk worthy of an underground lair | Wandering into the semi-dark depths | Wondrous shapes and colors appear in the hollowed rock |
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| The Big Room vista of bizarre geology | Draperies and a popcorn ceiling | Gargantuan stalagmites |
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| Pointy stuff on the top n' bottom | Stalacticious chandelier | "Um, yeah, son, it does look like a... alien spaceship." |
After a while in the near-darkness, the appreciation of the natural water-carved beauty might start to be affected by apprehension. Are there more sinister things lurking in the shadows?
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| Spooky spectres in the stony shapes | That rock monster's gonna getcha! | Cave formation, or pointy-toothed monstrosity? |
Unmolested by mineral monsters (but a bit footsore), we ascended in the elevator, and as our over-dilated eyes attempted to adjust back to the brilliant Southwest sunshine Duncan decided to smoosh a copper penny into another memento. Then back along the very curvaceous road, a big hello to the aliens and other goofy items in Whites City, and then a scoot north up the expressway to our next destinations.
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| A smooshed cent to cave-memmorate | Hanging out with other "travelers" |
It had been quite a spell since breakfast, and our bodies could use some interesting edibles. Carlsbad carries a variety of eateries, but the colorful sign of Kaleidoscoops seemed like it would offer the best combination of food to suit our needs. The oversize murals in the store's interior set the mood for a decent meal, and the dozens of frozen flavors of ice cream did make for a good dessert (once we could finally decide, that is).
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| Post-caverns dining at Kaleidoscoops | Because roller blading is clearly hazardous to your health | Ice cream truly is "happiness condensed" |
Artesia seemed to be a town of signs - a large bright yellow warning sign alerting truckers that US 82 west over the mountains might be a very steep mistake, a blue water and ice sign that showed where we could replenish our drinking fluids and food-chilling, and an Allsup's store with a flashing LED sign pointing the way to the restrooms that would make even the most jaded traveler smile.
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| Big yellow tale of wild driving | What's REALLY important for a comfortable road trip |
An anthropologist observing the Moeur tribe during their annual migration might be able to fill pages with observations and notes on social practices, grooming habits, and even conflict patterns. And the latter was in evidence in the Artesia Allsup's parking lot, when for some reason we can't remember the young offspring decided to publicly challenge the authority of the alpha Moeur. This led to head-to-head ritualized combat in the most literal sense, as a bald spot and coonskin cap battled for prestige within the clan. The younger Moeur wisely chose to save his battles for another day, allowing a resumption of the journey.
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| Canwegetafewsnackspleaseplease? | Young upstart challenges alpha bull roadtripper in cranial combat |
North of Artesia, the shadows were lengthening as we veered off US 285 for an early evening cruise through the small towns dotting old state highway number 2. And halfway through Hagerman, we looked over at a bench in front of a building... and saw no other than our old acquaintance Thomas Young from Day 3, who was taking a break from his day's riding. We asked him how his travels from Sanderson to here progressed, and he said he was having a very good time, with the south Texas flat tire problems apparently behind him. We wished him well and continued ourselves, approaching our evening stop as the sun drooped behind far clouds.
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| Big planet, small world: our 2nd meeting with Mr. Young |
Since the reports surfaced of reeeally long-distance tourists visiting the area back in the late 1940s, the town of Roswell has dealt with the fact that its name is now associated in the public consciousness with extraterrestrials and odd activities. And as we approached the city, we saw one of the ways the locals have embraced this notoriety - a billboard-type artwork showing a wholesome local family welcoming some green-skinned visitors with food and friendship. It made us feel better about our approach to Roswell, as the last red rays of a Class G star disappeared behind the western peaks.
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| We must be getting close to Roswell... | "Thanks, but we only eat fnordlsnirtzklurble pie". | Sunset sky peeks between clouds and mountains |
We still needed a place to stay, though, and we recalled a motel with majestic neon and decent rooms that we last stopped at in 2006. And as we approached on US 380, the neon glow of the Crane Motel's sign may be missing a few letters, but is still a welcoming sight. We tossed our stuff into the room while saying hello to the fuzzy felines prowling the parking lot, and then settled into a Roswell rest.
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| Abbreviated-epic neon at the Crane in Roswell |
We raised ourselves out of the big bed in the Crane Motel, tossed the stuff into the truck, and set forth to explore the strange alien world of Roswell. But we'll start with an epic quest for an early lunch. Wasn't difficult - a few blocks east of the motel is Tinnie Mercantile, a combination gift and sandwich shop offering fine art, goofy kitsch, and bacon, lettuce, and tomato. Good food in a nice atmosphere - just don't forget to ask for your pickle.
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| Delicious outdoor lunch at Tinnie's | A giant croissant of yumminess | The Great New Mexico Pickle Rationing of 2015 continues |
Fed and fortified, we ventured into the downtown area, where it seems every other sign and storefront is devoted to Roswell's title of "Space Alien Capital of Greater Southeastern New Mexico". And of these places, the one seemingly most devoted to the green-skinned tourists is the International UFO Museum Research Center, where a recitation of the events of 1947 is embellished with additional reports from around the world of "little green men" and flying saucers (although reports of flying sugar bowls or teakettles are suspiciously absent). Duncan was convinced of the veracity of the displays and information, especially when the large diorama in the center of the museum began spinning eerily and emitting odd sounds and jets of vapor; however, his dad remained stubbornly skeptical except for an appreciation of the humor levels of the items in the gift shop.
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| Strange beings are afoot in Roswell | Feeling rather alienated today | Visitors abducted in just one month from the wilds of Yooperdom |
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| Do they shrink in subspace? | Now in tubes for easier dispensing! | They've arrived. And they've brought cheesy dry ice effects! |
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| "Respect the classics, son." | If all spacecraft lit up this way, the universe would be much happier | A penny is transmogrified into a semi-saucer |
We emerged from the museum and sighted a nearby bakery offering out-of-this-world desserts, and the "alien face" cookie and "alien ears" creme horns were eagerly devoured by us Earthlings.
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| Quality baked goods achieve interplanetary appreciation | Let us devour the heads and horns of our visitors! |
And next door a small store just happened to be selling inexpensive offworlders that would be perfect for taking sides in Duncan's plastic army men / zombie / ninja battles, and we were quite satisfied with only a small outlay of currency.
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| Six more tiny beings join Duncan's crew | Achieving intergalactic consciousness and improving VHF reception |
But what other inexplicable items could be found in Roswell? One unfortunate event that occurred back in San Antonio was the mysterious disappearance of the paracord bracelet Duncan made in Vacation Bible School, and so one of the goals of our return trip was to find materials that could be used to reconstruct that useful adornment. And just east of downtown is Discount City, a building packed full of items most useful to alien hunters, aliens, hunters, and all beings in between. Although their shelves were bereft of the color of paracord we were seeking, we did find a useful pouch for stuff, plus some stoppers for sinks and tubs we might encounter in future travels. They know their vehicles as well - one of the staff members had stepped outside for a moment, spotted the Mighty Truckasaurus, and had determined very closely its date of manufacture even without having to look at the owner's manual or documentation. A discussion ensued regarding the durability of Chevrolet light trucks, some of the vehicular misadventures we'd yet survived, and their pride of ownership of a truck several decades older than our that still ran well. And finally, one thing that was pointed out to Duncan: part of their anti-theft program included a fully loaded semi-auto .223 rifle behind the counter - apparently any attempts at robbery would likely end with perforated perpetrators.
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| Ooh. This looks interesting. | Dealing with an infestation of invaders? This is the place to shop. | "Son, this is why you are always polite and honest at these places." |
Time to roll west out of Roswell. After a spell of scooting along US 70's four speedy lanes, US 380 veers northwest from 70 into the central mountains. This road with its twisty curves demands special attention while driving, and for some that attention can be greatly magnified when a Lincoln County Sheriff's Office vehicle is in your rear view mirror. The enforcement vehicle remained on our tail for many a mile as Richard assiduously obeyed the speed limit and lane lines, and eventually to our relief swung off to look for less law-abiding prey.
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| So which way now? | Following US 70 and US 380 into the mountains |
The highway continued to swerve into the higher elevations, and in the scenic town of Capitan we spotted signs with the name and image of a most familiar blue-jeans-clad bear. Many years ago, in the area of Capitan, a small bear cub was rescued from a forest fire, and soon was known far and wide as Smokey the Bear, the fur-covered mascot for wildland fire suppression for well over half a century. The museum tells the story of Smokey and of how generations of schoolchildren and outdoor recreationists learned the good habits of fire prevention from his growly-pitched voice. Some display cases feature the bear-normous variety of items that have been manufactured and printed with Smokey's broad-brimmed image, including comic books, toys, souvenirs, and the impressive and iconic series of posters that have graced Forest Service kiosks and public service advertising for over 70 years. In addition, the museum's materials discuss Smokey's changing role as wildfire management methods have evolved, and Smokey's unwitting role in portraying all fire as bad, when science now knows the value that managed combustion can have in maintaining a healthy ecosystem. And in a quiet garden in the rear of the property lies the earthly remains of old Smokey (the actual bear, not the idea), whose long tour as a four-legged spokesbear and National Zoo denizen ended quietly in 1976.
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| Only you can prevent road trip boredom | In front of old Smokey | A bearnormous collection of Smokey memorabilia |
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| OK, everyone sing along | Smokey Bear, Action Hero. However, after "Smokey Bear VIII", his agent said that he felt a bit typecast. | Our little fire spotter. Tall tower not included. |
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| "Only you can feed me quarters." | Paying our respects at Smokey's grave | Wonder what his GS rating was? |
We couldn't bear to leave Smokey's museum, but the staff's insistence on closing at their scheduled time (OK, maybe a bit after) gently pushed us back to US 380 and our waiting truck. But we didn't make it far - only a very short distance up the road the truck came to a sudden stop when a remarkable pile of colorful junk, er, really useful items were spotted strewn along the roadside. Turns out the place is called "What Do You Want For It?", reflecting the usual manner of conversation between potential buyers and the owners. And "it" they have - from reflective road signs to retired fire hydrants to ceramic cacti to all the display materials you might need for a new Twinkie dealership. But one sign was most sad to see - the one that said they were closed at the time, sparing us any need to figure out (for now) how we'd fit it all in the truck.
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| Ooh. Want. Don't need, but still want. | We're gonna need a bigger truck. |
After Capitan, we descended into the grasslands and valleys near Carrizozo, watching errant strikes of lightning from dark clouds in the distance and nearby cattle chewing contentedly in the fields. We greeted them in our usual road trip manner by playing bovine-themed songs on the truck's stereo and using the high-powered PA in the front bumper to call out a friendly "moooo" as we rumbled past. Carrizozo was the site of an overnight stop on one of our 2006 trips, but on this day we hung a left turn and kept moving, promising we'd stop at the soda fountain next time we're nearby. US 54 took us down to Tularosa, and a hungriness in our midsections suggested that perhaps a stop for some noms might be nice. And a steel-and glass drive-in was duly spotted, which raised our spirits - but then the locked door and dusty interior (in contrast to the still-neatly-stacked items on the counters) meant this wouldn't be our eating place for the late day. :(
From here, it's not a long drive to Alamogordo, and the giant pistachio on the roadside seemed to indicate more fun was ahead. But heading toward us in the other direction was a black billowing thunderhead, which caught us in a drenching downpour as we reached the city limits. This seemed to be a good-enough suggestion to think about spending the night here, and a quick scan of motel marquees revealed the parabolic presence of the Satellite Inn, whose space-age signage seemed to offer a suitable place for docking for a night's rest. The friendly staff checked us in, and Richard splashed through the sheets of wetness to haul in our cargo.
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| Docking for the evening under the space-arific sign | Big. Green. Chair. |
But we hadn't quite had dinner yet. But what to do? This was solved by Suzanne's spotting a purple-hued and neon-embellished Caliche's hot dog and frozen custard stand directly across the highway from the Satellite. It just couldn't get any better (from a space-age high-calorie perspective) than this, and we devoured fine franks and frozen freshness in the comfort of our modernistic lodgings.
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| Bright neon sign beckons us to frozen goodness | Look at what's right across from the motel! | This is a good road trip... |
We dropped out of our Satellite rest, and even though the intercontinental ballistic breakfast in the lobby had a few yummy items, the family decreed something more substantial was desired, and Richard was dispatched on a vital mission to forage for a prefabricated McDonald's meal.
After the chow was located, divvied, and devoured, we departed the motel and ascended the steep grade on the northeast side of the city until the missile-festooned grounds of the New Mexico Museum of Space History appeared in the windscreen of our vehicle.
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| Space has a history. Let's investigate. | Flags fly in the breeze as the monsoon clouds billow |
The exterior grounds of the museum display a variety of rockets, missiles, drones, engines, and research devices spanning over half a century of history. The museum has the actual rocket-powered sled where Dr. Stapp of the Air Force became the "fastest man on the surface of the Earth" as part of research into the effect of sudden G forces on moist meaty humans, and the towering full-size "Little Joe" rocket from the Apollo program again serves as a handy measuring device to track the growth of our fast-vertically-expanding child.
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| Rows of rockets and missiles in the courtyard | "Surrender, Alamogordo, or be annihilated!" | Zero to 632 to zero mph. Could be a fun ride? |
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| Duncan has certainly "rocketed" up in size since 2008 |
Within the imposing multi-story building, the story of space travel unfolds, with models of many famous rockets illustrating important milestones in aerospace activity, and interactive features allowing visitors to feel the roar of a rocket launch, try their hand at landing a space shuttle (oops), build a planetary rover, and for the kids to don replica helmets and spacesuits to explore interesting imaginary worlds. And don't forget the gift shop, where all manner of astro-rific shirts, kits, and other items await one's interest and wallet, plus a coin-operated scale which helpfully points out that a person's weight on Pluto would definitely be within dietary guidelines, but that the gravitational attraction of Jupiter or Saturn might make someone heavy indeed.
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| We'll try to keep the wreckage to a minimum | Our mini-astronaut masters the Mercury capsule |
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| What could possibly go wrong? | "Son, don't step in front of a missile." | Landing a Space Shuttle. So easy a kid can do it. |
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| Astro-nuts | Designing an extraterrestrial probe | Hey, you weigh 5 pounds on Pluto |
As we navigated away from the space museum, we ascertained that additional transportation-related fun might still be found within Alamogordo. Alongside US 70 near the center of the city is a park with a playground, grassy fields, and a fully functioning railway line. A rail line? Yes, the Toy Train Depot runs a scaled-down streamliner train that carries passengers of all ages around and about on a looping 10-minute round trip under the New Mexico skies.
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| Making tracks to another fun destination | Weathered small-scale rails still in service | Steamer for special occasions |
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| Hey look! A train we can ride! | The Baltimore and Ohio and Alamogordo | Allll abooooard! |
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| Departing on a rumbly rail journey | Arriving after a long ride | Truer wisdom has never been plaqued |
But that's not the only attraction: within the museum building itself are display cases showing many popular and historic examples of model railroading memorabilia, including some themed train sets from years gone by, an impressive variety of tank cars and cabooses (cabeese?) displaying the names of companies and railways that have faded from the public scene or still live on today.
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| A "gravy train" and other collectible railcars | A 'monopolistic' type of train | Boxcars to the left, cabeese to the right |
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| Tanks for everything | A box brings back memories for Dad | The 0-4-0 that Richard really wanted as a kid |
Also amid all this "loco" stuff are several fully-built train layouts in a variety of scales and gauges, with trains of many types chugging and whirring by the meticulously-detailed scale scenery. This brought back many memories for Richard, whose modest HO railroad back in the mid-1970s was serviceable, but would have been so much nicer if he'd only been able to afford some of the locomotives and rolling stock displayed on these walls.
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| Admiring the impressive multiple layouts | "Look! They're arresting that little guy!" | An amazing attention to detail |
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| And a busy N scale layout too | Model railroading has been around for a while |
Time to roll-o out of Alamogordo. After some heartburn involving a snafued fast food order (let's just not talk about it...), we rumbled west on US 70 by the bright yellow warning signs alerting us to the fact we were about to traverse an active missile range, and that the entire highway might be shut down should a need arise to launch something big and potentially explosive from the desert floor into the blue yonder. Then on by the shimmering white sands of the national monument and up the steep grades of a mountain pass, whose summit gave us impressive views of Las Cruces and the Rio Grande valley.
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| Warning signs for an explosive closure |
We cruised through the heart of Las Cruces on the old highway, seeing some fun and familiar places from road trips past, and then merged onto good ol' Interstate 10 for some higher-speed haulin'. A glance at the sky noted some gray clouds moving to intercept us near Deming, and we exited onto old US 70-80 to view what sorts of places might be open for business in this small city. A spur-of-the-moment turn into downtown just off the old highway took us by a variety of shops, and then... we beheld a sight that would put paralyzing fear into any parent's wallet.
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| This storefront looks fun, but perhaps scary... |
A sign, in big bold letters taped behind the glass: CARDS! COMICS! ACTION FIGURES! TOYS! Duncan had repeatedly stated that one place he was really truly hoping to visit while on this trip was a well-stocked comic book store, and it looked like his wishes were coming true.
The name: Infinite Possibilities. Sounds... promising.
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| Cards! Comics! Action Figures! Skeletons! | That explains it |
And about then, those previously-mentioned clouds helped to reinforce the decision by dumping a bundle of moisture upon us and all the surrounding Demingzens. Yes, we suppose we could look around.
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| The weather gods decree that we stay for a while |
Frank Carter and his son introduced themselves to us and began a guided tour of all the oddball, bizarre, goofy, and in some cases borderline disturbing items within this emporium of eccentricity, showing us a number of unique and hard-to-find elements of modern pop culture, and of course gently reminding us that just about everything was for sale at reasonable prices.
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| For some reason, I suspect they welcome us | Going for the "family-friendly" demographic |
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| The biggest selection of "Spawn" merchandise in the tri-county area | We think the value of this set just went up... |
Duncan immediately professed to Mr. Carter that he was in his infallible opinion "the biggest comic book fan ever!", and his dad flinched a bit, concerned that Frank would get all Comic Book Guy on us and turn his Condescension Rays upon our son until he was a quivering puddle of demolished ego. Instead, Mr. Carter asked Duncan all his favorite comics (Batman, something else, Batman), and then in a very supportive and helpful manner advised our son that a love of comic books and other imagination-stoking items is a great and wonderful thing. He led us into a back room that we swear doubled as a secure vault, rummaged through a box, and pulled out a mint-condition World's Finest Comics issue from early 1941, showing Superman, Batman, and Robin in their very earliest crime-fighting years. Although we couldn't quite afford that particular issue, The Carters then showed us a number of other comic titles and lines, and suggested to Duncan some other superheroes whose adventures didn't involve an arm and a leg, and finally persuaded us into buying an issue of "Darkhawk", an early 1980s Marvel hero who was reasonably well-written but not so over-popular as to be cliche or so rare as to be unattainable. Suzanne wasn't left out either, as she purchased some colorful dice (just 6-sideds, not the 8s, 12s, or 20s also in the drawers) and we talked bout fads, culture, science fiction, and a gamut of other important topics as we waited for the rain to cease. But despite Duncan's pleas for us to stay longer or even allow him to become a legally-binding member of the Carter clan, we had to depart, and with final words of "Excelsior!" we buckled into the Truckasaurus and disapparated westward.
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| Can we buy THIS one?? | Corrupting our son with a cornucopia of comics | Excelsior! |
Back on the open road west of Deming, we again came within visual range of the burgeoning batches of Bowlin's billboards decorating the desert. A brief stop at Butterfield Station located a useful charging cord (which we left on a table and forgot to buy - oops) and some fun with the serapes and sombreros offered for sale on the well-stocked shelves.
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| OK, we'll take you up on this | Super sombreros amid the serapes |
"Hey, Dunc, do you want to stay at the motel with the playground again?" came the question from the front seat as we rolled out of the showers and on toward Lordsburg, and the enthusiastic affirmative from the back seat meant that our lodging choice for our final evening would be the same as our first. As we had the foresight and good timing to arrive during daylight, Duncan and his dad were able to enjoy a spell of late-day fun on the experienced yet entertaining equipment.
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| Now in the "reruns" part of the trip. But it's still fun. | Swinging the classic horses again | Late-day angular acceleration |
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| I think Dad spun him a bit too fast... | Richard's turn on the Slide of Pachydermy | Never too old to say "Whee" |
And as we completed our spins and slides, a magnificent sunset revealed itself on the western horizon, silhouetting a passing freight train and the neon of the town's eateries in unforgettably gorgeous hues. Then into the room for a peaceful rest (and more crochet therapy for Suzanne) after a peppily penultimate day, and dreams of what our final travel miles might bring tomorrow.
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| Sunset along the Union Pacific in Lordsburg |
There's a familiar feeling at the beginning of each year's final day on the road. A sense that it'll be nice to be home again, but also a bit of sadness that the adventure eventually has to end (although we could've done without the emergency room visits). But there is one more day to go - let's fill it with fun, why don't we?
But a good day starts better with a good meal, and after waving farewell to the Holiday Motel we arrived again at the glass-fronted facade of the Whistle Stop Cafe for more generous helpings of high-quality food. Only this time, Duncan took it upon himself to tell the staff and visitors in detail about every single event that had transpired since the last time we came through the door, and also to show off the cool comic items he'd acquired in Deming on the previous day.
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| Back at the Whistle Stop | Honking trains seen thru the Whistle Stop window |
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| Snail says "I want to come in too!" | Showing off his comics to the Whistle Stop crew |
While we were waiting for our food to be served, Richard and Duncan walked the short block down US 70 to stop by the local Western Auto store. Yes, Lordsburg is still proud to have a surviving store in this once-national chain, and the welcome and service we received does great credit to their friendly approach to business. Although they no longer stocked a window crank to fit the Truckasaurus, they did have an air filter on the shelf perfect to help our V-8's breathing that much happier. And they even have a 1960s-vintage bright-red Coke machine still serving 8-ounce bottles of fizzy acidic refreshment, so of course we couldn't leave without dropping a few quarters and hearing that classic "clink-thunk" as the bottle is pulled through the narrow swinging door.
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| Proud place from the past still doing business | Ice-cold glass-bottled refreshment! |
Leaving Lordsburg with a satisfied slightly-burping family, we set course west across the playas and sand hills of far southwestern New Mexico, as Suzanne finished up yet another crocheted creation she'd crafted during our travel time. On this trip, it seems she's created a whole pile of very useful cloths as gifts for family, friends, and others.
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| Out on the open road for one more day | What Suzanne accomplished during our travel |
And after twenty minutes driving, a sign was spotted in the distance well over a mile away, displaying alternating vivid red and fluorescent yellow rays surrounding a copper star above a deep blue region. Yes, the boundary line for our home state was approaching, and as we reached the state line we pulled (safely) off the superhighway to have our photos taken with the 16-foot-wide Arizona welcome sign built by Richard's friends back at the ADOT Sign Factory in Phoenix. But there is another interesting quirk to the geography of this site - due to the fact that the Interstate crosses the line at a noticeable angle, smaller state line signs have been placed exactly flush with the exact boundary to assist with maintenance, enforcement, and other "that's yours over there, that's ours over here" activities. A glance at the tire tracks leading on and off the shoulder here is evidence that we're not the only folks who think this spot is a photogenic stop - while we were there, we did our good turn by snapping photos of other travelers who also halted briefly for this geo-photo opportunity.
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| A sign so big and bright, you can literally see it from more than a mile away | We're baaaack! |
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| Bifurcated by the bi-state boundary | So three years ago... |
And there's also another interesting artifact in this vicinity - an ancient-looking concrete obelisk standing mutely by the roadside, with whatever markings which might have once been seen on its sides long erased by sun, wind, and sand. It seemed to be oriented in a manner intended to define some important point on the highway, but it is clearly offset some distance from the exact state line. A bit of sighting along the pointed edge toward the highway seems to have revealed its purpose (maybe) - a line from the obelisk perpendicular to the highway intercepts the eastbound lanes (the center of the old state road) exactly where it crosses the boundary. Mystery solved? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. But it works for us. :)
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| A mysterious obelisk stands sentinel | Aha! The end points to the spot where the old road crossed the state line |
The early-afternoon drive across the eastern expanses of southern Arizona elapsed quickly under hot summer skies, with a cruise through San Simon and Bowie to see how the ol' towns were faring. But it wasn't long until we were exiting into the town of Willcox, with us looking forward to a stop at Carter's Drive-In to see our big fiberglass buddies and take in a bit of ice cream. We were elated to spot the bulbous craniums of the ex-A&W Burger Family still standing by the old highway - but then surprised to see the Carter's restaurant had become Adolfo's Taco Shop. But let it be noted that we are most pleased that the new entrepreneurs in the old stand still see fit to keep these giant guys and gals employed, even if the cuisine is somewhat spicier.
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| Papa Burger still proudly stands in Willcox | Mama Burger accessorizes with root beer | Our pre-teen poses with the Teen Burger boy |
Where else to stop in Willcox? Back toward downtown, we did see a storefront stuffed with speed limit signs, color-coordinated lanterns, and other odds n' ends under its tile-roof awning, and so we stopped in to see what might be found. The staff at Willcox Traders gave us a warm welcome, and encouraged Duncan to seek a "new to him" comic book or two in the pile (including a Sergio Aragones "Groo the Wanderer" issue) as the parents poked around the antiques, collectibles, and other utilitarian items. The Traders did have for sale a nearly-irresistible item in the form of a fuzzy little bunny, but we knew the combination of a long drive home and several possibly un-bunny-compatible pets back at the house meant we couldn't take him home today. But if we ever change our minds, we might be back...
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| Another interesting roadside store | Duncan gets a Groo | And they have fuzzy bunnies! |
Although we departed Willcox bunny-less, our moods were still rather good as the miles rumbled under the truck's almost-27-year-old-chassis. But wouldn't ice cream make it a bit better? We exited onto the old highway to cross the verdant San Pedro River and see the old arch truss bridge still carrying cross-country rail traffic, and then a repeat visit at Old Benson Ice Cream Stop to be served more brain-freezing frostiness with a bright smile from the young lady at the window.
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| Old San Pedro River bridge | Always time for ice cream |
Even though Interstate 10 in many places overlays (and obliterates) the earlier alignment and pavement of old US 80, there are a few places where the earlier highway still exists as a scenic alternative. One of them is near Marsh Station, where the old road rolls up and down across the high desert topography, and then drops down suddenly to Cienega Creek, where a nearly-century-old arch bridge still carries traffic supported by its graceful curves.
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| Near-century-old Cienega Creek arch bridge | Obligatory "Duncan bridge hat" photo |
As we approached the urbanized area of Tucson, a plaintive cry arose from the back seat: "I gotta go again." Ooookay, no problem, we're coming into a big city. But where to stop? We were confronted by an absence of restaurants or convenience stores within sight of the highway, but then Richard remembered a place that would suit all our needs. Quick exit, veer onto the old highway, a right & quick left, and we pulled into the parking lot of Ajo Bikes, which sports not only one of the best selections of eclectic componentry in the state but also has an open-to-patrons restroom fully suitable for a desperate family. Happiness for all - especially when Richard saw that 26" tubes and a high-security lock were on sale as well.
We've had the good fortune to visit Tucson several times in Duncan's youth, and one place ranking very highly on the entertainment index is the Children's Museum just south of downtown. Richard rolled the dusty Truckasaurus up to a spot on 6th Avenue and fed the parking meter as mom and son headed into the museum's air-conditioned confines for a few hours of semi-educational frolic.
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| Let's play |
We messed with jets of air, learned the fine art of safecracking, goofed around in front of stop-action cameras, and unwound from a long day's driving. And in one room, a large sign on the wall commanded: "BUILD IT" - and Duncan was happy to oblige, turning wooden slats and beams into carts and structures through the judicious use of couplers and bolts. Dad even got into the act with a crazy curvilinear structure, and after a spectacular collision between the boys' creations we adjourned to see other rooms within the place.
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| The sign commands: "Build It" | Our boy sets to building | Caution - Overgrown Children at Play |
In one area, a produce grocery adjoins a clinic for the care of stuffed pets, which resulted in the unusual sight of our son performing a delicate operation on a rather large broccoli. The procedure seemed to be progressing satisfactorily until another consulting "expert" (just what do you call a doctor for side veggies?) took exception to Dunc's brocco-care and resulted in the loss of the patient (to be played with by someone else).
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| Duncan safely in his cage | "We must operate on Mrs. Broccoli!" | Differences in opinions between the experts |
That was fun. But who wants dinner? How about a stuffed-full memories-for-the-ages buffet dinner? Yay! Furr's Fresh Buffet by the freeway has treated us well through the years, and our final meal for this year's trip was a tray-straining cornucopia of meats, fish, side dishes, salads, jello, and pie, with all of it ranging from very good to downright excellent. And then back into the truck to start the engine one more time, with the sun's departure from the Arizona sky creating a vivid scene behind the desert peaks.
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| Final colorful mega-buffet meal | The sun sets on our trip |
The final 130 miles or so were quiet and enjoyable, reminiscing about the adventures we'd shared over the past two weeks while also starting our plotting and planning for our 2016 trip (which should be out Savannah way). But soon enough the overhead freeway signs and increased traffic turbulence announced our return to the Phoenix area, as Richard guided the truck along the ramps and interchanges. And then a final whoop-de-doo over our neighborhood hill, into the driveway, and off with the ignition, and the Big 2015 Road Trip was complete.
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| Welcomed home by the blurry freeway signs |
Except for the unpacking. But we'll spare you that drama.
Hope you enjoyed it, and see you in 2016!
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Latest Historical Revisionism 13 December 2015 (typo-radication)
Scripting: Richard C. Moeur
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