Texas loves you

I vowed that I would not spend another night in a hotel. I would find cheaper accommodations, and since I wasn't willing to do anything lower quality than the Rusty Skeez-pile Motel in GA, I would camp.

The first failed camp attempt I learned: never go looking for a campsite with anything less than a full tank of gas. The second failed attempt, I learned: never go looking for a campsite later than 5 pm.

I'm not a moron, usually. But I think I so desperately wanted this trip to be as un-planned as possible. And I learned the price for spontaneity is $95 a night.

I aimed for Texas.

Texas is like the threatening, mysterious friend of your parents. You can't predict him. Is he going to be cool and let you play king of the mountain in the basement? Or is he going to yell at you if you knock over a glass and threaten to hit you with his belt?

East Texas, is, not surprisingly, a lot like west Louisiana. But then it slowly gets drier and lighter in color, slowly fading. The trees are replaced with stubborn-looking shrubs. It was exciting. I have been to Houston once, and that is my only experience with Texas.

I approached Dallas out of necessity. It was too long to go around it. I had heard things about Dallas--that it was not cool, that it was horrible. This is almost exactly what I picture when I think of Dallas:



The criss-crossing overpasses were nothing compared to the evil that lay in store. I noticed that the sky was beginning to look like an egg carton. From what I remembered from Earth Science, this was very bad. Clouds are usually flat on the underside.



It was seriously Biblical. The sky was sort of green, too. I turned on the radio to hear if there were tornado warnings. No, but they warned of hail.

HAIL. HAIL YES. I drove through a maelstrom. Wind, torrential rain. Traffic was stopped so I could do nothing but sit in my car and think about animals being pelted with pea-sized hail.

The hail stopped, but the rain continued for another hour. And here's the best part of travelling. You just leave when it gets bad. Raining? Drive past the rain. When I finally saw the sun peeking through the clouds, I felt a renewed sense of freedom and promise. I celebrated by going to Dairy Queen.

Turned north at Abeline, drove up and through small towns where people looked at me as I drove by. I don't rememeber what I was thinknig when I took this pic. Probably something like, "Wow that looks just like what I thought the West would look like!"



Same here.



I did pass this sign.



I found the campsite fairly easily. The book said it was free, but there was a self-serve permit station, and it cost $6 to camp. You filled out the date and your license plate on an envelope and filled it with money. Probably no one in the area does this. Probably I am the only one. But I filled the envelope with quarters, because I'm a good person. And also I was imagining the ranger opening an envelope full of quarters.

They had four campsites on White River Lake. I picked the one farthest away from the road, so I wouldn't be bothered, and so no one would see me try and assemble my tent. My $20 children's tent from Walmart. I have to sleep in it diagonally.

One small lack of forethought: Lakes are filled with mosquitos. I wore my hoodie, jeans, and shoes, though it was like 70 degrees. Even still a few found their way inside.

I set up my little stove. I made my little Lipton side Fettucine Alfredo (not bad). I did some puzzles, and I tried to sleep. But did you know that ducks make sounds like braying donkeys? Maybe a mating thing.

The site was awesome, but I couldn't find a good angle. So the next morning I decided to take a video. I plan on uploading it, but I'm currently having trouble.

And one last thing. The roads were mostly empty. But when I passed a truck (always a truck), I noticed that the driver lifted up his or her finger from the steering wheel, the way you might do to say "Thank you for letting me go" or "hey there, I have the right of way, as indicated by this yield sign, which I point at for your convenience." Except every truck on the road did it to me. Finally I realized they were saying hi. What on earth. I did it back a few times.

Man I'm tired of writing on this blog. I think I know why. Here's where I left off.

Louisiana was lush. I liked the look of it, all the trees and the wet wind slapping around. It rained the entire time I was there. I drove across the northern part of it. Parts were crowded, parts were empty, but it was the same road. That's how it goes on DA ROAD.

I decided I would camp. I looked in my campbook and found a place that was 1) nearby 2) free. I planned to get there at 7. But I spent 3.5 hours looking for it. I never did find it, though again I wasn't lost. This was just like my last attempt to camp. It was dark, I was in an unknown place, it was more frustrating than anything else. (One difference here was that the campsite I wanted in Georgia was located near a Civil War memorial thing--some camp where 30,000 soldiers died horrible deaths in captivity. So maybe it was for the best that I never found it)

The rain got worse, and in frustration I just picked the first hotel I found. It was a Sleep Inn, and I found out that my UF alumni thingy allowed me a 10% discount. But the man at the front desk told me I had to make a reservation on the internets if I wanted the discount. And the room would be $95. javascript:void(0)

What happens when you are tired and when it is raining is: you spend money.

It was an absurdly luxurious room, considering the Secret Passage Dumphole in GA. So many linens--so, so, many linens. I should have taken a picture but I was lazy. And we've all been in semi-upscale chain hotels. So instead I ate tuna and watched Witness, starring Harrison Ford. I should have gone to bed but Witness is one of those movies that came out before I had consciousness, and it's like, not good enough to rent, but good enough that when you're in a hotel you watch it. Harrison Ford is great, and he exchanges so many sullen, lusty glances with the Amish lady of his desires.

I have no pictures of this day.

first day

I think the first day deserves some attention. It certainly was awkward enough. I got on the road and almost immediately said to myself, "What in the hell am I doing?"

I hope later it'll feel more like second-nature.

I went for the Outer Banks. I know this of it.

1. It made popular those oval stickers with OBX printed.
2. It is like Ocean City, "but boring," said my brother when he was 13.
3. It contains a town named Duck
4. It is, in my head, a town made of sand dunes. It's totally off the grid.
5. To get there, take 95 to 64 E and so forth.

Driving south was like going forward in time. I watched the seasons change. 64 was the first road with any green on it (interstate 95 does not support life). It was a very gray, foggy day. Foreboding. On the bridge near Newport News, I saw very evil looking fog. You know, when the fog isn't an even cloud but smoky and organic. Like the illustrations in Scary Stories.

One similarity between Ocean City and the Outer Banks is the road leading there. Very unimportant-feeling, through small fields and ranch houses, and then an abrupt transition into a beach town. One difference is the dismal number of themed mini golf courses in OBX. I only saw one. There also is no boardwalk, and that means there are no henna tattoo stalls or arcades or seagulls fighting bitterly over discarded french fries.

But OBX does have some beautiful beach houses. A nice place to visit, even on a wet, gray day. Route 12 runs north-south. I drove north, through creepy green foliage, past lots of white SUVs, into a state park that said "4 Wheel Drive ONLY." Then I turned around.

I stayed at the Cavalier Motel.





Recommended. Really sweet inside. I met a mother staying next door with her two kids and had the opportunity to tell my first lie of the trip.

Her: So where are you guys from?

Oh really! You guys. Why can't people fathom a young woman traveling alone? I talked to myself and calmed down. She saw me trying to unwedge my jacket from the immense pile of crap in my car--she probably thought one person wouldn't need so much. Indeed. But I lied anyway because I never did meet those two kids of hers.

Me: Oh, we're from Maryland and Florida.
Her: And you met here?
Me: No, we met in Florida.
Her: You guys are on spring break, eh?
Me: It's complicated. I'm on spring break but he's not.
Her: I see.
Me: Yeah, it's hard to say goodbye.

What? And then I had that Boyz 2 Men song in my head for the next 40 minutes. I walked on the beach, very pleased that my feet were warm in my new Smartwool socks. I tried to think of what my purpose for this trip is. I also thought if I need a name. So far I have "Self Reliance '09" and "Quest for Dignity," and I know it doesn't make sense but it sounds good, right? But I couldn't decide on a name, and I was distracted by two seashells I found. Below is a picture of my feet and the ground, but the seashells I found are not pictured.



The beach is comforting, and here's why. You think of the ocean as alive, not as like a fragile ecosystem, but as a sentient being. Maybe an animal. It has moods, it slaps the ground and washes things up. And it really doesn't give a shit about you, in any way. This is comforting.

Staircases on the beach are absurd and great. They don't fit in, at all, and they're hulking and rigid and measured. No worn path in the ground--we need 12 stairs of equal size. Seeing a row of them really tickled me.

And here's a stupid self-picture. Not the last, I hope!!!!!



I like motels. I like a private space. I like HBO and I like not having to clean up when I leave. I ate a grapefruit and watched Terminator 2. Such a good movie, really. Though if you dissect it too much it doesn't make sense--how does the T-1000 work? He's liquid, but he's a robot? My frail human mind cannot take it. Also I love the part where Arnold says, "Now I know why you cry" and then is lowered dramatically into a vat of molten metal. Mark my words, I will go out that way.

I have pictures but I haven't yet figured out how to get them off my camera.