Saturday,
October 12, 2002
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Picture
lifted from an ebay offer of shares of oil producing land.
"It was as if a vital evolutionary
advantage had been bestowed centuries ago on those members of the species
who lived in a state of concern about what was to happen next." |
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driving, driving, driving Dad and I decide to be off around seven, I think. He's here and I'm ready. I have made a couple of sandwiches and put them in an insulated bag with some carrots and apples. I have filled both my insulated stainless steel commuter mugs with coffee. I have packed, including a sweater, a sweatshirt, a jacket. We will drive until it is cool.
Dad drives first. We take Texas 29 to Brady. The Hill Country yields road kill to classify and count. Three skunks, a possum, at least a dozen raccoons and an armadillo (showing up moments after Dad notes we haven't seen one. The shards of retreads thrown from truck tires sometimes fool us, too. We see tumbleweeds, too. Good-sized ones that you want to dodge. And some kind of tiny variety, dancing across the road like bizarre little creatures. I find myself saying not much to Dad. Just an occasional 'yep' to acknowledge the comments about oil and cotton. When sand dances across the road from a field under cultivation, Dad says, "That old boy is inside watching football while his field blows away." Then he explains how they break up a dusty crust to avoid the erosion.
We are driving across a blank area of the country. I'm writing in a green leather travel journal with a map of the U.S. in sepia tones in the front. It acknowledges nothing between Oklahoma City and Albuquerque. In fact, it doesn't acknowledge Austin either. To compound the lack of civilization, Dad has insisted on a road that bypasses the big cities of Lubbock and Amarillo. Dad starts talking about a place in Dalhart called the Nursanickel. It turns out he is talking about a motel and it does, in fact, exist. It looms up about 5:30. We've been driving for over ten hours. I suggest we stop. We get two rooms adjoining on the bottom floor and, after some searching, we find a barbecue place. I have barbecue and Dad has chicken-fried steak. (Lately he seems intent on having CFS and fries a lot of places, as if he is doing a survey.) Dad is thrilled to see that I've brought a half pint of Jack Daniels with a few shots left in it. We get some ice and have a drink while watching the news and he turns in. I read and write and watch TV. I know he'll want to roll early. I sleep.
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179
JUST
TYPING