Day 5: In the Heart of the Enemy Camp
Driving Horror
The high speed roadways of Houston are deathtraps. The same is true of Austin. I would feel more comfortable on a mortocycle in New York City.
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Austin Hospitality
The capital city is cool, but Justine wasn’t impressed. Got gas from my new friend, bp. Should have been nice and easy. Half a mile later: no power and multiple backfires. I pull onto a side street hoping it would work itself out. It got worse. The engine didn’t stop; it just limped along. I turn Justine off. By now mechanically inclined guys were standing in front of four different garages and carports along the street asking if I needed a hand. After eleven years in NYC, I assumed they must all be part of the same gang and that they were working together on some heinous plan to steal Justine away from me. Turns out it’s a streetfull of mechanics. Me: Is this for real? So before you know it, Alex (the elected motorcycle expert) says, “You got some bad gas. What gas station were you at? Let’s drain the tank.” Next thing you know, I’m cleaning and regapping my spark plugs, draining gas and riding off to his favorite gas station to get “safe” gas. I was back on the road within two hours, after leaving behind a case of Bud Ice.
Austin Sightings
Bumper stickers on a Toyota Hybrid: Religion Is Just A Cult With More People; Meat Is Murder. My thought: wrong state, buddy. Bumper stickers on a Nissan(?) truck: Tree Hugging Dirt Lover; Use Alternative Fuels. My thought: Why do people go places that will cause them pain? I remember, then, that it is Austin, there is a university, there are good films and good music, and Austin is a progressive town. By Texas standards, it’s New York.
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Frying Pan to Fire
I’ve effected my escape from Austin. In spite of the mechanical hospitality and my desire to hear some tunes, the vibe wasn’t quite right today. I drove on; maybe I can be out of Texas by Saturday evening. That turned out to be an iffy idea as well. Route 290 runs through the middle of nowhere. No gas. No food. No hotel. I finally make it to a town that is large enough to have multiple stoplights. Numerous hotels, but they are all filled. (I still have no idea why.) Finally, one of the clerks refers me to one that he knows has vacancies. Very nice. Hanger Hotel. It’s built inside an old aircraft hangar. Impressive. I think the work is specific enough to indicate that there was actually an architect on hand for this. The interior is great. Nice bar also. Maybe the bar clouded my vision.
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Retreaded Thought for the Day
There’s only one driver: pleasure.
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Weird Stuff I Can’t Fix Right Now
My tanning pattern. Burned my forearms while traipsing around Florida. They’re now peeling. My face is more tan where it’s not covered by helmet or sunglasses, in spite of the fact that I’m usinq 45 sun block. I’m placing a call to M.J. tomorrow.