but Texas wants me anyway.
I’ve been telling the locals that this is my first trip here, because I think they’d sneer to hear me talk about driving through the Panhandle—both as a child and as an adult. But Texas always lets me know I’m on my way home. How? Hot sauce on the tables in coffee shops. They don’t have that on the East Coast—or at Gitmo, for that matter.
A special shout-out to Jerry Lee and Greg Tinsley. It seems appropriate.
* * *
No barbecue yet, Guys; just some sliders for supper; they weren’t remotely like White Castles, but they were rectangular. And amazingly flavorful, from the beef to the freakin’ lettuce. The bacon on ’em may be the best I’ve ever had in my life: Thick, and smoked forever. Even the local lager was good.
And suddenly, we’re listening to the Vaughn brothers:
The cabdriver told me Houston wasn’t good for culture or night life, but that it sure was a good place for business. “Once you’ve got business,” I replied, “you should be able to buy all the culture you want. Next time I’m down here we’ll pass the hat around and get an opera house going.”
I dunno; I just like being somewhere where I’m the least well-armed person around. Before I left, Lee and I looked at a map, and I made him point out the Hill Country. “Show me Wootersland,” I demanded. He did.
But it’s terrible being here without my car: I want to see the rest of this state. I mean . . . they say it’s bigger than California, but . . . how big can a state really be?
Give me two weeks, my Cruiser, and my .357. Someday.
Tomorrow, I’m off to learn about the latest in petro-technologies, and hang out with one of my favorite blogger-nations. So life is very good, despite having an early call in the morning.
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I too, have a soft spot for the Panhandle. I spent a good deal of time on the BNSF Panhandle Subdivision dumping rock of guys like Randy Skovbo, John Thomas and Bill Merritt. I used to be able to name every control point from the OK line to Amarillo, Breakfast at the cafe at the Black Gold Motel in Pampa, large portions and high chlolesterol counts. Lunch at the BBQ joint in Canadian. Yeah, I like it too.
Welcome to Texas, sister! You will fit right in. Lemme know if you need anything.
As I recall, when you cross the Lousyanna state line on I-10, the first mile marker you see is 878. You’re gonna need more than two weeks…
I’ll definitely be back, Wendy. I’m not doing this right at all! I mean, I am!—but I’m not.