On the road (day 2)...
Aug. 9th, 2001 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alexpgpI got up at 6:00 am, emptied the room and got on the road again. A few miles later, I stopped at an IHOP for breakfast. The service was quick and the food was good. I felt at the top of my form.
I'd been using my GPS since leaving Pagosa to track my progress back along the waypoints that I'd marked on my way from Texas to Colorado a couple of months back. I did it as more of a lark than anything else, but as it turned out, the unit came in handy twice.
Once, I came to a stop light and glanced at the unit, which told me that I was 0.02 miles from my destination (meaning that this stop light was the destination), and that my next waypoint was off directly to my right, about 27 miles away.
That meant that I was supposed to turn right there, except I really hadn't been paying attention to the road. The GPS saved me some time at that intersection.
Later, as I passed through the thriving metropolis of Goldthwaite, I hit another destination and continued on highway 84 as I dialed in the next waypoint, which turned out to be about 20 degrees to my right and about 30 miles away.
About 20 minutes later, something tugged at me to look at the unit, which now showed my destination to be directly to my right and 27 miles away. Something was wrong.
I pulled over to the side of the road and looked at my large-scale map, and realized that Goldthwaite was where I was supposed to turn off of 84 onto highway 183, heading south, eventually ending up in Austin. I turned around and a few miles down the road, saw a sign that told me that Goldthwaite was 16 miles distant. Between driving from and to that town, I would kill about 40 minutes and be no better off than I had been when I missed the turn.
I had just passed a turnoff onto a county road that led, if the sign could be believed, to a village called Moline, which was not on my map. Since the road appeared to go in the right direction, I decided to chance it and went down that road.
I was pleased to see that my GPS arrow and the road pretty much pointed the same direction for most of the trip. The road was a two-lane, twisty affair that took me past rolling ranchland where cattle grazed, apparently contentedly. At one point, I came around a curve and startled a group of about 20 vultures going about their business. It was a good thing I wasn't speeding, as one or two of the birds only managed to miss getting hit with only inches to spare.
At about this time, I dialed in the AM dial to hear what was on the airwaves. I latched onto a signal featuring a female voice that was carrying on about silly instructions that are included in various appliance manuals. It was an entertaining spiel, and I only realized later that I was listening to the "Dr. Laura" show.
I listened for about 40 minutes total, meanwhile finding and turning onto 183 south. Her callers tend to be, as far as I can see, the same kind of folks who send questions in to Ann Landers or "Dear Abby." One woman wanted to know if it was okay to not attend the funeral of her mother, whom she detested. Schlessinger told her there was nothing obligating her to go, but made a good case for going anyway. Another woman, a recent widow, had been asked by her in-laws to return an heirloom ring that had been given to her on the occasion of her marriage, and though she felt no obligation to give the ring back, wondered if perhaps she would be wrong not to. Schlessinger told her that she was not obligated to return the ring, and suggested that someday she might want to pass it down to the children who had been born to her and her late husband.
I suppose that anyone who expects serious, life-changing advice from a radio talking head needs to get their own head examined, but the same then can be said for people who write to Ann Landers or, for that matter, people who derive financial advice listening to Suze Orman hold forth on PBS. In the end, these vehicles are meant to entertain, and not particularly edify.
A few miles short of Austin, I came to a stop light and spied an official Texas inspection station on the corner to my right. As the place looked open for business and no cars were in evidence, I pulled in. Unfortunately, I did not see the camper parked around the corner, but I decided to wait out the line and about 20 minutes later, pulled back onto 183 with a completely legal vehicle.
Highway 183 led me to the home stretch: Highway 290, which leads to Houston. On the way, I ran into another talk show on the air whose host was looking for callers to discuss the results of a recent study by "family" experts, to the effect that adulterous affairs on the part of the rich and famous tended to encourage us ordinary citizens to go out and cheat on our spouses. Of course, Clinton and Conduit were mentioned prominently in the spiel.
For the first time in my life - bored as I was by the dashed centerline of the highway - I took out my cell phone and called the station. A few minutes later, I was on the air, telling the radio jockey on the other end of the line that, in my opinion, while the public behavior under discussion was not in itself going to cause people to go out and cheat on their spouses, it would nonetheless be the source of a bad, yet comforting example for those giving the idea serious consideration. Further, the specific cases of Clinton and Condit (despite the fact that, ostensibly, the women in each case were willing participants) might well encourage men in positions of power and authority to put pressure on female subordinates to enter into an affair and might give them the feeling that, perhaps, recent consciousness-raising about sexual harassment was just a lot of hot air.
The host, who had been pooh-poohing the idea prior to my call, then appeared to change course as he drew a parallel with cigarette ads, which I thought was apropos. Heck, I still remember how - years ago - my dad would light two cigarettes and hand one to my mother, a move I now understand was inspired by Paul Henreid's performance of this ritual in a movie called Now, Voyager, in which he starred with Bette Davis. (My understanding is that it was Henreid's performance in that film that won him the role of Victor Laszlo and star billing in Casablanca, but I digress...) As a former smoker, to this day there are times when I'll see someone light up (e.g., Humphrey Bogart, in the aforementioned Casablanca) and then I'll want to, also. In any event, there's not a single cigarette ad in the world that will drive anyone to start that filthy habit, but nonetheless, on the whole the ads work and the industry still strives to place advertising wherever it can.
At about that time, the signal to the station weakened, and I continued on toward Houston. It wasn't until I was about 70 miles from the city that "Houston" began to appear on signs on the side of the road. Eventually, I hit Beltway 8, where I turned south and headed for Pearland, first stopping at a store called Phoenicia, a small market that caters to the international crowd in Houston. There, I picked up some items you just can't find in Pagosa Springs, including buckwheat, tea, and Boletus mushrooms from Russia, Bismark herring from Norway, and some nice Greek olives.
By the time I got back onto the beltway - or more exactly - onto the "frontage road" that parallels the beltway (as I prefer not to be pestered by the toll booths that spring out of the concrete, it seems, every mile or so) it was past 5:00, I was still on the west side of town, and traffic was starting to become objectionable. So, I decided to pay the tolls and got onto the beltway proper, arriving home around 5:30.
Natalie was not there, which was a good sign, as she has a full-time job during the day and is supposed to be attending night school. I popped the cork on a bottle of red wine, nibbled at some olives, sardines, and cheese, and then hit the sack.
Cheers...
I'd been using my GPS since leaving Pagosa to track my progress back along the waypoints that I'd marked on my way from Texas to Colorado a couple of months back. I did it as more of a lark than anything else, but as it turned out, the unit came in handy twice.
Once, I came to a stop light and glanced at the unit, which told me that I was 0.02 miles from my destination (meaning that this stop light was the destination), and that my next waypoint was off directly to my right, about 27 miles away.
That meant that I was supposed to turn right there, except I really hadn't been paying attention to the road. The GPS saved me some time at that intersection.
Later, as I passed through the thriving metropolis of Goldthwaite, I hit another destination and continued on highway 84 as I dialed in the next waypoint, which turned out to be about 20 degrees to my right and about 30 miles away.
About 20 minutes later, something tugged at me to look at the unit, which now showed my destination to be directly to my right and 27 miles away. Something was wrong.
I pulled over to the side of the road and looked at my large-scale map, and realized that Goldthwaite was where I was supposed to turn off of 84 onto highway 183, heading south, eventually ending up in Austin. I turned around and a few miles down the road, saw a sign that told me that Goldthwaite was 16 miles distant. Between driving from and to that town, I would kill about 40 minutes and be no better off than I had been when I missed the turn.
I had just passed a turnoff onto a county road that led, if the sign could be believed, to a village called Moline, which was not on my map. Since the road appeared to go in the right direction, I decided to chance it and went down that road.
I was pleased to see that my GPS arrow and the road pretty much pointed the same direction for most of the trip. The road was a two-lane, twisty affair that took me past rolling ranchland where cattle grazed, apparently contentedly. At one point, I came around a curve and startled a group of about 20 vultures going about their business. It was a good thing I wasn't speeding, as one or two of the birds only managed to miss getting hit with only inches to spare.
At about this time, I dialed in the AM dial to hear what was on the airwaves. I latched onto a signal featuring a female voice that was carrying on about silly instructions that are included in various appliance manuals. It was an entertaining spiel, and I only realized later that I was listening to the "Dr. Laura" show.
I listened for about 40 minutes total, meanwhile finding and turning onto 183 south. Her callers tend to be, as far as I can see, the same kind of folks who send questions in to Ann Landers or "Dear Abby." One woman wanted to know if it was okay to not attend the funeral of her mother, whom she detested. Schlessinger told her there was nothing obligating her to go, but made a good case for going anyway. Another woman, a recent widow, had been asked by her in-laws to return an heirloom ring that had been given to her on the occasion of her marriage, and though she felt no obligation to give the ring back, wondered if perhaps she would be wrong not to. Schlessinger told her that she was not obligated to return the ring, and suggested that someday she might want to pass it down to the children who had been born to her and her late husband.
I suppose that anyone who expects serious, life-changing advice from a radio talking head needs to get their own head examined, but the same then can be said for people who write to Ann Landers or, for that matter, people who derive financial advice listening to Suze Orman hold forth on PBS. In the end, these vehicles are meant to entertain, and not particularly edify.
A few miles short of Austin, I came to a stop light and spied an official Texas inspection station on the corner to my right. As the place looked open for business and no cars were in evidence, I pulled in. Unfortunately, I did not see the camper parked around the corner, but I decided to wait out the line and about 20 minutes later, pulled back onto 183 with a completely legal vehicle.
Highway 183 led me to the home stretch: Highway 290, which leads to Houston. On the way, I ran into another talk show on the air whose host was looking for callers to discuss the results of a recent study by "family" experts, to the effect that adulterous affairs on the part of the rich and famous tended to encourage us ordinary citizens to go out and cheat on our spouses. Of course, Clinton and Conduit were mentioned prominently in the spiel.
For the first time in my life - bored as I was by the dashed centerline of the highway - I took out my cell phone and called the station. A few minutes later, I was on the air, telling the radio jockey on the other end of the line that, in my opinion, while the public behavior under discussion was not in itself going to cause people to go out and cheat on their spouses, it would nonetheless be the source of a bad, yet comforting example for those giving the idea serious consideration. Further, the specific cases of Clinton and Condit (despite the fact that, ostensibly, the women in each case were willing participants) might well encourage men in positions of power and authority to put pressure on female subordinates to enter into an affair and might give them the feeling that, perhaps, recent consciousness-raising about sexual harassment was just a lot of hot air.
The host, who had been pooh-poohing the idea prior to my call, then appeared to change course as he drew a parallel with cigarette ads, which I thought was apropos. Heck, I still remember how - years ago - my dad would light two cigarettes and hand one to my mother, a move I now understand was inspired by Paul Henreid's performance of this ritual in a movie called Now, Voyager, in which he starred with Bette Davis. (My understanding is that it was Henreid's performance in that film that won him the role of Victor Laszlo and star billing in Casablanca, but I digress...) As a former smoker, to this day there are times when I'll see someone light up (e.g., Humphrey Bogart, in the aforementioned Casablanca) and then I'll want to, also. In any event, there's not a single cigarette ad in the world that will drive anyone to start that filthy habit, but nonetheless, on the whole the ads work and the industry still strives to place advertising wherever it can.
At about that time, the signal to the station weakened, and I continued on toward Houston. It wasn't until I was about 70 miles from the city that "Houston" began to appear on signs on the side of the road. Eventually, I hit Beltway 8, where I turned south and headed for Pearland, first stopping at a store called Phoenicia, a small market that caters to the international crowd in Houston. There, I picked up some items you just can't find in Pagosa Springs, including buckwheat, tea, and Boletus mushrooms from Russia, Bismark herring from Norway, and some nice Greek olives.
By the time I got back onto the beltway - or more exactly - onto the "frontage road" that parallels the beltway (as I prefer not to be pestered by the toll booths that spring out of the concrete, it seems, every mile or so) it was past 5:00, I was still on the west side of town, and traffic was starting to become objectionable. So, I decided to pay the tolls and got onto the beltway proper, arriving home around 5:30.
Natalie was not there, which was a good sign, as she has a full-time job during the day and is supposed to be attending night school. I popped the cork on a bottle of red wine, nibbled at some olives, sardines, and cheese, and then hit the sack.
Cheers...
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Date: 2001-08-09 07:18 pm (UTC)