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Gang aft agley... again!
Jan. 16th, 2006 11:18 amGalina and I figured that, once we got down to Houston, I might pick up some freelance "walk-in" work with a client. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that today was MLK Day, and that many businesses were closed, until I walked out of the elevator to visit my client's office. Right now, Galina is off trying to get someone to pay attention to the brakes on the Ford, and I am taking a break from opening stacks of mail.
So far this trip, it seems as if we've come down to Houston to help Natalie move from her old apartment, where she lived alone, into a new one, where she will live with a roommate. But I am getting a little ahead of myself.
We left Colorado on Thursday, pretty late in the day (almost noon). If you've done any amount of long-distance driving, you know that over a long haul, there's not much you can do to make the miles go faster, especially if you're pretty much traveling at or slightly above the speed limit. Squeezing out an extra five miles per hour isn't going to make much of a difference over the long haul in such circumstances, except when it comes to attracting the unwelcome attention of the local constabulary.
We took what I call the "northern route" to Houston, which takes us down highway 84 through Santa Fe, down a short stretch of I-25, and down highway 287 to Clines Corners, where the rough-drawn sign in the men's room requesting that you "don't throw chewing tobacco in the toilet" raised my eyebrows and made me realize that we were truly out in The World™.
The first time we traveled this route by car was as a family, on our way to visit our timeshare in St. Augustine, Florida. We left around 2 pm and finally called it a day around 11 pm in Claude, Texas, at a "100% American-owned" motel called the Claudehopper Inn. (I'm sure there was an attempt at humor there, somewhere, but didn't dare ask what the joke might be.)
At any rate, the youngster at the Subway concession at Clines Corners built us a foot-long BMT with enough luncheon meat on it to make three such sandwiches at any other Subway I am aware of (not that I'm complaining: it was an excellent sandwich). After lunch, I walked about the rest of the establishment, which sells an extraordinary variety of touristy knickknacks.
I was intrigued by a series of wolf figurines that had been painted in a variety of Native American themes, but at $32 a pop, my interest remained purely visceral. I settled, instead, on buying a $4 stainless steel shot glass that proclaimed itself to be a souvenir of the famed Route 66, which is a major theme at the stop. The idea of having some made as a promotional item for my company had crossed my mind, and would likely be more welcome than Yet Another Pen That Writes Poorly™ or Yet Another Envelope Opener™.
The shop at Clines Corners turns out to be nearly exactly 200 miles from our place in Pagosa, and heading east on I-40 from the intersection with highway 287 puts you in Amarillo after 425 miles overall, which we made - just barely - on one tank of gas.
Before we left, Brady had given us a plastic bottle filled with some kind of smelly powder (a smell I associated with camphor) that claimed marvelous enhancement of gas mileage when the powder was added on a regular basis when filling up. I was skeptical, but willing to give the stuff a try, just to see what kind of improvement might be in the offing.
As we rolled out of Pagosa, Galina estimated that her mileage in the Ford was about 12 miles per gallon. We filled up in Pagosa and then again in Amarillo, after which doing the math showed the true figure to be closer to double that number. I added some of the powder upon filling up, and was rewarded for my efforts by the appearance of the "Service Engine Soon" idiot light on the dashboard within 200 yards of pulling out of the gas station. (The light is still on, though it is possible that I'm engaging in some fundamental post hoc reasoning, here.) Data is still being collected with regard to any improvements in mileage.
We ended the day in a room in Childress, Texas, where we opted to stay at a fairly inexpensive motel. I had hoped we could stop at a place with "free, high-speed Internet," but such hotels cost about twice what we paid for our no-frills room across from the town's Wal-Mart, so I didn't make a fuss about it.
In any event, the tricky balance we were after was a room somewhere along highway 287 between Amarillo and Ft. Worth that didn't require us to keep driving until late, and yet wasn't too far from the town of Flower Mound (north of Ft. Worth), where we had a 1:30 pm appointment the following day with someone who may likely become our new CPA.
As it turned out, we arrived without incident in our appointment's neighborhood about 90 minutes early. While we waited, we stopped in to see what the layout was at a local packing and mailing shop that belonged to the PostNet franchise. The joint offered wireless Internet, but at a rate of $7.50 per hour, and as I didn't have an hour to spare and didn't want to spare an hour even if I had one, I passed on the opportunity.
After making the rounds and trying to memorize their schedule of services (along with the prices of said services), we went next door and had lunch at a place that serves chicken wings. Though the place was filled with customers and came highly recommended by the two fellows in the PostNet store, for our money, the food was terrible and an insult to chicken wings everywhere.
After our appointment, we headed south, trying to get back onto 287 to cut the corner getting to I-45, which runs from Dallas for Houston. Traffic - the genuine sit-on-the-Interstate-and-swelter article - stymied us on our way to downtown Ft. Worth, so I got off the highway and tried to take "Business 287" through the heart of the city.
After several forced turns away from where I wanted to go and a long delay, I ended up on I-35 going south out of Ft. Worth, with echoes of Galina's increasingly strident back-seat driving ringing in my ears. Eventually, we cut across from I-35 and got back on track, ultimately hitting I-45 near Ennis around 4 pm.
The rest of the trip (!) went pretty routinely, and I drove the last few miles on I-45 past The Woodlands to 610, to Natalie's apartment over on the west side of Houston. The odometer at the end of the trip read 1061 miles.
I should get back to the mail.
Cheers...
So far this trip, it seems as if we've come down to Houston to help Natalie move from her old apartment, where she lived alone, into a new one, where she will live with a roommate. But I am getting a little ahead of myself.
We left Colorado on Thursday, pretty late in the day (almost noon). If you've done any amount of long-distance driving, you know that over a long haul, there's not much you can do to make the miles go faster, especially if you're pretty much traveling at or slightly above the speed limit. Squeezing out an extra five miles per hour isn't going to make much of a difference over the long haul in such circumstances, except when it comes to attracting the unwelcome attention of the local constabulary.
We took what I call the "northern route" to Houston, which takes us down highway 84 through Santa Fe, down a short stretch of I-25, and down highway 287 to Clines Corners, where the rough-drawn sign in the men's room requesting that you "don't throw chewing tobacco in the toilet" raised my eyebrows and made me realize that we were truly out in The World™.
The first time we traveled this route by car was as a family, on our way to visit our timeshare in St. Augustine, Florida. We left around 2 pm and finally called it a day around 11 pm in Claude, Texas, at a "100% American-owned" motel called the Claudehopper Inn. (I'm sure there was an attempt at humor there, somewhere, but didn't dare ask what the joke might be.)
At any rate, the youngster at the Subway concession at Clines Corners built us a foot-long BMT with enough luncheon meat on it to make three such sandwiches at any other Subway I am aware of (not that I'm complaining: it was an excellent sandwich). After lunch, I walked about the rest of the establishment, which sells an extraordinary variety of touristy knickknacks.
I was intrigued by a series of wolf figurines that had been painted in a variety of Native American themes, but at $32 a pop, my interest remained purely visceral. I settled, instead, on buying a $4 stainless steel shot glass that proclaimed itself to be a souvenir of the famed Route 66, which is a major theme at the stop. The idea of having some made as a promotional item for my company had crossed my mind, and would likely be more welcome than Yet Another Pen That Writes Poorly™ or Yet Another Envelope Opener™.
The shop at Clines Corners turns out to be nearly exactly 200 miles from our place in Pagosa, and heading east on I-40 from the intersection with highway 287 puts you in Amarillo after 425 miles overall, which we made - just barely - on one tank of gas.
Before we left, Brady had given us a plastic bottle filled with some kind of smelly powder (a smell I associated with camphor) that claimed marvelous enhancement of gas mileage when the powder was added on a regular basis when filling up. I was skeptical, but willing to give the stuff a try, just to see what kind of improvement might be in the offing.
As we rolled out of Pagosa, Galina estimated that her mileage in the Ford was about 12 miles per gallon. We filled up in Pagosa and then again in Amarillo, after which doing the math showed the true figure to be closer to double that number. I added some of the powder upon filling up, and was rewarded for my efforts by the appearance of the "Service Engine Soon" idiot light on the dashboard within 200 yards of pulling out of the gas station. (The light is still on, though it is possible that I'm engaging in some fundamental post hoc reasoning, here.) Data is still being collected with regard to any improvements in mileage.
We ended the day in a room in Childress, Texas, where we opted to stay at a fairly inexpensive motel. I had hoped we could stop at a place with "free, high-speed Internet," but such hotels cost about twice what we paid for our no-frills room across from the town's Wal-Mart, so I didn't make a fuss about it.
In any event, the tricky balance we were after was a room somewhere along highway 287 between Amarillo and Ft. Worth that didn't require us to keep driving until late, and yet wasn't too far from the town of Flower Mound (north of Ft. Worth), where we had a 1:30 pm appointment the following day with someone who may likely become our new CPA.
As it turned out, we arrived without incident in our appointment's neighborhood about 90 minutes early. While we waited, we stopped in to see what the layout was at a local packing and mailing shop that belonged to the PostNet franchise. The joint offered wireless Internet, but at a rate of $7.50 per hour, and as I didn't have an hour to spare and didn't want to spare an hour even if I had one, I passed on the opportunity.
After making the rounds and trying to memorize their schedule of services (along with the prices of said services), we went next door and had lunch at a place that serves chicken wings. Though the place was filled with customers and came highly recommended by the two fellows in the PostNet store, for our money, the food was terrible and an insult to chicken wings everywhere.
After our appointment, we headed south, trying to get back onto 287 to cut the corner getting to I-45, which runs from Dallas for Houston. Traffic - the genuine sit-on-the-Interstate-and-swelter article - stymied us on our way to downtown Ft. Worth, so I got off the highway and tried to take "Business 287" through the heart of the city.
After several forced turns away from where I wanted to go and a long delay, I ended up on I-35 going south out of Ft. Worth, with echoes of Galina's increasingly strident back-seat driving ringing in my ears. Eventually, we cut across from I-35 and got back on track, ultimately hitting I-45 near Ennis around 4 pm.
The rest of the trip (!) went pretty routinely, and I drove the last few miles on I-45 past The Woodlands to 610, to Natalie's apartment over on the west side of Houston. The odometer at the end of the trip read 1061 miles.
I should get back to the mail.
Cheers...
