We crossed the Texas border and into the Central Time Zone in the dark, heading along the lone highway out of Carlsbad, New Mexico through Pecos and into Fort Stockton. After a quick repose at Mickey Dee's (our first fast food transgression since the beginning of the trip), we pulled into a big dirt lot next to an empty stock trailer and crashed, with dreams of warm gulf waters on the morrow.
As we drove and drove and drove, it became apparent once again that Texas is huge. The same number of miles on the east coast and we would have been through a dozen states. But our brief loop northward into NM had allowed us to bypass the most unbearable of the miles along I-10, out of El Paso through a vast expanse of hot, flat desert, where even the gas stations don't flourish. The territory southeast of Fort Stockton got interesting, and although dry, there were many spots which looked like the top canopy of a rainforest, where green bushy trees huddled close together in huge herds which spread out for miles and miles.
We neared Kerrville, about 50 miles northwest of San Antonio, and began the quest for the second fast food transgression of the trip. Once you start... We settled on a Dairy Queen tucked in the armpit of the freeway, parked the rig and sauntered over for a burger.
Little did we know how exciting a venture it would be. A true introduction to Texas. This tiny fast food joint, complete with sunshine yellow plastic booths and cash registers a-chinging at the front, had an additional Texas touch: a buffalo and longhorn head hanging from the wall like it was the Country Bear Jamboree at Disneyland. Half-expecting them to start singing, we kept them in our peripheral and sidled up to the cash register.
Everything on the menu...and then some.
Per Fast Food Rule #11, a large billboard of combos had replaced the a la carte menus of yore. I got the chicken strips, which came with not only fries but Texas Toast and gravy. Brant opted for Combo #3, and the animated cashier quickly followed his order with a cheery, "Would you like to Texasize that?" Classic.
Dining companions.
We enjoyed our grease with the company of two bovine heads, then headed back on the road. We blew through San Antonio, unable to come off the gas with the promise of warm ocean water ahead. We made it into Corpus Christi with a little daylight left, and craned our necks for the first glimpse of the water. Brant saw it first, and I missed it because it was cleverly camaflouged into land color by the generous donations of the Muddy Mississippi. We headed toward the RV park we had called, passing a huge aircraft carrier in the harbor (the USS Lexington, now retired and acting as a museum), over several bridges and winding passes. We looked for the exit, but it never showed up and we ended up driving over the several-mile long bridge towards Portland, waiting for the opportunity to switch directions. Finally it came, and we ended up in spot 37 of an undeveloped RV park that would have 10 toes in the water if it came any closer to the beach. Of course, no sooner than the keys came out of the ignition, we ran to get our toes in the water...the 80-degree water!
Gulf at our doorstep.
The weather was a definite change from the snow-kissed high-altitude days of the past two months. Warm and humid, the breeze was consistent to make it pleasant. Plus, the breeze was the basis for sport. The next morning Brant hopped on a 4.7 and windsurfed right out of Corpus Christi Beach just 20 yards from our back door. He took an upwind adventure eight miles down the coast, visited with the aircraft carrier and found one of the hot windsurfing spots, Oleander Beach, where the U.S. Windsurfing Open will be held on Memorial Day Weekend. The day also entailed some mundane necessecities, like a way overdue laundry excursion. We decided to stay another night at this paradise in disguise, and venture south to Padre Island on Sunday.
