A Random Collection of Thoughts from West Texas

Before every bridge, there’s a sign that says, “Watch for ICE on bridge.” It’s one of those flippy signs that they can fold up during the summer, but still ice warnings…Really, Texas—are you serious?

It’s February now, what I consider prime ice season, and even though it was chilly this morning in San Antonio—45ish—that’s still not cold enough to form ice. I’m a writer, not a scientist, but I’m pretty sure of this basic fact.

Also, I’m relatively certain that moisture has to be present to form ice, not just a chill in the air. Based on the amount of water flowing through the creeks (please pronounce that “criks” in your head) these bridges are spanning, there isn’t a whole lot of moisture to worry about.

So now I’m wondering: how often do the bridges in west Texas ice over? I would use Oesa’s BlackBerry to google me an answer, but Verizon’s 3G network coverage isn’t so strong out here. Those Verizon commercials with that nerdy but helpful-looking guy and the cast of thousands are lying to us.

Verizon is not America’s most reliable network. They are failing me in my hour of need. “Hour of need” is my cute nickname for west Texas.

Seven hours of need is more accurate, though.

Signs that are appropriate in west Texas:
Strong cross winds
Falling rocks
Blowing dust
Don’t mess with Texas (a sign warning you to not litter)
80 mph (no need to dawdle in west Texas. I think the appropriate cowboy word is “mosey.” We are not moseying in Texas.)

*****

I can now rate gas station bathrooms. This isn’t something I ever wanted to be able to rate.

Should you ever need to know: the Shell station bathroom in Kerrville, TX, has a spa-like feel. I’m not kidding. It has slate tiles on the floor and walls (or something that looks very like slate tile) and wooden doors on the stalls. All they were missing was a candle—maybe one that smells like spring rain / Yankee’s Candle’s interpretation of spring rain—and some Enya-esque music.

This bathroom really was a surprise because the Shell station is a combo convenience store and McDonald’s. I don’t associate either of those things with Zen.

*****

It does feel good to be out West again.

For those of you who don’t know, our family came out West—mostly to Utah—almost every year for vacation when Oesa and I were growing up. Every summer, we’d head out of eastern Iowa, leaving around 6:00 at night. Then we’d drive straight through to Glenwood Springs, CO, arriving the next day in the early afternoon.

And by “we’d drive,” I clearly mean that our parents would drive. I just had to do was try to find a comfortable position to sleep in, all while trying not to cross the imaginary dividing line between Oesa’s side of the car and my side.

If I did cross it in my sleep, it meant war, and I don’t mean the card game war. That imaginary dividing line is probably why, to this day, I can sleep in the craziest, perhaps-you-should-be-a-contortionist positions.

We’d make it to Colorado, and we’d get to stay one night at a hotel (the Hotel Colorado, where the teddy bear was invented—or so they say). And then for the next few weeks, we’d camp our way through the West, staying at places like Dead Horse Point, Canyonlands, and the San Rafael Swell (a swell place, my dad always says. Always—every time we mention the Swell, he says it’s a swell place. I fully expect him to comment on this post and talk about what a swell place the Swell is.).

My dad figured out that by the time I was 15, I’d spent a year-and-a-half of my life camping. The majority of those nights were in Utah, and my favorite nights were when we got to sleep under the stars. No tent.

So being out West now and seeing it again is like coming home.

I realized that it probably would be like this when Oesa and I had a discussion a few weeks ago debating the merits of different routes across the Southwest.

I don’t think this is a normal conversation for sisters from Iowa to have:
Me: Do you want to go through Joshua Tree or the Anza-Borrego?
Oesa: I have bad memories of the Anza-Borrego.
Me: Really? I got a Junior Ranger badge there in record time.
Oesa: You got a Junior Ranger badge everywhere. They should’ve just made you a park ranger.
Me: Maybe you would’ve enjoyed the Anza-Borrego more if you’d become a Junior Ranger, too.

It’s a normal sister conversation in that we’re arguing and debating memories from childhood, but it’s not normal in that we’re debating the merits of a state park and a national park in California.

*****

As you can see from Sid’s post, I drove for a lot of today, so I after those random thoughts above, I couldn’t write down anything else, what with me needing to focus on the road and all.

The rest of my day was spent singing along with the Dixie Chicks—loudly—because the Dixie Chicks are the perfect soundtrack for west Texas. Sid probably disagrees with me because on about Dixie Chicks song #28, he put on his own headphones.