Friday, October 23
Yeah, a cold front had groaned, grunted and pushed its way through the neighborhood. Or, as they call them in Texas, a Norther. Next morning there was a lake in our campsite and a cold wind sweeping the leaves around in swirls. I wasn't about to complain. It was October, nearly November, and the previous day's high of 86 had been just too high. Maybe it didn't have to go from 86 degrees all the way down to 46--in twelve hours--but that's not my decision. Weather in Texas has always been weird and it appears to be getting weirder.
The Mammoth contained an assortment of my winter clothes, but apparently not any warm pants or long socks. Hmmm....not true. There were two pairs of long socks in there, both of which I got for presents and have never taken out of the packages. Weird. I didn't have any gloves either, except for a pair of oversized fur-lined leather gloves that I never seem to see the need to put on. They're just too big, too warm, or too too. I need to wear the dumb things or quietly disappear them.
So the dogs got their walks and I admit to putting leashes around my wrists and hands in my pockets most of the time. And after a quick breakfast, we packed up to leave.
There was no especial rush. Although our little 2-1/2 hour trip ended up taking almost 4 hours--we left at about 11:00 and didn't arrive until nearly 3:00. I know we took a slightly different route, but that wasn't what caused the problem--it was those slowdowns between Denton and McKinney. A traffic light blinking red in all directions caused a ten minute slowdown. Google maps tells us to take I-35 south all the way down to Plano and then take 121 north back to McKinney, and that's just a sign of total stupid--that the two legs of a right triangle, totaling fifteen extra miles, can be five minutes faster. We chose not to go that far out of our way and we suffered the consequences.
(Aside: it's not as stupid as it seems, either. Long years of experience driving in DFW area traffic have taught me that extra miles increase the probability of encountering an accident-caused slowdown. I prefer to play the odds.)
The other funny thing about the trip was that I let Ed plan the route, and rather than going back the way we'd came (137 miles) he chose the quickest route to highway 380, which ended up being 172 miles. I have no idea why, but that's what I deserve for delegating my navigation duties.
But since I had no idea that we we going an extra 35 miles, I enjoyed the drive. It's always nice to return by a different route. The landscape out there was lovely, especially around Antelope and Jacksboro.
We stopped for gas at the Loves Travel Stop in Bridgeport. I still hadn't put Ed's phone number on my speed dial, and as we were passing through Bridgeport I saw several gas stations. None were suitable for RVs, but the sight of them reminded me strongly of just how badly I needed to pee. I'd had two cups of coffee for breakfast and it had been two hours since then.
Unfortunately, I'd somehow let a big truck get between my Jeep and the Mammoth motorhome, so I couldn't easily zip in front of Ed and lead him to a gas station. But then I saw the Love's off to the right on top of a hill. I didn't have time to call--he was in the center lane and me in the left--I tried flashing my lights at him and putting on my right turn signal, but it was hopeless. Finally I just moved over to the right lane and gritted my teeth, prepared to soldier on....
When suddenly he switched lanes and turned right into the Love's! Hurray. I made it without peeing my pants. I was awfully low on gas by then, too, so if he hadn't pulled in of his own accord we would have had to turn around and go back, once I caught up and got his attention. We really need walkie-talkies or better phone programming.
NOTES:
1. If there is lighting in the northwest sky and you're leaving next day, take down the satellite dish before going to bed.
2. Sweet potato fries may not be the whole meaning of life, but they're significant.
3. Love's Travel Stop near Bridgeport is a great place to gas up
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