Chapter 8
As the night gathered, my rental truck continued on.
Spanish influence was all about me now. While I had travelled this way by Amtrak once, I never got a full appreciation of how the Spanish had left an economic impact on the land, which even now was present throughout our modern society. And their heritage was built on the natives, who in turn had built on the work of the Old Ones - who probably knew other peoples before them... It was reflected in the names of the towns along the highway: Santa Rosa, Cuervo, Montoya, Tucumcari, San Jon and finally, Clenrio.
New Mexico gave way to the plains of Northern Texas without incident, other than the light fading slowly through the sky. Heading straight east, I was unable to see the fabled Southwest sunset. The clouds were gathering all that afternoon and left little for me to see, even in the side mirrors of the truck.
My thoughts had begun darkening as well. Perhaps it was the tiredness from driving and lack of sleep, or that I had started eating less efficient sandwiches after the protein drink had run out.
Doubts started presenting themselves for resolution.
The roads reflected my views. Construction started shortly after I left New Mexico and continued through all the Texas roads. Swarming darkness didn't help. Closer to Amarillo was the worst construction, back to two-way roads and steep dropoff's on each side. Traffic was heavy, as I was riding through the last of the rush hour, fortunately going toward the city center instead of away from it. Rain compounded these features, making navigation difficult on these unknown roads. Couldn't take time to read the map or turn on the cab light to do so. Had to go on what I had already studied and recalled.
Added to this the fuel gauge was dipping toward the red. What a great night to be out in an unknown metropolitan area. At least I wasn't trying to travel in Watts or East LA, where stopping in distress might be met with a different attitude for a big white guy. Here in Texas, I was more or less closer to fitting in, especially since my rural Missouri accent isn't that different from those I've met from here.
Once I was sent to Austin on a management project from the Center. Seems they were having difficulty making their management and property rent payments, and nothing got the attention of Center management like no money coming in to their coffers. While the bulk of this project was in putting the fear of Rhino into them and getting them to sort out their scene by making more money on an immediate basis, both to pay their rent and to send more back to the Center, I also had some time to get to know these people. They were very, very sincere and well-meaning people. While most all the people I had met through the Center were very nice, there's something special about Texans which set them apart. I think it was the honesty anf forthcoming frankness, as well as general care for the welfare of others around them. Not the least of which is that Austin was both a University town and also was spread out over Kingdom Come. Some buildings were a quarter mile apart,with nice streets and sidwalks in between, as well as mowed grass and trees. Lots of space to live in. Not like New York or even suburban Hollywood, where buildings were literally built right on top of each other. (New York was at least built on rock; LA had the annual mansion mudslide festival every year after the rains soaked the hills. Wonder who would lose the most valuable mansion this year?)
The roads narrowed, more flashing lights, plus my gas meter now said, "Fill me, you fool!" So I started looking for somewhere to pull off it and found one. Another local franchise set up of an unknown variety, but clean, organized to sell much more than gas, and well lit. It wasn't the easiest to get to over the torn up entrance, but had a lot of room to turn around in. I parked by a gas pump and went into pay.
Gas had been dropping steadily since I had left LA. Here, it was $1.459 a gallon. I used 13.129 gallons since New Mexico, covering 211.6 miles with a gpm of 16.119. This looked the best so far. Plenty of plains driving, constant speed and a downhill slope. Rain had probably helped to keep my average speed slower and so I used less gas trying to keep up with the Joneses.
The dark night had a homely aspect. Warmer than Flagstaff, it was still cool and needed a light jacket. The area of Amarillo I was stopped at had many of the same house types and street styles I had known in the various small towns I had seen in Missouri. They were widening the road, yet one could see the original road next to it. That has always seemed to be some other more interesting ways they built double lane interstates. Leave the main road a two-way and build the new one beside it, or using parts of the same track as the original.
LA was a bizarre nightmare of highways. Several sections I was familar with were as wide as seven lanes in both directions. This is as they had to handle several roads intersecting into each other and branching off, plus the massive amount of people in LA. I recall one elderly person visiting Los Angeles for the first time and wondering where they parked all these cars at night. And the smog - if New York was the city which never sleeps, LA is the city that never breathes. Somehow you get used to the smell. But it always hangs over the town proper with a dull brown haze in summer, slightly lighter grey in winter. Occasionally, the Santa Ana's would blow through and clean out the skies for an evening - but even then, the glare of the obiquitous street lamp always kept anything but a handful of stars from seeping through, even when you went to the "Planetarium" in what was left of Griffith Park. I'd heard that the Indians had the same problem, naming the area "Valley of Perpetual Smokes."
Tonight, in Texas, I again couldn't see the stars, not because of air conditions, but because of the clouds and rain which had drowned me that day. It was only a little before 8pm; I had some miles to go before I dare sleep. The more miles I covered, the closer to home and less time on the road.
I wanted to try that old road to see if it gave me a better access back to the Interstate, but practically, I had to backtrack a bit once I started. What was great was seeing the old 1930's and '40's buildings which had thrived along the original highway. Like ghosts of their former glory, in the dim light of streetlamps these businesses and homes seemed haunted and forlorn.
Went too far in my luxury of ghost-chasing and had to back-track to the real world access to my current-time highway. Found the road and was quickly back to the nightmare of someone rebuilding a double-lane highway through a major metropolitan area - with all the detours, sudden dips and twists, illegible and/or poorly set directional signs. Finally, I was through the construction, about the same time I was through the city.
The rest of Texas was again flat, with straight roads, more or less. At least the Interstate designers made the curves gradual for higher speeds and safer driving. I drove on, seeking solace in the quiet of the road. While I used the radio as I could (stations will fade in and out after a few hundred miles, leaving me to seek new stations between or after gas fill-ups.
My thoughts were my radio, filling my truck cab with people I hadn't talked to in days or longer. The looks of those who suspected I was leaving, but - the reverse of that policy I spoke of - couldn't bring the subject up. Security guards who were themselves insecure and fearful of poor results. They would pick on the apparent defenseless, with actions that violated policy and were based on paranoid local subversions of Center policy, created in order to keep people safe from themselves and the "obvious dangers" in the environment.
These guards were simply bait for me. I'd found that the streets were safer during the 1-5 am slot than they were during the day time. Someone had actually been raped in their parking lot in broad daylight, under their own cameras. I had no problem down this line. People weren't supposed to leave the complex by themselves at any time, even early in the morning for exercise. I ignored them and answered their dispatches with other ones, poking holes in their logic and referencing the Rhino Center policies they were supposed to be following. The guy who was assigned to handle my "case" told them to lay off. He knew that their petty complaints would have no real effect. And so he called off the dogs.
Everyone had a security identity card in order to access the buildings. However, I had been around so long that everyone knew me and would let me in. The last time I used my card was when I knew they were looking for me and took the risk to help someone who had actually left their card in their room. Guard came knocking for me later and I had to spend some time cooling off his problem.
The wild scene was that I knew how to go and come as I pleased, leaving to go to the various free conventions held in Long Beach, simply by walking to the near by subway entrance (built and opened only a year before I left) and paying the $1.35 to go several miles for the day, then returning around dinner. So while I held no authorized position for them, was engaged at work for a year that only I would chose to do, and paid my allowance meanwhile - no one at the Center would do anything to work with me to sort it out or even push my scene along according to their own policies. This was one of the major scene which prompted my departure.They couldn't control someone who knew all the rules and was testing for loopholes and the envelope which we agreed to enclose us all.
That envelope was a voluntary one. Comparing my life within to that without left me needing the broader freedom of thinking for myself.
Rain forced me to turn on the wipers to clear the windshield. The road went further on, time moved at the same speed. Only the rain seemed to move more slowly than I, with the opposite traffic trying to reverse their destiny - or perhaps time flows in multiple directions at differing speeds.
Metaphysics aside, the travel continued. I didn't know where I was going to wind up that night, but as midnight closed, I was finding myself more and more tired. Deciding that I would be safer to get a good night's sleep, I took a turn to the "business route" (meaning this highway used to go right through town). Shamrock. The entire town used to deal with business traffic with their many motels. However, now the pavement was seamed, most of the hotels run down, all advertizing their low rates. Right next to the cheaper rates, advertized on the cheaper signs, were the rundown motels who were right at the edge of profitability. I decided discretion was keener to me than my wallet, estimating that I could actually make it to Missouri before another night on the road.
Finally, one of the name brands took my eye, with its standard (and clean)facade and classic cookie-cutter organization. Parking in a spot out front under one of the all-night lot lights, I made sure I had a spot which was easy to back out of without hitting anything. I didn't intend to have to move it again.
I stretched out of the truck cab, tired - but relieved to be able to stand and use other muscles than I had been. The air was fresh, washed clean. Moving to the office over the wet pavement, I checked my watch again, finding that midnight would be shortly starting my third day on the road.
The office manager was more than nice. She ran down a series of discounts which I would be possibly eligible for and selected one which she could stretch to fit. I paid for the night with some of the remaining cash I had, got a key and instructions to find the room.
The room was on the second level (another discount), but was very clean and tidy. Two double beds and a TV, plus the usual laminate desk and uber-clean bathroom. I'd only carried an equivalent of an overnight bag into the room.
First was a hot shower and clean the road dust off. After that, in a towel more for warmth than decency with the closed-drape windows, I turned up the heat and turned on the TV to see what was on. Mindless programming poured through all of the twenty-something channels, proving that I had missed nothing since TV's were banned at the Center some years back. My eyes and body was tired, yet I continued to watch, zombied out and not wanting to admit my stopping, wanting to continue on the road and make more time toward Missouri.
However, the body tiredness won out. I was in no shape to drive this night. Some hours and I would be much better for it. Turning out the TV with the remote, I was able to return to the overlarge bed,choosing the one nearer the door, window and TV - as it was also closer to the heater. Motel blankets are never heavy enough, but they seemed to keep me warm enough against the distraction of chill.
I'd asked for no wake-up call, however I thought I'd wake early as usual, despite the few hours of sleep last night. I planned the next day, recalling what I had covered of my route as well as what and when I would eat tomorrow. Images floated in of where I had been in the last few days, the roads, the people, the other vehicles. Finally, I slept - exhausted.
Spanish influence was all about me now. While I had travelled this way by Amtrak once, I never got a full appreciation of how the Spanish had left an economic impact on the land, which even now was present throughout our modern society. And their heritage was built on the natives, who in turn had built on the work of the Old Ones - who probably knew other peoples before them... It was reflected in the names of the towns along the highway: Santa Rosa, Cuervo, Montoya, Tucumcari, San Jon and finally, Clenrio.
New Mexico gave way to the plains of Northern Texas without incident, other than the light fading slowly through the sky. Heading straight east, I was unable to see the fabled Southwest sunset. The clouds were gathering all that afternoon and left little for me to see, even in the side mirrors of the truck.
My thoughts had begun darkening as well. Perhaps it was the tiredness from driving and lack of sleep, or that I had started eating less efficient sandwiches after the protein drink had run out.
Doubts started presenting themselves for resolution.
The roads reflected my views. Construction started shortly after I left New Mexico and continued through all the Texas roads. Swarming darkness didn't help. Closer to Amarillo was the worst construction, back to two-way roads and steep dropoff's on each side. Traffic was heavy, as I was riding through the last of the rush hour, fortunately going toward the city center instead of away from it. Rain compounded these features, making navigation difficult on these unknown roads. Couldn't take time to read the map or turn on the cab light to do so. Had to go on what I had already studied and recalled.
Added to this the fuel gauge was dipping toward the red. What a great night to be out in an unknown metropolitan area. At least I wasn't trying to travel in Watts or East LA, where stopping in distress might be met with a different attitude for a big white guy. Here in Texas, I was more or less closer to fitting in, especially since my rural Missouri accent isn't that different from those I've met from here.
Once I was sent to Austin on a management project from the Center. Seems they were having difficulty making their management and property rent payments, and nothing got the attention of Center management like no money coming in to their coffers. While the bulk of this project was in putting the fear of Rhino into them and getting them to sort out their scene by making more money on an immediate basis, both to pay their rent and to send more back to the Center, I also had some time to get to know these people. They were very, very sincere and well-meaning people. While most all the people I had met through the Center were very nice, there's something special about Texans which set them apart. I think it was the honesty anf forthcoming frankness, as well as general care for the welfare of others around them. Not the least of which is that Austin was both a University town and also was spread out over Kingdom Come. Some buildings were a quarter mile apart,with nice streets and sidwalks in between, as well as mowed grass and trees. Lots of space to live in. Not like New York or even suburban Hollywood, where buildings were literally built right on top of each other. (New York was at least built on rock; LA had the annual mansion mudslide festival every year after the rains soaked the hills. Wonder who would lose the most valuable mansion this year?)
The roads narrowed, more flashing lights, plus my gas meter now said, "Fill me, you fool!" So I started looking for somewhere to pull off it and found one. Another local franchise set up of an unknown variety, but clean, organized to sell much more than gas, and well lit. It wasn't the easiest to get to over the torn up entrance, but had a lot of room to turn around in. I parked by a gas pump and went into pay.
Gas had been dropping steadily since I had left LA. Here, it was $1.459 a gallon. I used 13.129 gallons since New Mexico, covering 211.6 miles with a gpm of 16.119. This looked the best so far. Plenty of plains driving, constant speed and a downhill slope. Rain had probably helped to keep my average speed slower and so I used less gas trying to keep up with the Joneses.
The dark night had a homely aspect. Warmer than Flagstaff, it was still cool and needed a light jacket. The area of Amarillo I was stopped at had many of the same house types and street styles I had known in the various small towns I had seen in Missouri. They were widening the road, yet one could see the original road next to it. That has always seemed to be some other more interesting ways they built double lane interstates. Leave the main road a two-way and build the new one beside it, or using parts of the same track as the original.
LA was a bizarre nightmare of highways. Several sections I was familar with were as wide as seven lanes in both directions. This is as they had to handle several roads intersecting into each other and branching off, plus the massive amount of people in LA. I recall one elderly person visiting Los Angeles for the first time and wondering where they parked all these cars at night. And the smog - if New York was the city which never sleeps, LA is the city that never breathes. Somehow you get used to the smell. But it always hangs over the town proper with a dull brown haze in summer, slightly lighter grey in winter. Occasionally, the Santa Ana's would blow through and clean out the skies for an evening - but even then, the glare of the obiquitous street lamp always kept anything but a handful of stars from seeping through, even when you went to the "Planetarium" in what was left of Griffith Park. I'd heard that the Indians had the same problem, naming the area "Valley of Perpetual Smokes."
Tonight, in Texas, I again couldn't see the stars, not because of air conditions, but because of the clouds and rain which had drowned me that day. It was only a little before 8pm; I had some miles to go before I dare sleep. The more miles I covered, the closer to home and less time on the road.
I wanted to try that old road to see if it gave me a better access back to the Interstate, but practically, I had to backtrack a bit once I started. What was great was seeing the old 1930's and '40's buildings which had thrived along the original highway. Like ghosts of their former glory, in the dim light of streetlamps these businesses and homes seemed haunted and forlorn.
Went too far in my luxury of ghost-chasing and had to back-track to the real world access to my current-time highway. Found the road and was quickly back to the nightmare of someone rebuilding a double-lane highway through a major metropolitan area - with all the detours, sudden dips and twists, illegible and/or poorly set directional signs. Finally, I was through the construction, about the same time I was through the city.
The rest of Texas was again flat, with straight roads, more or less. At least the Interstate designers made the curves gradual for higher speeds and safer driving. I drove on, seeking solace in the quiet of the road. While I used the radio as I could (stations will fade in and out after a few hundred miles, leaving me to seek new stations between or after gas fill-ups.
My thoughts were my radio, filling my truck cab with people I hadn't talked to in days or longer. The looks of those who suspected I was leaving, but - the reverse of that policy I spoke of - couldn't bring the subject up. Security guards who were themselves insecure and fearful of poor results. They would pick on the apparent defenseless, with actions that violated policy and were based on paranoid local subversions of Center policy, created in order to keep people safe from themselves and the "obvious dangers" in the environment.
These guards were simply bait for me. I'd found that the streets were safer during the 1-5 am slot than they were during the day time. Someone had actually been raped in their parking lot in broad daylight, under their own cameras. I had no problem down this line. People weren't supposed to leave the complex by themselves at any time, even early in the morning for exercise. I ignored them and answered their dispatches with other ones, poking holes in their logic and referencing the Rhino Center policies they were supposed to be following. The guy who was assigned to handle my "case" told them to lay off. He knew that their petty complaints would have no real effect. And so he called off the dogs.
Everyone had a security identity card in order to access the buildings. However, I had been around so long that everyone knew me and would let me in. The last time I used my card was when I knew they were looking for me and took the risk to help someone who had actually left their card in their room. Guard came knocking for me later and I had to spend some time cooling off his problem.
The wild scene was that I knew how to go and come as I pleased, leaving to go to the various free conventions held in Long Beach, simply by walking to the near by subway entrance (built and opened only a year before I left) and paying the $1.35 to go several miles for the day, then returning around dinner. So while I held no authorized position for them, was engaged at work for a year that only I would chose to do, and paid my allowance meanwhile - no one at the Center would do anything to work with me to sort it out or even push my scene along according to their own policies. This was one of the major scene which prompted my departure.They couldn't control someone who knew all the rules and was testing for loopholes and the envelope which we agreed to enclose us all.
That envelope was a voluntary one. Comparing my life within to that without left me needing the broader freedom of thinking for myself.
Rain forced me to turn on the wipers to clear the windshield. The road went further on, time moved at the same speed. Only the rain seemed to move more slowly than I, with the opposite traffic trying to reverse their destiny - or perhaps time flows in multiple directions at differing speeds.
Metaphysics aside, the travel continued. I didn't know where I was going to wind up that night, but as midnight closed, I was finding myself more and more tired. Deciding that I would be safer to get a good night's sleep, I took a turn to the "business route" (meaning this highway used to go right through town). Shamrock. The entire town used to deal with business traffic with their many motels. However, now the pavement was seamed, most of the hotels run down, all advertizing their low rates. Right next to the cheaper rates, advertized on the cheaper signs, were the rundown motels who were right at the edge of profitability. I decided discretion was keener to me than my wallet, estimating that I could actually make it to Missouri before another night on the road.
Finally, one of the name brands took my eye, with its standard (and clean)facade and classic cookie-cutter organization. Parking in a spot out front under one of the all-night lot lights, I made sure I had a spot which was easy to back out of without hitting anything. I didn't intend to have to move it again.
I stretched out of the truck cab, tired - but relieved to be able to stand and use other muscles than I had been. The air was fresh, washed clean. Moving to the office over the wet pavement, I checked my watch again, finding that midnight would be shortly starting my third day on the road.
The office manager was more than nice. She ran down a series of discounts which I would be possibly eligible for and selected one which she could stretch to fit. I paid for the night with some of the remaining cash I had, got a key and instructions to find the room.
The room was on the second level (another discount), but was very clean and tidy. Two double beds and a TV, plus the usual laminate desk and uber-clean bathroom. I'd only carried an equivalent of an overnight bag into the room.
First was a hot shower and clean the road dust off. After that, in a towel more for warmth than decency with the closed-drape windows, I turned up the heat and turned on the TV to see what was on. Mindless programming poured through all of the twenty-something channels, proving that I had missed nothing since TV's were banned at the Center some years back. My eyes and body was tired, yet I continued to watch, zombied out and not wanting to admit my stopping, wanting to continue on the road and make more time toward Missouri.
However, the body tiredness won out. I was in no shape to drive this night. Some hours and I would be much better for it. Turning out the TV with the remote, I was able to return to the overlarge bed,choosing the one nearer the door, window and TV - as it was also closer to the heater. Motel blankets are never heavy enough, but they seemed to keep me warm enough against the distraction of chill.
I'd asked for no wake-up call, however I thought I'd wake early as usual, despite the few hours of sleep last night. I planned the next day, recalling what I had covered of my route as well as what and when I would eat tomorrow. Images floated in of where I had been in the last few days, the roads, the people, the other vehicles. Finally, I slept - exhausted.
© 2004 by robertworstell
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