Coming Home

The roads—and car windows—sure were icy on the way home today. Photo by: Suna

And it sure been a cold, cold winter

And the wind ain’t been blowin’ from the south

—Keith Richards, Mick Jagger

The trip home from Ruidoso took longer than expected. Yesterday, we took the long way to Abilene, where we overnighted in the same hotel as on the trip up. Unfortunately, we ran into a serious cold front just after crossing into Texas.

The night turned the roads to a skating rink, so we waited until almost noon to leave the hotel. The low pressure light was on for the driver’s side steer tire, but we couldn’t do anything about it. All the air pumps we passed were plugged with ice, and I couldn’t get air into the tire until like the fifth one.

The roads were so bad the trip from Abilene to the ranch took six hours. We were being very careful, despite the car being much smarter about driving on ice than me.

Anita was sick for the return trip and slept through most of it.

Ruidoso

See! I did get out of the house at least once. Photo by: Suna Suna sees life from my perspective by standing on a wall. Photo by: Anita

Suna wanted Anita and me to pose
together to show how tall the trees are.
I’m the tall one. Photo by: Suna

It’s gettin’ kinda cold in Ruidoso [wishful thinking]

And Abilene ain’t gettin’ any closer

—Charlie Daniels

This has been a very good week for me, all things considered. Suna, Anita, and the boys have gone hiking and exploring a lot while I have stayed around the house like the hermit I am. Of course that means I worked some, too.

We were supposed to close two houses while I was away this week. That didn’t happen. Both closings have now moved into January, which will make the Hermit Haus books look really bad at year end.

The weather has been unseasonably warm. At least one day saw highs in the seventies, and even the nights have been temperate. The ski lodges are having to manufacture snow. One waitress in town huffed, “You’re from Texas. You’ve had snow this winter.” Down between Austin and San Antonio.

 

Enchantment

The little bumps on the rock in the background are people.

We slept in a little again, despite not noticing that the alarm was set. It went off at 07, but it was inobtrusive enough that I slept through it until Suna asked me to turn it off. It sounded like the sound powered speakers make when a cell phone is left near them. I kept wondering if we had left a cell phone on the computer, not really thinking that we keep the speakers on it muted.

After the continental breakfast that was most forgettable, we headed out of town to Enchanted Rock. We hiked around the inner loop trail, which took us near the summit but not quite there. Suna has posted some of the best of the pictures of the trip in Flickr.

Once again, we took the scenic route.

Photo by: Google Maps

After the hike around the rock, we wound our way home through Llano, Bertram, and Liberty Hill. It was a pleasant trip. We got home to find that TubaBoy had been successful in learning to drive a stick.

The only down side to today is that Suna seems to be suffering from what may turn out to be an ear infection. The left side of her head is hurting worse as the day progresses. I may try to apply some heat later, if she continues to hurt…if she lets me.

The Road

Santamaria’s Muscat was excellent. This Table Red hints of smoked meat. Amazing.

When a dusty road

goes nowhere

it gives you

time to think

—Tony Curtis

Today started slowly. We slept in before getting up to pack for the trip. We left about the time R got in for his visit with the kids.

We made it to Fredericksburg about 13. We ate lunch at Chili’s. I have been hesitant to eat at Chili’s before because looks too much like a TGI Friday’s. (I didn’t link to Friday’s web site because it tries to take over your computer with excessively hostile Flash code.) But I have to admit, it was one of the best burgers I have eaten in a very long time—smokey flavor and juicy without being messy or greasy.

We stayed at a fairly new Best Western, built with an interesting Texas-rustic style. They let us check in early. So we had plenty of time to wander around all of the interesting shops downtown. We managed to buy a few extra little Christmas presents without breaking the bank.

But the best thing was stopping in at a little wine shop, Texas Vineyards and Beyond. There we met Martin Santamaria, the vintner of Santa Maria Cellars. He asked us about our taste in wine and then poured samples of several bottles. We talked about how Suna, Martin, and most craftsmen are more comfortable making things than selling them. The we bought two bottles, which he signed with “Merry Christmas.’

Actually, the best part was after the shopping. Suna said she had never been to Kerrville before—except for the Folk Festival, which is held out of town. So we drove the 22 miles to look at the town. Kerrville has become a depressingly bland town as it has “modernized.”

This is roughly the route we drove today. Not the most direct, but we had not seen this territory in a while.

Map Source: Google Maps

We drove down 16 and then took the road to Ingram. Ingram has retained much of its character. It is still a unique little town with idiosyncratic shops and sights. The we went on out toward Hunt. Not far past the Dam Store is the corner where some old friends make a living with yard furniture. I was so glad to see that the business was still there, that I pulled in to show Suna some of the things on display. We circled through the drive. As I pulled back onto the road, I saw Jack making his way toward the display on bicycle, so I pulled into the drive of the Dove’s Nest. The house where Jack and Jennifer live was named after Jack’s mother.

Once they recognized me—the new truck threw them, not to mention the fact that we fell out of the blue completely unannounced—they invited us in. We had a very pleasant chat for about an hour. Then, not wanting to impose, Suna and I headed back to Fredricksburg for dinner and a quiet evening alone.

We drank the Muscat this evening with some severe snackage; we were still mostly full from the burgers. The Muscat was a light, sweet wine, as you would expect from these grapes. It is very fruity, and I would certainly like to buy a few more bottles, if not a case.We are saving the sweet Table Red for a meal closer to Christmas. It is a really interesting blend of flavors that hints of smoked beef. I was really impressed.

Bears

I have seen bears in Arkansas, despite the rumour spread by Townes. I just hope to not make their acquaintance this weekend in the Hill Country. Photo Source: Diesel Station

So meet a bear and take him out to lunch with you

And even though your friends may stop and stare

Just remember that’s a bear there in the bunch with you

And they just don’t come no better than a bear

—Townes van Zandt

Job prospects for Suna seem to be looking up. She had a couple of calls today. I am focusing on keeping mine happy so that they do renew my funding after the end of the fiscal year.

We are also escaping for the weekend, leaving her car with R to give TubaBoy lessons in driving a standard transmission vehicle. Suna gave him one but says she had trouble with patience. I have never tried because he always has “better things to do” on the weekends—like go to debate tournaments or band with his friends.

Friday’s Feast

Appetizer: Make up a word and give us its definition.

Obtusology — the study that seeks to find meaning in the proclamations of our current president. See also, lost causes.

Soup: What is currently your favorite song?

I am pretty fond of John Fogerty’s “I Can’t Take It No More.” He says some things about GW that I wish I had said.

Salad: What’s at the top of your Christmas wish list this year?

A job for Suna. Of course, I would be happy if a more permanent job for me appeared, too.

Main Course: Name a scent that reminds you of someone special in your life.

I’ve never really been a scent person. The smell of an outhouse reminds me of my grandparents’ farm. The smell of rosewater reminds me of Suna.

Dessert: Who is someone on television that you feel probably shouldn’t be, and why?

The guys on ESPN who do Monday Night Football. They seem to forget that we are watching the game, not them. Commentary is one thing. What they do is something else.

Chattanooga Choo Choo

Cannon from the Battle above the Clouds
Photo by: Beccano

To avoid some of the traffic problems I encountered on the way up to North Carolina, we decided to go home through Tennessee. We stopped at the Hayward Rest Area near the gorge that divides North Carolina and Tennessee. Unfortunately, the view from the westbound side of the freeway isn’t nearly as pretty as the one from the eastbound side. But we got to go through the tunnel, both sides of which are now open.

We ate lunch in a Krystal burger joint just outside of Knoxville. It was the first time I have ever had such tiny burgers. They were a novelty and tasted OK, but I wouldn’t want to eat them regularly.

Then we stopped for a while at Cloudland Canyon State Park, just south of Chattanooga. This was the site of Battle of Lookout Mountain—AKA, “The Battle above the Clouds” because it was fought above a semi-permanent fog bank. The Union Army overran the Confederates who were stationed in Chattanooga. One of the final straws was the Union Army got inside the range of the Confederate cannons on the mountain. When the Rebels tried to aim at the advancing union army, the cannon balls rolled out of the muzzles before the powder could ignite.

I bought a commemorative T-shirt. (I love T-shirts.) And we took pictures of Suna, Beccano, and me standing by a cannon. Suna has photos of her standing by or on the cannons at every stage of her life. (Note: the cannon is not the same one. This is a Union cannon that is being used while the Confederate cannons are out being refurbished.)

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7/13/2007 Update

I wore the T-shirt today. One of my work buddies saw it and told me that his family once owned much of the land that the park now occupies. Georgia condemned it when his grandmother refused to sell. His great grandmother’s family owned the land before the war. His great grandfather was a Union officer who fell in love with the country side and moved to the area after the war. The rest, as they say, is history—or biology.

Spill the Wine

Suna and Becano dance in one of the reception rooms

Prince and Flo took us on an outing to the Childress Vineyards. The vineyard has an impressive main building built to resemble the great house on a traditional European vineyard. Its huge rooms are available for confrences and weddings.

The vineyard cost tens of millions of dollars to get started. It produces only a fraction of the grapes needed for the bottling process. Additional grapes are purchased from other local growers as part of a program to ween the North Carolina agricultural economy from tobacco. According to the tour guide, wine production must at least double for the winery to be profitable. We bought several bottles of delicious wine to help with the effort.

Stand by your pig
Photo by Suna

Suna, Becano, and I had a wonderful time touring the production facilities. When you drink a bottle of wine, you don’t realize just how industrial the bottling process has become. There are tons of equipment and storage tanks holding thousands of gallons of grape juice. The smell is amazing, not at all like the chemical plants of my youth.

After the tour, we had a bite to eat and took a tour of downtown Lexington, where the picture of me and the pig was taken. Apparently, pigs are big in Lexington.

Good Ole Boys

Police at Play
Photo Source: Legacy City

This is the first post as I try to recapture the events of the past week of wonderful vacation. I am back-dating the posts to keep them in some semblance of the correct chronology.

One thing this vacation reminded me of is that I hate—let me emphasise the word hate—driving in Georgia.

I made good time on Monday, in spite of having left the house much later than I wanted. I ended up stopping within fifty miles of the designated midpoint and was able to eat dinner and get to bed before eleven. I am not one of those who advocate driving for twenty hours or more, even though I have driven big trucks—maybe because I have driven big trucks.

So I woke up Tuesday morning, ate breakfast, and started driving with the stated intention of not hitting a major city at peak traffic. The second half of Alabama was fine.

Then I hit Georgia. I stopped for fuel at Exit 8. I had not even got back up to highway speed when I saw a sea of blue flashing lights coming at me in the oncoming lanes. I started slowing down, knowing something stupid was bound to happen.

The Chrysler 300 is too awesome a car to destroy
in a random police chase!
Photo Source: Auto Online

Sure enough, it did. About a half-mile in front of me, a silver 300 attempted to cross the median. That move almost never works. Medians tend to be softer than pavement. Plowing into them at highway speeds usually ends up being just that—plowing. Not only did the bad guy plow new furrows in the middle of I-20, so did a dozen of Georgia’s finest. Someone even managed to start a grass fire in the process.

So the traffic stopped. One trucker put out the grass fire with his federally-mandated fire extinguisher while we waited for the cops to sort things out. We sat there on the Interstate, waiting for what seemed like hours while cops came and went.

Finally, they opened up one lane. Then the other. Traffic crawled past what was left of the crime scene. The 300 was up on a flat bed wrecker. The car had some damage to the front end and at least one flat. I counted three (maybe more) cops changing the tires on their cars after crossing the median in hot pursuit.

But that wasn’t the end of the fun in Georgia. Traffic came to a stop again at the Atlanta by-pass. Rather than risk having my ass kissed by a dump truck, I detoured a couple of miles through a slum and caught the by-pass from the opposite direction.

The by-pass turned out to be the smoothest sailing in Georgia.

Once I turned onto I-85, traffic was just stupid. Speed up. Stand on the brakes. Ensuring that this idiocy was maintained, the Georgia Patrol had a car stationed under every second or third underpass. Literally, traffic was smoother driving through the part of Alabama where construction had closed all but one lane than any part of Georgia.

Within five miles after I crossed the South Carolina border, traffic had smoothed out. People started driving sanely again. It was as if we had passed out of the influence of the intelligence-dampening ray that covered Georgia. And it’s not that there were fewer people or more lanes. Once they got out of Georgia, everyone breathed a big sigh of relief and started thinking again.

I won’t be going back that way unless someone pays me a lot of money to drive that route. From now on, when Georgia is on my mind, it will bring with it more than just a little apprehension.

Although to be fair, it was in Georgia that I came up with a name for the triangle of interstates that connect Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio—The Texas Traffic Triangle of Torture. But that’s another story.