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| Now I'm cruising at high speed through West Texas. Saw a bunch of deer on the side of the highway, patiently waiting for cars to jump in front of. Fortunately none of them considered Whip It! worth the effort. Lost part of an album of the front of the roof to high crosswinds. (Glad I applied them back to front, like snake scales.) I'm losing a little paper off the sides, but that's to be expected.
Somewhere in the vicinity of Middle of Nowhere, Texas, Sheriff BigHat gets in the passing lane and just cruises there, staying in the corner of my rear view mirror. I speed up; he speeds up. I slow down; he does the same. Why do these guys have to be such jerks sometimes? It's looking as if West Texas might not be as hospitable this year.
Brothers & sisters, today's text: Go to now, ye that say, "To day or to morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain." Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, "If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that." (Epistle of James) 
Yes, Whip It! broke down, & I was about to. Same thing that felled us coming out of the Mojave Desert after visiting the phone booth. Looks like I'll have to get towed again. Instead of "On the Road Again," this trip's theme may wind up being "On the Hook Again."
So, instead of Sonora, I'll be passing the night at Motel 10. Interstate 10, that is. Whip It! has found a shoulder to rest on, & I'm wishing I had a shoulder to cry on. But, if thus it must be, so be it. |
Stopped for gas in Fort Stockton & asked the cashier how far it was to Sonora, where I planned to spend the night. "141 miles," she answered. "I can do that," I say. My rebuke came about forty miles later, not far from a place the map calls Sheffield.
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