I got up reluctantly at 7 (8 E.S.T.) and didn't shower. Mmm, smelly Virginians. I think we both wanted to get the fork out of there because it was so damn cold and rainy. Of course, we come on the one day that it's cold on the Gulf coast, two hours from the Mexican border.
The drive to San Antonio was just as boring as the drive to Corpus Christi. It rained off and on the whole way, lightly drizzling when we parked near the Alamo.
Yes, the Alamo. The Alamo where Davy Crockett, Jim Bonham, and David Bowie got massacred by the Mexican Army, but for some reason this event is remembered as a great victory for freedom by the Texans. Still, it was cool to see and it came equipped with all sorts of interesting facts and history. Although, I didn't see any exhibit on when Ozzy Osborne pissed on it and got arrested. I guess they keep that sort of thing hush hush. They could have even made a big deal out of it and used him as an example of how you "don't mess with Texas."
Being right in the middle of the city, the Alamo is surrounded by the Guinness World Records Museum, a Ripley's Museum, and some Tomb Rider (not Raider) bullshit. We passed by all that noise and came to the river walk, a very nice (and probably bumping in the summer months) spot with many restaurants and bars. Except that it was treacherously easy to fall into the river, it seemed like a good place to hang out on a Monday around 1 P.M. We chose Cafe Ole at the beckoning of some exotic bird and a black man and had lunch. Neither of us were terribly impressed with the quality of the Mexican food. I guess we were still jaded from the previous night's meal. The cool thing about this restaurant was the bathrooms. I'll leave it to your imagination. They were the most interesting this side of New Orleans.
When we left, I dozed off. Don't worry, faithful servants, I wasn't driving. When I awoke some time later, lo and behold, we were in the hill country! Glorious hills! I hadn't seen a hill since Tennessee. I was giddy the entire rest of the day's drive. We passed through brush, tumbleweed, canyon, and dirt and eventually arrived at Fort Stockton for dinner. Another Mexican place, we thought. We were surprised. Full menu, it said. So I ordered the works: fried cat fish, hush puppies, fries, Texas toast, a little salad thingy that was originally designed to be the toppings of a taco, and some nasty nasty Chardonnay. It revived us, so we drove down an interesting road (285 N, for those of you who plan on mimicking my every move some day) to Pecos, site of the first ever rodeo.
The thing that struck me as so odd is that we would see the lights of this flat city 20 miles away, and it would just sit as this oasis so far away. Like an F-Zero background, it seemed like it would never get closer. It finally did, though, and we wound up at the Motel 6. The Pecos Motel 6, where dreams are made and sometimes realized, and fortunes told. We hope to leave here soon.
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