The Lone Star State

If saying y'all is wrong, then I don't want to be right.  Without a doubt, the Lone Star State is the origin of the word pride.  "Don't ask a man if he's from Texas.  If he isn't, there's no use embarrassing him.  If he is, he'll tell you."  Point proven.

As the saying goes, the state is so big, it can't all be said here.  With this in mind, I will do my best to recapture the highlights of this southern giant...

With a quick vanover in Houston, I made my way to Corpus Christi along Florida's Gulf Coast.  For just $8 per night, I camped along Padre Island's National Seashore for almost a week.  It was here that I met Susan and Rob, two of the most genuine, comical, caring, and all around good-hearted fellow campers I've had the pleasure of meeting.  Not only did Rob take a look at one of my many van leaks, but Susan proceeded to invite me over for dinner where she brought a whole new meaning to the word gourmet.  With asparagus and mushroom quiche alongside a salad and crispy bread, I had forgotten we were over 12 miles from the nearest town and without cell service.  Her finale of a pineapple cake landed me at the corner of awe and stuffed.  As I spoke to Susan, I felt this overwhelming sensation that I was looking into the eyes of future-me.  As a retired couple with two wonderful daughters back in New England, Susan and Rob are currently on their fifth annual 3-4 month camping trip where the only common thread is spontaneity.  I pray that I will be just half as adventurous as they are.



Despite the beach being one of my favorite stops thus far, the campground only provided closet-like push-button rinse showers.  Which if you think about it, is pretty sadistic, since you're forced to stand under freezing water for an extended period of time with the use of only one hand.  Due to a sleepless night, however, I found myself waddling the stretch of the campground at 3:30 am towards the outdoor shower that did, in fact, have a lever.  I felt as if I was doing something wrong, wincing every time my flips flopped just a little too loudly.  But listen, no body - not even Eyore - would want to be around me if I was showerless for five days!  I did what I had to do.  As I walked through the fog on that 60 degree night, I felt confident in my ability to withstand cool water.  I may have approached the blasting pvc pipe with too much ambition.  With the power of a fire hose, I was quickly frozen and could barely feel my head.  Nevertheless, I persevered and shampooed my hair faster than a criminal leaving a bank heist.
 
With such waterworks behind me, I was looking forward to meeting mom in San Antonio for some

food, fun, and most importantly, a hot indoor shower.  Oh how wonderful it was to get a hug from that beautiful woman.  For the next three days we walked along the renowned River Walk, tasted southern Texmex, stopped to take photos with wax scultptures and museum monuments (we got mildly chased off the premises since I decided to mount this one), and laughed over our inability to figure out what exactly the Alamo is.  Though our goodbye in the wee hours of the morning was followed by an immediate feeling of mom-sickness (not homesick just momsick), Eyore and I swung Honey west through the desert of Texas where I am currently residing.

From road runners to yards decorated with bone-white skulls, I am ready to take on the Guadalupe Mountains, marking the tallest peaks in all of Texas.  Stay tuned as I navigate my way through cacti (I've already broken skin) and the rattle snakes and mountain lions that inhabite this dusty land.  Knowing me, something catastrophically amusing is bound to happen...