The Hook Of Texas 20: Gravitationally Heavy

 

I write this chapter as therapy, as a pill, as a meditation, as a prescription, as a minor lobotomy.  Survival mode is only encountered a few times in a lifetime; possible scenarios, impossible scenarios, contingencies, mood manipulation, water, food, shelter, energy.  Prayer.  Usually, it's encountered alone.  Many times it's a result of your own mistakes, your own stubbornness and stupidity, your unawareness, but none of that mattered as I sat stranded in my car on eastbound Interstate 20 west of Weatherford, Texas, helpless, as 18wheeler after 18wheeler jack knifed trying to get up the hills on ice.

It was 24 degrees.  The day before I was in 80 degrees, playing golf on the border at Lajitas, now this.  I pulled up on the rough stretch of highway around 5 in the afternoon, the previous 6 hours in the car flew by, I left the El Viejo Adobe in Alpine around 11am, north to Monahans on State1776-- Revolution Road, then picking up I-20, back to the east.  Normally, I would've gone back roads, normally, I would've shunpiked the route home, but I was anxious to get back, I missed my gals, my gals missed me, I loved my family, let's hammer down.  I clocked between 83 and 88 MPH the whole way, lots of Talking Heads, lots of Theolonious Monk.

To park on the Interstate, to cut your engine to save gas, to eat olives and sunflowers seeds, to drink your last drop of water, to be stranded for 9 hours without much hope, that is survival mode.  I couldn't think of anything similar in the previous half century of my life; maybe the winter of '83 on a family Chistmas trip, ironically, on the same highway, but we were never in serious peril, we were always moving, as I recall.  This was sudden, and shocking; unexpected, and gravitationally heavy...

Thaw Out Plan

'Tween the Brock Exit and Old Dennis Road.
West of Weatherford in the freezing cold.
Glazed over by ice and slick as it gets.
Stranded alone without enough rest.

Ate sunflowers seeds and a few croutons.
Midnight now, prolly be here at dawn.
Stalled out Semi's can't make the hill.
Blocking the road, causing a standstill.

Conserving my gas, got a quarter tank.
Kinda started moving then my heart sank.
Nothing but red hazard lights ahead.
Thinking bout a shower, thinking bout bed.

911 can't do much to help.
Guess we'll all have to wait til it melts.
There goes a city truck dropping sand.
Maybe there's some kind of thaw out plan.

Until then I'll just keep my cool.
Ain't gonna panic like a uncool fool.
Ain't gonna yell or scream or shout.
Eventually we'll find our way out.

At 2am TxDOT came through when 3 trucks zoomed past me in the cold, dark, icy night; we found our way out, still frozen, but free, I arrived home at 5am, ignoring the wise counsel of my family to get a hotel room in Weatherford.

The Hook Of Texas 19: The Friendly Tourist Sneer

 

Shook off Mason the next morning, packed up quick and headed west.  It's a nice enough town, but stuck a bit; the mostly empty Lea Lou bar closed down around 9pm to the Pet Shop Boys on the digital jukebox.  I needed rest, and it was a good place for rest.  On the way to Junction, Texas, where I would connect with I-10, I searched for the town of Grit.  Could only find an establishment called The Wildlife Ranch, Inc., and it was closed, I sped on.

On the Interstate out west of Junction, the speed limit is 80 MPH, which means there's really no speed limit.  I set the cruise for 88 MPH.  "Eight you're great, nine you're mine", a former State Trooper once gave me the scoop years ago.  He also debunked my suspicion of quotas in the profession, they were called activity points.  Looking forward to robots taking over for human drivers, put the smokies back on the crime beat, but I digress, my feelings are known.

Arrived in Alpine in the late afternoon, the familiar skyline of mountaintop towers and civilization, the golden arches still has some swag out here.  The town is the center of the Hook Of Texas, geographically, culturally, and academically, with a population of about six thousand.  People seem to come and go, but there is a strong local pride about being local.  Local this, local that, the friendly tourist sneer is fairly strong, and out in the open, I was fortunate to have a few contacts, I could avoid the scarlet letter T for Tourist.  Perhaps my two previous trips would help my standing, I knew my way around, I had intention, I knew the lingo.

The Hook Of Texas 18: Junk Hypnosis Trance

 

Two nights in the Austin lights, from Lamar to Congress, grubbing good in between:  En Fuego tacos, LoRo Asian BBQ (evidently, affiliated with Franklin's),  Elizabeth Street Cafe, and Kerby Lane's.  I was beat, I was full, music racked my brain, time to move west.  Abandoned the Guadalupe Mountains idea, the magnetic pull wasn't enough to overcome the thought of an 8 hour drive, much of it at night.  Based on a recommendation from my landlord Chris, it was to Mason, Texas, only a 3 hour drive, to the Lea Lou CoOp, a conglomerate of a restaurant, a night club, lodging, and a ball room barn located downtown on the square.  The drive was delicious, through the heart of the hill country, Lea Lou's was indeed cool, the accomodations outstanding, but there was no one around, hardly anyone.

After checking in, I took a look around the town on my bike, usually the best way to look around a town--or a city.  I saw an historical house that a preacher built in the 1880's.  Another marker marked the spot where a sherrif was killed by hostile Indians in 1860, in a twist of fate his grandson later became sheriff and was killed by a bootlegger in 1929.  Prohibition, what a scar on our nation.  I ended up in a massive antique shop, wandering around for an hour, almost buying a Zane Grey biography, checking out an old Autoharp, and walking every aisle; all the junk looked the same after awhile, I was in some sort of junk hypnosis trance. 

After a needed nap and refreshing hot shower, I was ready to check out the night scene of Mason.  I walked into the restaurant and sat at the bar, only a few people were there, maybe 8 or 9 in the whole place.  A guy named Gerald immediately introduced himself and started talking about how his family used to own this place and he grew up here and this and that, and it was a grocery store and he was thinking about having kids finally at 40 and he backed the blue, and he bugs the bartender.  I played along, made small talk, mentioning backing the blue, too, declaring they should do traffic surveillance with drones and get off the roads with their $100k Suburbans and radar guns, they were a fucking distraction, I cried, and a menace, go solve some crimes, I wailed loudly.  Soon after that, he quietly paid out and left, his chattiness was gone, the bartender indicated he wasn't all there, that he'd taken a bad road.  Thinking back, he gave me the creeps, I was glad when he took off.

The Hook Of Texas 17: The Last Jimenez

 

The final act at the Continental Club in Austin on Tuesday nights is The Last Jimenez.  Show time was midnight, and after watching James McMurtry and his band put on a full out rock show, I needed to hang out for awhile and get my equilibrium back, enjoy a late beer.  Delay my exit, glow in the show's aftermath, my house on Mary Street was only a mile away.  McMurtry was quick and precise with his lyrics, clenching his teeth to finish off the lines.  Grinding the syllables.

He sang about Okie kinfolks, the myth of road life, and giving up his Cadillac, among other things.  At one point he went off mic and played solo acoustic just to shut up the crowd in the back, who were committing the concert sin of paying no attention and screaming at each other.  The room shhh'ed and shhh'ed, but still the annoying talkers persisted, they had no clue.  Finally, with as much clarity as possible, slow and just loud enough, I turned to the group of corporate hustlers and told them to "Shut the fuck up!"  The intervention seemed to do the trick and James started back up again, amplified and satisfied.

He wasn't much for talking after the show, he packed up his own stuff and split.  Probably sick of questions about Lonesome Dove, the masterpiece novel  his late father wrote.  Rest in peace, Larry McMurtry, your boy can rip his guitar and spit his words, but you knew that anyway.  The Last Jimenez featured David Jimenez, a blues telecaster player with a voice like Van Morrison.  Their covers of When I Paint My Masterpiece (Dylan) and Northeast Texas Women (Willis Alan Ramsey) were knockouts, and I crashed around 2 am, my head buzzing and my soul bluesed up.

The Hook Of Texas 16: Carefree And Weird

 

I'm not sure if it was Lady Bird's idea, but the downtown Austin lake was at peak beauty in the Janurary afternoon, the sky was bright blue with puff clouds reflecting the sun rays.  Brilliant and cool, cool enough for shorts, cool enough for long sleeves.  Ten miles around, some paved, some gravel, some boardwalk.  Rain was predicted the next day, I was advised by my landlord to bike ride the day of my arrival, if I wanted to bike ride.  Glad I did, saw the famed Stevie Ray Vaughn statue up close, dug several city murals, people were out, running, walking, living.

The Bob Schneider show wasn't til 8:30, my cousin was picking me up at 7:30, Saxon Pub was close.  My place on Mary Street was decked out in Texan fashion, flags around, all representing some Texas connection.  An old south side house, renovated and renewed, now a home to those passing through.  The place was a sprawling homestead, two separate houses, a huge back area for cars and trucks, two covered garages, patios all around, a goat, and a dog.  It was furnished stylishly and with thoughtful intent, carefree and weird.

Our reserved seats were at a corner table in the back, only standing room only was left for sale, the place was buzzing, dark and used.  The band was setting up, Bob's mostly kept the same group intact for awhile, the Monday show has gone on continuously from 1999, a quarter century almost, it seems the backbone of his performance art, a place to showcase his musical and lyrical creations.  It was all marvelous and fresh.  He closed the show by showing off his power harmonica and blues delivery, his band throwing down Robert Johnson style.  Out of his lane and shaking, never had a lesson, still came through, and all the ladies started to shout.

The Hook Of Texas 15: Magnetic Rock Formation

 

And again, to the road.  The perfected time of winter, when many brush off travel, and stay locked away for weeks at a time, blue and warm.  That's when the Hook of Texas is at it again, like some massive, magnetic rock formation pulling at all my senses; see the mountains, hear the silence, feel the music, smell the clean air, taste the 44 Farms ribeye, balance it all.  But first to Austin, for the Bob Schnieder Monday night show at the Saxon Pub.  If ya know, ya know.

Arrangements for this perpetually incomplete adventure were made a couple of weeks prior, with beaching family trips booked on the horizon, this was my chance to get back, drive around, know more.  From Austin, I'll go west, likely to Van Horn.  Close to the Guadalupe Mountains.  Then, south to the El Veijo Adobe, my spot in Alpine, to launch days of smaller road trips.  Out there, it's divide and conquer.

A loose list of aspirations include:  Bob at the Saxon with my Austin cousin, bike ride downtown and Barton Creek, some live music at Don's Depot, some medium level hiking, revisit Chinati, wink at the Mystery Lights of Marfa, play LaJitas, check out the renovated Big Bend Museum, jam out with the Cool Arrows.  Come what may, with an inclination for the new and undiscovered, an eye for the unknown.  At a peaceful pace, there is no hurries, no frantic dashes.  Just wandering and wondering.  And words.

The Great Wake 55: Think Opposite

 

Warning scenes and market low boiling, on medium high.  Suit up and talk about reactions and moves.  Think opposite.  Don't sweat the open, don't sweat the close.   Look up once a month.

Planes are flying, cars are driving, the hum from the road.  Dark clouds slipped by, off to the east, to fill those Texas lakes again--Cooper, Lavon, Tawakoni, Fork, and Bois D'Ark.  Future drinks and flushes, green lawns and swimming pools.  Water is of the utmost importance, the essential element.  Word.

The first quarter is child's play, adjustments must be made way before halftime.  Before its too late.  Get on the line, this second quarter is busting, stretch it out, go for the score.  Let the heroes be heroes.  Just for one day.

The Great Wake 54: A True Queen

 

Who are these lawyers?  The ones that find documents, like paper matters anymore, like we're hillbillies out here, riding on cantaloupe trucks, with toothpicks and shoe holes.  Digital copies, virtual copies, meta copies, get on with it, leak away.  Screenprint if you must, save the glow forever.  These lawyers are takers and on-the-takers, these lawyers are the actual grease.

So much cannot be known, but they found those 11 pages, or so.  Applied to the Theory Of So, so what's next?  Things we can say and not say, things we can infer and not infer, taboo is the new taboo.  Daughter of Elvis, ex wife of Michael Jackson, a true Queen.  Poor girl was roughly my age, too early, too early for cardiac arrest.

The toes and fingers must be felt, get that hot blood melt.  Knock out the knots, no room for clots, cycle through, cycle through.  One more time, 'til your brain's been drowned, upside down, swish it around.  Invert the story, see it from the other ridge, the other high ground.  Who are these lawyers?

Rivers & Bridges 9: Faith Alone

And now, driving in 65 degrees fahrenheit, blue skies overhead, sunroofing, the thoughts of gratitude and blessings.  Storms come and go, rivers find their way to the sea, as the paraphrases go.  A farmer who fed millions, maybe billions, a man that made something from nothing through cultivation, irrigation, and technical innovation.  Too icy to see the High Bridge, and no time to stop over in Madison County, either.  It was 5 degrees fahrenheit last Friday morning, had to get back to Texas.

A time for work and a time for rest, a time to take and a time to bless.  Evaluate, evaluate.  A time for sugar and a time for wine, a time for bread and a time for rhymes.  Evaluate, evaluate.  A time to laugh and a time to cry, a time to live and a time to die.

Rivers freeze in Iowa in the winter, they ski off hills, best ribeye I've had in awhile.  The wind is vicious, coming in heavy from the north country.  Cold.  They gather and pray, the church bells ring loud, faith alone up there, faith alone.  Surely, heaven will look a little like Iowa.

The Great Wake 53: Egos By The Kilos

 

No one in the schoolhouse, these teachers are dumb.  Their pictures are small, their minds are closed, they have blurred vision.  No clarity, only fog.  Blue skies are above, beyond a tax credit, oblivious to incentives.  Keep the trees, escape the windmill spectacle, figure out fusion, oil it up 'til then.

Radiation games of destruction, the nuclear option.  Our piss poor elected officials, egos by the kilos.  Filibuster this, buster.  We don't care and it doesn't matter.  Your bounce house games.

Cause a ruckus, ditch the decorum.  The aisle is a clogged vein.  Those on the left chant, those on the right moan.  They deal seats like a casino dealer deals cards.  Under the table and through the sleeves.