Tag: travel

Sunday Shenanigans in Austin

Sunday was my last full day in Austin, and what a day it was. We started with brunch at Brooklyn’s in Buda, Texas, and then headed to Bass Concert Hall on the University of Texas campus to catch a matinee performance of The Book of Mormon.

The Book of Mormon is not for the easily offended, but it is hysterically funny. From the opening number, “Hello,” to the closing number, a delightfully different version of “Hello,” the play was one irreverent romp about the misadventures of a pair of Mormon missionaries.

(Above is our mandatory selfie. From left, niece Christie, her daughter, Sophia, sister-in-law Lyn, me, sister-in-law Angie and friend Mauri.)

Below I posed with the young man who played Elder Cunningham (Connor Peirson) and the young woman who portrayed Nabulungi (Kayla Pecchioni). It won’t surprise me if they go on to even bigger roles on grander stages. They’re both impressive actors.

There was a bit of a downside to the day that had nothing to do with the play, though. Just a few minutes before the curtain was raised on the opening act I received a text saying my flight for Monday had been cancelled, so of course part of mind was fretting even as I guffawed during the performance. After the play I spent nearly an hour on hold with Southwest customer service agents.

I think we finally got everything ironed out even though it means we now have to get up really early in the morning so I can be at the airport on time. So I need to brush and floss my teeth and go to bed. Right now.

Peace, people!

Fasten Your Seatbelts

Lately it seems as though all I’ve done is travel with brief periods of rest at Doright Manor between trips. On Friday I flew on Southwest Airlines from Panama City Beach, FL, with a brief layover in Houston before reaching my final destination in Austin. I’m meeting up with two of Studly’s sisters and my niece for a girls’ weekend. It promises to be way more fun than I’m accustomed to. But first I had to survive my flight!

The first leg of the flight was routine. The pilot found a smooth route and we cruised without incident to Houston Hobby Airport. The flight, though, from Houston to Austin was a bit of a nail biter.

We hit turbulence upon takeoff and it was constant the entire flight. Thank goodness the ordeal only lasted 32 minutes. But the flight attendants were never instructed to take a seat and they served passengers as the plane bucked like an untamed bronco until the very last seconds. I was reading and in the back of my mind wondering when the attendants would announce that our tray tables and seatbelts needed to be secured and our seats in the upright and locked position.

The message to secure the cabin never came, though, and the plane landed jarringly, resulting in cups and cans from the back of the plane becoming airborne. I’ve flown thousands of miles and never experienced anything quite like this landing. The flight attendants were visibly shaken, but there was never a word from the cockpit. Weirdest landing I’ve ever encountered.

But I’m here! Our niece, CB picked me up at the airport and then we rendezvoused with her mom (Studly’s eldest sibling) and her aunt (Studly’s middle sister) at CB’s home in Buda, Texas outside of Austin.

So far I’ve had terrific Mexican food at Garcia’s, a family owned restaurant in Buda, played a fun strategy game called Ticket to Ride, at which I thoroughly sucked, enjoyed some good red wine, and laughed so hard I cried. CB’s family joined us for the fun and games last night adding to the hilarity.

I never could remember which color my train was!

{In Ticket to Ride (above) I never could remember which color our train was! I thought we were blue, but midway through my sister-in-law informed me we were red. Needless to say, we didn’t win.}

We’re staying in a lovely “vacation rental by owner” place, with plenty of room to spread out, and today (Saturday) we’re going on a tour of weird homes in Austin. I have no idea what we’ll see, but it should be a hoot. Austin is famous for its weirdness.

On Sunday we’re seeing a production of The Book of Mormon, and I’ll fly home on Monday. Unless, that is, I get a look at my pilot and recognize him from the flight on Friday. I might be looking for the nearest Greyhound bus station if that’s the case.

Peace, people.

What Kind of Traveler Are You?

Do you go where the pavement leads, facing sternly forward, the periphery merely, well, peripheral? Or is your

Head on a swivel, a series of exclamations perching just atop your tongue? Look there! Did you see that? Oh! That cardinal!

Those colors! The gypsy in me sees the forest, the hidden pathways, the possibilities in every turn and untaken road.

Murmurations of starlings, point no way and all ways, unlike the Canada geese who arrow forth, eyes forward, honking

Relentlessly. Following the curves I discover a stand of firs, surprise a doe and her fawns, utter a cry of delight.

For today this poem was wishful thinking. I am traveling, but I have no time to dally on my way to the airport in Panama City Beach. My flight leaves at 9:45 a.m. and should arrive in Austin, Texas, at 3:15.

Oddities and Noteworthy Sights Along the Way

Now that I’ve returned safely home to Doright Manor after my trip to San Marcos, Texas, I’ve had a bit of time to look back at some of the cool stuff I found along the way.

For instance this drive through daiquiri store in Louisiana, just across Texas border. Isn’t it illegal to drink and drive?

And how about the Wooly Mamoth (sic) head mounted on the wall of a barbecue place in Katy, Texas? I’m fairly sure the disclaimer “REPLICA” wasn’t necessary, but it made my daughter and me giggle. The misspelling of mammoth was a bonus.

Notice the sign on I-10 just west of Mobile, AL. I almost cried because I thought it read “ROAD WORK NEXT 568 MILES.” Thank goodness the decimal point between the 5 and the 6 was just difficult to see.

Technically, the Alamo isn’t an oddity, but it’s worth a mention.

On my way to San Antonio, I spent the night in a Holiday Inn in Gulfport, Mississippi. I’d stayed there before and had fond memories of the place. The staff is friendly and the rooms comfy. This time I snapped a photo of the nifty artwork in my room. I love retro pieces and thought this was a nice change from the artwork one usually finds in hotels.

A red door on a shop in Wimberley, Texas. I like red doors. Once I heard that if you want your house to sell quickly, paint your door red. Works for me.

San Antonio has some nifty stuff to see besides the Alamo.

I feel so fortunate to be able to travel and share my adventures with you all. Hopefully I still have a couple of decades ahead to enjoy adventures like this one. It’ll break my heart when I can no longer take my car on long trips.

Peace, people.

It’s Good to be Home

Top five reasons why there really is no place like home:

5. My time zone

4. My shower

3. My bed

2. My cats

1. My Studly Doright

And then there’s this:

Old and Lost River

Driving on I-10 between Baytown and Houston one crosses a bridge over the “Old and Lost River.” Each time I’ve made the journey the river’s name has caused me to smile and then to wonder how it came to be called “Old and Lost,” but I could never remember to google it. Today, though, when I crossed the river I left myself a reminder note on my iPhone via Siri.

Here’s what I found on Google:

“American composer Tobias Picker (b. 1954) wrote Old and Lost Rivers in 1986. The brief, colorful orchestral tone poem was commissioned by the Houston Symphony to commemorate the sesquicentennial of Texas. Picker describes the inspiration for the piece:”

Driving east from Houston along Interstate 10, you will come to a high bridge which crosses many winding bayous. These bayous were left behind by the great wanderings, over time, of the Trinity River across the land. When it rains, the bayous fill with water and begin to flow. At other times — when it is dry — they evaporate and turn green in the sun. The two main bayous are called ‘Old River’ and ‘Lost River’. Where they converge, a sign on the side of the highway reads: ‘OId and Lost Rivers.’

And now I know the story. The google piece also included the audio of the composition written by Mr. Picker and performed by the Houston Symphony Orchestra. I think it’s lovely.

https://youtu.be/S6phXZddj9A

Peace, people.

Final Final Four Post

And then there were two: Michigan and Villanova. At the end of the day, only one team would prevail as the NCAA men’s basketball champions.

Ashley and I had tickets to the final game. If the Jayhawks had still been in the tourney, we’d have gladly driven back into crazy San Antonio traffic, paid a fortune for parking, and a fair amount to Uber to and from the event. Alas, the Jayhawks were eliminated on Saturday, so we elected to watch the game from our hotel room in San Marcos. Call us wusses. We can handle it.

We weighed a great many factors in making our decision besides those listed above. I still struggle to speak and even though I feel okay, it’s wearing me out. Ashley has a flight to catch and a long drive to her home in Illinois once she lands in Des Moines, Iowa. I have a thirteen hour drive ahead of me. Still, we both agonized about not seeing the biggest game of the year in men’s college basketball.

So we spent the evening watching the game in our pajamas while we tried to cram all of our purchases into our suitcases along with the stuff we brought with us. I really don’t care who wins. Right now Villanova has a hefty lead with 11 minutes to go.

Coolest things this weekend:

Just being there! We’ve watched the pageantry of this tournament for years on our respective televisions, but there is nothing like seeing it all in person.

Ashley ran into a Chicago baseball icon, Ronnie Woo Woo in the Alamodome and posed for a photo with him.

We were live on a CBS television broadcast when we stumbled into view behind the broadcasters’ table. We looked like happy dorks. I suppose that’s what we are.

We enjoyed exploring San Antonio, strolling along the River Walk, and mingling with fans from all over the country.

On Sunday night we enjoyed live music and the enthusiasm of young Michigan fans in a San Antonio pub. Oh, and it warmed my heart that these young people knew the lyrics to all of my generation’s favorite songs!

On Monday, Ashley and I explored the little town of Wimberley. We did a bit of shopping and had a great lunch at Ino’Z on the banks of Cypress Creek.

I’ve most likely mixed up my verb tenses in this post once again, but we’ve had, and are still having, a wonderful time.

Tuesday is all about travel. I’ll deliver Ashley to the airport in Houston, about three hours from San Marcos, before heading east on I-10. My goal is to get as far down the road as possible before stopping for the night.

Send us some good travel vibes if you are so inclined. And as always, peace, people.

Good Morning from Houston

It’s Saturday morning, and a fine one as far as I can tell. My daughter and I arrived at my brother’s home in Houston within minutes of each other around five on Friday. She flew in from Des Moines, Iowa, while I drove from Florida and, voila! Here we are.

For a good twenty minutes yesterday I wasn’t sure I was going to get here at all. My gps took me on some rabbit chasing adventure just outside of Beaumont, Texas, and soon I was bouncing along on backroads, some covered in gravel, some partially barricaded, and one completely blocked to traffic. It was obvious that the gps had lost its freaking mind and that I would most likely die alone at the end of this middle of nowhere dirt lane.

I sat and thought for a few minutes then realized I needed to backtrack and just find the damned interstate again. No need to get all melodramatic; although, part of me wondered what future archaeologists might conclude when they found my skeleton sitting upright in my Mazda hundreds or even thousands of years from now.

“Probably senile. Right age. Car had evidence consisting of junk food wrappers and plastic cups that once most likely contained diet Coke. I guess she didn’t remember her Mazda had a reverse gear. Poor girl.”

As I backtracked I realized that the gps had most likely tried to help me avoid some traffic issue on the interstate and didn’t factor in that roads around Beaumont, like the one it directed me to, had been seriously impacted by the flooding that accompanied last year’s hurricanes. Guardrails were warped and in some places lay mangled on both sides of the road, and there were places so degraded that I couldn’t drive on the correct side of the road without endangering my safety. Intense!

When I finally made it back to an entrance ramp for I-10 West, I breathed a sigh of relief and completed the rest of my journey without incident. I hugged my daughter and my brother and my sister-in-law, then we went out for drinks and dinner and more drinks and had just a wonderful evening dining alfresco in one of the best cities in the world.

I slept like a drunken sailor and am now up and ready to continue my journey, as my daughter, Ashley and I drive to San Antonio for the NCAA men’s Final Four basketball tournament starting tonight! Just to be safe, I’m putting Ashley in charge of navigation.

Peace, people!

The Road to the Final Four

If you’re expecting a recap of the college basketball season, forget about it. I’m just checking in to say I successfully navigated through torrential rains and horrendous road construction on my journey to San Antonio to attend the men’s NCAA college basketball tournament that begins on Saturday. I feel like the driving conditions should be charged with a flagrant foul or two. Maybe a technical. It was a brutal day of driving.

Before the bad stuff happened, Studly and I met friends from Illinois for a late lunch in Destin, FL, where they’ve been enjoying spring break, then I began my drive westward, and Studly returned home to Doright Manor.

I’m writing from my hotel room somewhere in Mississippi. Dinner was a grilled cheese sandwich from the kids’ menu in the hotel’s restaurant and a Guinness. Is that classy or what?

My daughter is flying in to Houston from Illinois, and then she and I will meet up at my brother’s home. He and his sweet wife have invited us to spend the night with them in Houston before we push on to San Antonio on Saturday morning.

Now I’m just trying to unwind and to keep my verb tenses straight. I wrote this on Thursday night, but won’t publish until Friday, so I kept getting confused. Another flagrant foul. (I always want to call it a fragrant foul. Doesn’t that sound more pleasant? Or maybe contradictory.)

I would apologize for the randomness of this post, but I’m too tired. ‘Night all.

Peace, people.

Back in the Future

Poor Studly Doright has a herniated disk. For the past three weeks the pain this has inflicted has prevented him from sleeping more than thirty minutes at a time. Walking takes his breath away and sitting isn’t much better. He has an appointment scheduled with a highly respected neurologist next Monday, but calls the doctor’s office three times a day to check for last minute cancellations.

I was away for a week visiting our daughter in Illinois. During my absence Studly tested every flat surface in the house in order to try and get some rest. There were pillows and blankets everywhere including on the kitchen counter and the dining table. He tried out all of the guest rooms and both sofas. While I felt awful about leaving him, he swears it was a good thing I was gone because he’d likely have driven me crazy.

Now, somewhere in my journey to and from Illinois I tweaked my back. I’m not sure if it was done while lifting the five-year-old grandchild for a hug or while hoisting my suitcase in and out of the car. Regardless, my lower back isn’t happy with me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suffering nearly as much as Studly is, but I’m not too spry right now either.

This afternoon as Studly limped pitifully down the hall towards our bedroom I followed slowly with a load of folded clothes to put away, one hand supporting my lower back. We alternated grunts of pain.

“Oh!”

“Ow!”

“Damn!”

Between exclamations I told Studly this was a look at our future: A little old man and his little old wife moving like little old snails.

He wasn’t amused. I guess snail humor isn’t his thing.

Peace, people.