Remember from high school
Geometry, the shortest distance between to points is a….? Well, when roads are laid out and maps are
drawn, it makes perfect sense, given the landscape. So as we headed west on our last day of
driving back from the central coast of California, our straight line from west
to east (I-40) intersected with a semi-straight, but bendable line (US 54) that
sort of diagonaled home towards
KC…the fastest route according to Google Maps.
With all this data, when planning our return trip home, I split the
drive up into 3 days, with our last night ending in Dalhart, Texas.
Having left the Grand Canyon
that morning, we drove and drove and drove, until we intersected with US 54 at
Tucumcari, NM. From there, our road
bubble shrunk from a 4-lane highway to a 2-laner. And it soon became apparent that it was a
popular route for the truckers as well.
With miles to go before I sleep (about 90), we headed northeast into the cooling night air. After traveling what seemed to be 900 miles,
in an area where there were no lights as far as you could see in any direction
(other than oncoming traffic) and knowing there were deer behind each mile
marker waiting to cross the road in front of us, we started counting down the
miles to Dalhart. Our Best Western
awaited us.
With 11 hours and counting on
the road, we were more than ready for the welcome mat to roll out in front of
us, like the yellow brick road. But this
wasn’t Kansas…we were in Texas. The
first hint of our welcome had our noses wrinkling up and us reaching for the
recirculate button on the ventilation controls.
Still, with very little light, if any at all, it became apparent we were
hip deep in stockyard country. We had to
be surrounded by feedlots. Had we rolled
the windows down, we could have heard the cows mooing to us, “Don’t’ slow down,
go faster, faster!”
We eventually acclimated to
an occasional mild heaving sensation, coming from our digestive cores, as the
strength of the stench began to mellow.
The vents were reopened in hopes of washing away any remnants of
bovine-ness still hiding throughout the truck.
And about that time we rolled into Dalhart and began straining to see a
Best Western sign.
Failing to take into
consideration that we traveled across two time zones, it was now two hours
later than we felt. At this point, we
didn’t feel like eating much, but if we were to find food, it was getting late
and needed to do it soon. We finally
spotted the hotel, but had to negotiate the streets under construction to get
there. The last intersection was a stop
light that could have easily been as busy as one in L.A. or Chicago during rush
hour, but instead of Mercedes and BMS’s we were waiting in line with semi’s and
pickups.
We turned the corner,
crossed a section of road that was being reconstructed, missed knocking over
the orange cones marking the way to the entrance, parked the truck and trailer,
and shut the truck off for the first time since it became dark. I let out a big sigh and headed in to the
office to check in for the night.
I was greeted by a nice
young Indian woman behind the counter and a line of what appeared to be
construction workers, waiting to get their rooms for the night too. The young woman concluded our check-in by offering
us earplugs, due to the fact that train tracks were near and very active, day
and night! I unsquinched my forehead and
left the office ecstatic we were that much closer to getting off our butts, closing
our eyes, and evidently ignoring the fact that trains don’t sleep.
We navigated our parking
spot and lugged our necessities up to our room for the night, then turned
around and headed back out for a bite to eat.
Our options were limited, not only by the road construction, but the
time as well. As the clock read about
8:30, we opened the door and walked into a Dairy Queen a short walk away. Accepting the permanent level of cow in the
air, we kept our dinner down and headed back to our room, but not before
noticing the best sign ever. It belongs
to a bank, next to the Dairy Queen. It
made the smell in the air seem fragrant, for the 100-yard stroll back to our
room.
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| Any question about where we are? |
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| Makes me almost want to live there! If I close my eyes and hold my breath. |
I failed to mention to Beth
that the earplugs, which she had not noticed on the desk, came compliments of
the house. But I did bring it to her
attention as I headed in for a shower.
Her reaction was one that has probably been repeated as many times as
couples have checked-in to this perfect storm of sensory displeasure. As it turns out, that busy intersection
nearby, viewable from our window, stayed busy all night, as semi’s braked and
accelerated all night long. Those
sounds, in concert with the intermittent train horn blasts, made a good nights
sleep a challenge, but we managed to get some rest, just not sure how much.
Before leaving Poo-Poo Town, as Beth refers to it, we
hoped that the free breakfast would somehow make up for a few of the hours of
sleep we had lost. I should have
realized that when I poured the waffle batter into the waffle iron, which was
the shape of Texas, that nothing could be that good. As with most all-you-can-eat breakfast bars,
I feel compelled to try almost everything once.
And in this case I am afraid the whole Dalhart experience was tainted by
the first and seemingly endless whiff of Poo-Poo Town from the night before, as
I voiced my disapproval to Beth of everything I attempted to eat that morning,
except for the oatmeal. I take that
back, the OJ and the 2% milk were very good.
After checking out and letting the office know that our toilet didn’t seem to be bolted to the floor very securely, so they wouldn’t charge that to our “incidentals,” we packed up one more time and headed home. I couldn’t wait to get home and check our credit card on line, to see if we were the proud new owners of a rocking toilet in Dalhart, Texas that could put a baby to sleep. So far, so good!
My Zen from Home: It's good to go away for awhile and experience other people, places, and things. And even though it's good to keep in mind, home is wherever you are...it's good to be back home.
Disclaimer: There is no ill will meant towards the residents and town of Dalhart. It is what it is. After a long day traveling, we were hoping for a good nights sleep.
