The Morning After

Good morning, world! We are still driving, and we did not stop to sleep overnight. The power of beef jerky, granola bars, and Amp should never be doubted, and while the last item in particular is likely to rupture my digestive tract at some point, the bottom line is simply that it worked. We are now just a few miles outside of Abilene, Texas, and therefore just a few hours from our first big stop to see Brittany's cousin and family. Our excitement continues to build and morale is still good.

There have, unfortunately, been casualties along the way, though. This is a hazardous trip, and is certainly not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. The horrors of interstate rest rooms often cannot adequately be described, but perhaps their worst offense comes in the form of a lingering olfactory assault in our vehicle. We happened across one stop somewhere back in the badlands of west Texas where there was no soap in the ladies' room with which to wash hands - Brittany had already thought ahead and purchased some hand sanitizer, but I did not realize until now just what kind it was. Though it pains me to say it, our car - and very likely its occupants - both smell of sweet wild honeysuckle.




I suppose it could be worse, as eau de rest stop is highly unfashionable, but as a man, one loses a certain degree of machismo by having an odor reminiscent of his mother.

The other casualty has been my pants. This particular pair has held up through countless casual Fridays, many a motorcycle ride, and the frequent (and sometimes infrequent) washes that come as a result of being one of two - and later one of one - pairs without holes. As of early yesterday afternoon, this pair finally gave up the ghost as well, splitting completely in one knee and nearly splitting in the other as I packed the car:


Favorite pair of jeans, you will not have split in vain. You will be missed.

And now we are in Abilene. Home stretch to Fort Worth. Almost there!