1998 Vacation Part I: (Getting there) = 0.1(the fun)
9/21/1

written by Postwood, Saturday, September 12, 1998

When I tell people about the vacation, the most horrible thing in the telling is that tropical storm Francis overshadows all the little stuff. So I have decided to tell this, as I usually do, actually, in chronological order.

Aisai had taken off the Friday before so that she could get some stuff organized and make the house more organized for when we got back. When I got home, we packed the cats up in their carriers and took them to Jones Valley Animal Hospital. Since it was the weekend of Labor Day, they were busy. The guy who took the cats back noticed that on Zapato's carrier, just above the door, it says "Hola, me llamo Zapato."

See, since I have worked at a vet, that one in fact, I have written the cats names on their carriers at least once on each side of it. I also intended to get out the really big "Marks-A-Lot" marker and write their names on their pink towels.

Aisai and I woke up on Saturday at 5:30 a.m. and were supposed to be on the road by 6:30, but it was actually more like seven.

We hadn't eaten before we left so we decided to stop at the first Hardee's on I-65, which is that some one we always stop at, just south of Wheeler Wildlife Refuge. I got a Crisco breakfast sandwich combo with coffee and Aisai took advantage of some ridiculously cheap sausage biscuit deal. This left her with one too many sausage biscuits (two) and so one got to travel with us for a while.

Somewhere south of Birmingham, or actually southwest of it on I-59, Aisai realized that we didn't have the paperwork for the timeshare with us. She had taken it off the refrigerator and put it on the table, with the intention of putting it in her purse later. We both agree that it would have been better if it had gone straight in the purse. Aisai fretted inwardly about this as we listened to Car Talk on NPR in Mississippi.

Oddly enough, all through Mississippi you can get NPR stations. Probably has something to do with it being funded by the Feds rather than the state. Otherwise after you lose The X out of Birmingham, you are in musical wasteland until you can pick up LS100 from Olive Branch, or somewhere.

We stopped at a Truck stop / deli / car wash / frozen yogurt shoppe / gas station and Aisai called her mom about the paperwork. Aisai's mom would call and find out if we needed it, and if we did need the number, she would go to our place and pick up the paperwork.

We ate at the Cracker Barrel at Hattiesburg, which has the oddest way to get to it. In very Mississippi style, you see the Cracker Barrel right next to the interstate, but you have to drive about a mile to get to it after you exit. But rather than the usual Mississippi exit trick of making you drive 5 miles out of your way, all you have to do here is go around a closed mall and closed movie theater.

The food was good as usual at the Cracker Barrel, but the best thing there is a decoration on the wall there. It is a picture of a horse named Dr. LeGear. This horse was, like, 21 hands and in perfect proportion. That is 7 feet at the shoulder to those who don't know what hands are, as I do not. (But if I don't know what hands are, how do I type? Har har har.)

After that long drive from where I-59 meets I-12 to the other side of Louisiana, Aisai and I were pretty hungry, but nothing good was showing up on the side of the road. Once we were in Texas, we broke down and went to a Taco Bell.

Now, If I had the time and interest myself, I could write a whole story about this Taco Bell. Next door was a closed luxury hotel. The little dude (a small young man) who took our order was deaf or something. Aisai ordered first and had to repeat the details of her order after Little Dude kept whispering to her "What?" over and over. Conveniently, when I studied under Plato in ancient Greece, I always would place pebbles in my mouth and make long drawn out speeches to the ocean. I quoth forth my order of two Santa Fe Gorditas with no sauce. But the Fiesta Gorditas, which I got, were just fine too.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that in Louisiana we stopped at this odd convenience store where the lady kept calling me "Sugar" and "Honey" and Aisai called her mom. It was a good thing we had called in the first place since the reservation was in Aisai's Dad's name. Aisai's mom had them add my name in and all was well. We didn't need the paperwork.

We had left Huntsville hoping to make Galveston by sunset, which was 7:55 p.m. As we were approaching Houston on I-10, the sun started setting. The 610 loop still had sunlight, and some of I-45, but as we got closer to Galveston, the sun set fully.

We did manage to see the church that we intended to go to, and did, the next day. I remembered the exit number wrong. I should have remembered exit 36, I think.

The road to get from I-45 to Seawall Dr easily in Galveston is 61st street. We didn't do that. We went until I-45 turned in to Boardwalk and then kept going further toward the northeast end of the island. It was at 53rd Street that I decided to turn toward the seawall. Conveniently, because I had looked up maps of the island at both yahoo and terraserver, I had a pretty good idea of what the island looked like. In fact, though I had placed it away from the map book, I had a map showing me that it was 61st that I needed to take.

Fifty-third Street is also called Mike Gaido Street. That and the road names like S � Avenue didn't instill much confidence in my navigation skills. But when we hit the gulf at Seawall Dr, we knew the way home was easy enough. One of the maps I had printed off the Internet indicated that it was at the corner of 72nd and Seawall. Or maybe 71st I don't remember.

The lady who was manning the desk at 9 p.m. when we got in thought we were from Texas City, which is 5 miles away. When we told her that we had just driven 15 hours from Huntsville, Alabama, she said "Frawh!" or "Shlefh!" and expressed that this would be too much driving for her in one day. I agreed but didn't make the noise.

The room was nice. It was designed to accommodate six. Two nice firm queen size beds in each of the bedrooms and the sofa folded out. We had a view of the gulf.

Note: I didn't say a view of the beach. There was no beach in front of us. The seawall held back the water, which beat on rocks. But there was a pool, we aren't fond of the beach anyway, and if we were, we could have gone down the road a mile or so.

At this point we hadn't started fretting about the weather, but Tropical Storm Francis was forming in the Gulf of Mexico, right off our backyard.