August
1, 1999
Bainbridge Island to Abilene
It's
been twenty-eight days since last I wrote, and in that time,
the Phoenix One has born
us from the breezes on the edge of the continent to the thunderstorms
of northern Texas. Marvin
doesn't like thunderstorms, and last night while Mark and
I paid a visit to my aunt and uncle in Midland, he vented
his fears on a bunjie cord, two printer cables and the power
cord to our digital camera. In his efforts to find a safe
haven under our desk, he chewed through everything in his
path. As Mark noted, he was lucky the power was turned off,
or he might have enjoyed a little electrical storm all his
own.
Thanks to
Mark's skill with a wire stripper and electrical tape, everything except
the camera cable and the bunjie cord, which Marvin reduced to its elements,
is back in service. I should add, too, in Marvin's defense, that the storm
was a fairly serious one. It blew out several windows in a Midland furniture
store and downed a power line.
We've stopped
in Abilene, but not by design. Just east of town, the Phoenix decided
it was no longer able to find any gear other that first, and, since mechanics
observe Sunday as a day of rest, we chose to follow suit. Consultation
with a Ford mechanic tomorrow morning should allow us to report whether
we'll get to Fort Worth and Dallas on schedule.
It's not
the only time the Phoenix has demanded mechanical intervention in the
last month. We enjoyed a sojourn in a Tacoma Ford dealership, and another
emergency call in Denver. In the process, we've become self-taught Ford
truck neurosurgeons, and I'm not a little nostalgic for the days when
trucks lacked brains.
But even
with the Phoenix One's neurological emergencies, we've made
tracks. From Bainbridge Island and Seattle, we headed over
the Cascades to Spokane. From there, we turned south to Salt
Lake City. Zipping across Wyoming, we paused only long enough
to learn about Thornburgh,
a dog whose glorious exploits are memorialized at Fort Bridger.
In Colorado,
we stopped for a few days in Golden, home of Coors Beer and Buffalo Bill.
From there we headed south to New Mexico, stopping in Eagle Nest, Angel
Fire and Taos before pulling into Albuquerque.
The
fastest way to Dallas from Albuquerque is across Oklahoma,
but we took the southerly route through El Paso. Not only
did this allow us to enjoy a brief visit with my aunt and
uncle, but the route also took us through Van Horn, where
we had it on excellent authority an outstanding road sign
lurked. Sure enough, DIESEL FRIED
CHICKEN was waiting for us at the Pilot truck stop just
west of town.
West of Abilene
on Interstate 10, the trouble started with our transmission. Mark pulled
off the highway onto a frontage road where I caught sight of a road sign
to Noodle. Yep, Noodle, and since I value terrific datelines, there is
nothing I would have liked more than to mosey on up to Noodle and write
this journal. But the transmission failure won out, and we're in Abilene
instead. Noodle, like us, will have to wait.
Megan
Abilene, Texas
August 1, 1999
Click
here to read the last 'Life's a Trip:'
"Straight on 'Til Morning"
