Texas Road Trip

Introduction

Texas Road Trip is a chapter in my upcoming memoir about my life as a carpenter in the late 1980s. I had been working in Virginia for the past six months as a transplanted Texan, trying to make a living pounding nails in a tough economy.

The Journey to Austin

On the road, 27 hours straight, no sleep, alone, at night, with only the thoughts rolling around in my head for company.

Monday, December 7th, 1987

At 11 a.m., I was on the road to Texas, headed west on I-66, just past the Happy Creek exit to Front Royal, Virginia. I should have been further along, but after I left Woodbridge, I stopped by the construction office in Clifton to say goodbye to Tracey one last time before leaving Northern Virginia for nearly a month. The stop was worth it.

Near Strasburg, I veered southwest on I-81 and pulled into the nearest station to gas up. I calculated the distance to Knoxville, my goal for the day, to be about 400 miles. The drive would take roughly seven hours, and with stops for gas and food, I would arrive around 8 p.m. and stay in a hotel overnight, unlike the drive to Virginia back in May, when I stayed at state parks and KOAs. No. I planned to stay in hotels for this trip and sleep in a warm bed each night.

I traveled light. All I brought was my carpentry tools, a suitcase full of clothes, and my guitar. I knew everything I took to Texas would return with me, and I wanted to save payload space for new stuff I planned to take back.

It had been six months since I relocated to Virginia, and, incidentally, that's how long I had verbally committed to this venture. If, after six months, things weren't working out in Virginia, I could return to Texas with my head held high. I could say I had given it my best shot. It just wasn't in the cards. Nope. Sorry, Virginia, I'm heading back to Texas, where I belong.

But things WERE working out. I was gainfully employed, had a roof over my head, paid past-due bills, made new friends, learned new intricacies of carpentry, found new love, and was heading back to Texas to move more of my belongings to Virginia. Life was good.

Around two o'clock, I stopped outside Roanoke for a burger and fries, then got a large coffee for the road. On the way to the interstate, I filled my tank and checked my engine oil. The level was FULL, but the color was dark brown; it would need to be changed before I leave Texas. Back on the freeway again, feeling good, headed toward the Tennessee state line, 140 miles away. It was cloudy and cold but not freezing, and the roads were dry. Good driving weather. I was fortunate. December snowstorms were not uncommon in these parts.

I had saved a little money for the trip to Texas, but even with the $200 gift from the Millers, I would have to watch my expenses. I had plenty of places to stay once I reached Austin; I didn't have to worry about lodging, just food and gas. My Texas belongings were where I had left them at my house on Stillwood Lane, where my ex-girlfriend, Peggy, still lived with two new roommates.

Before I left Woodbridge, I called Peggy to let her know I was coming into town to pick up some of my stuff. She told me I could sleep on her couch (which was, in fact, my old couch) as long as I wanted during my visit. Peggy and I never officially broke up, as far as I know, but I heard she found someone new after I moved to Virginia.

Our feelings were mutual; we had become just friends, but I found it odd that we had never discussed it. Maybe we both knew that we didn't have to. Life forced a separation upon us for which we had no control, and because our lives were so different, we chose to part—no sense pondering over it.

It was almost dark at 5 o'clock when I crossed the Tennessee state line, where I stopped in Bristol for gas and another large coffee. Back on I-81, I saw a sign: Knoxville 110. I would be arriving on schedule.

Two months after I moved to Virginia, Peggy visited me once (before I met Tracey). She flew in on a Friday. The next day, we drove my little Toyota truck from Woodbridge to Columbus, Ohio, to see her Mom and Dad. We stayed four days, then, on the way back to Woodbridge, I dropped her off at Dulles Airport to catch her return flight back to Austin. The trip was fun, but not so much romantic.

Near Dandridge, now completely dark, I veered onto I-40 and continued cruising west toward Knoxville.

Peggy's parents took me in right away. Every morning during our visit, her father, Chet, brewed a large pot of coffee to go with our bacon-and-eggs breakfast. I went on and on each day about how I had to have my caffeine every morning, blah, blah, blah. He always smiled and nodded in agreement. On the last day, when we were saying our goodbyes, he said with a big grin, "Matt, before you get on the road, you should know that the coffee you've been drinking all week was decaf."
"What?!"

Just outside Knoxville, I saw a few motel signs and exited the freeway. On the way to the first motel, I pulled into a fast-food joint and had a chicken sandwich and fries for dinner. After eating, I drove into the motel parking lot and shut off my engine. I sat in my truck for a moment to think. I was a little tired from driving all day, but not at all sleepy. I was excited about getting to Texas and wanted to keep going. Why not? Hell, it wasn't like I had never pulled an all-nighter before. If I kept going, I could be in Nashville by 10, Memphis by 2, Texarkana in time to watch the sunrise, and Austin in time to have a double-meat Dan's burger for lunch!

"That's it, I'm going for it!" I started my truck and headed back toward the freeway. On the way, I swerved into a well-lit gas station to cap off my tank and grab another large coffee and a couple of packs of cigarettes for the road. I knew that if I got sleepy, I could always stop at a rest area for a quick nap, but the cigarettes, coffee, and incentive to get to Texas should keep me rocking.

No, it wasn't the gas station with the Baywatch gals that I stumbled upon on the way to Virginia six months back. I couldn't even remember where that was, but it would have been interesting to see if the same cast of beach babes were still there.

I was on the interstate again, three hours away from Nashville, wide awake, heading west on I-40. The road was dark and lonely—Monday night traffic; most folks were preparing for bed. There were 18-wheelers on the road, but not many. It will be a long night. The next time I see the sun again, I will be in the great state of Texas.

The most unexpected part of my new life in the Washington D.C. area was meeting my new girlfriend, Tracey. She was the best thing that happened to me in Virginia, but you couldn't tell her that. I had spent Friday night, all day Saturday, Saturday night, and half of Sunday with her. But after all that I said to convince her she had nothing to worry about and that she was my girl, she still wanted me to cancel my trip to Texas and spend the Christmas holidays with her.

I didn't blame her. I also wanted to be with her, but there were loose ends to deal with in Texas. It was a trip I had been planning for months. It was mostly a logistics trip, with the added benefit of visiting family and friends. After everything I said and did, how could she not have faith in me? Maybe it is herself she can't trust.

Upon returning to Virginia, I planned to take my construction career to the next level. Perhaps as a supervisor for Wells and Sons. I wasn't the fastest carpenter under Bob's employ, but probably the wisest. I had more years of well-rounded experience than most of the other carpenters working for Bob.

My closest competitor, Chris, was young, sharp, and a fast worker, but lacked something. Experience? I don't know. Maybe nothing. But I know this: in a room full of Bob's carpenters, Chris was one of the few I would care to have a long conversation with about wood structures or anything else. He was a thinking man. There was also John Carpenter; he was closer to my age and also sharp as a box cutter.

My gas gauge was reading below half full; it was time to start hunting for fuel. In the 1980s, there weren't big, bright travel centers at every other exit, especially late at night, in the middle of nowhere. You had to take what you could get.

I saw a few gas signs ahead and exited I-40 at Gordonsville, expecting to find an open gas station somewhere, but the intersection was dark. I looked left and right. I saw a glimmer of light off to the right and headed toward it. The lights were on at the first station, but it was closed. The next station looked closed, but was open. An attendant sat behind a dirty glass window, smoking a cigarette. There was no store, only gas. I walked up to the window.

"Fillerup on pump 3?" I said as I handed the old fellow a 20-dollar bill through a hole in the glass.
"Yawp."

After I filled my tank, I went to look for something to drink. There was no coffee, but I eyed a rusty soda machine outside the gas shack and purchased a 16-ounce Dr Pepper with an assortment of coins from my pocket. Without a word, the grouchy old fart behind the window gave me my change for the gas, and I was out of there.

About an hour up the road, I took the 440 Loop to bypass the heart of Nashville and, by 11, was back on I-40, headed west toward Memphis. It was late, and I was exhausted, but more awake than ever.

What inspired me most about my work in Virginia was the architecture. The homes I built in Texas were, for the most part, prefabricated tract houses designed for low cost, speedy construction. In contrast, the projects I built in the D.C. area were all custom-built remodels. There was nothing prefabricated. If we needed any unique architectural elements, we created them ourselves—either onsite or in our shop—with our own two hands and the tools we had available.

The customizations we created rewarded us with the opportunity to refine our carpentry skills. My role as lead carpenter required me to work with the architects and engineers to ensure that we constructed everything to the designer's specifications. It felt good to be part of a team of professionals who cared about the work they produced, and I didn't want to be anywhere else.

I hoped to get coffee at my next gas stop, wherever that would be, but I wasn't holding my breath. If the attendant running the station were a coffee drinker, there could be a chance of a fresh brew. If not, there might be nothing, or just yesterday's coffee burning at the bottom of the pot.

The carpenters I worked with who cared about their craftsmanship were happy to be at work each day and did excellent work; those who didn't care spent their days watching the clock, if they came to work at all. What makes one person care, and another not?

I needed this trip, time to think, and I'm glad I decided to drive straight through; the wheels were turning, and it was too late to shut them down. The thoughts tumbling through my mind on the trip back to Texas were markedly different than the previous drive, six months prior, when I was headed east, broke, depressed, desperate for work, and forced into unknown territory.

No, not this time. Six months of positive, new experiences working, living, and thriving in Northern Virginia fueled my thoughts on that tiring but fine early Tuesday morning. My state of mind had improved tremendously since those days—but where's that gotdam coffee?

I never hired carpenters who showed up on a Friday looking for work to start on Monday because when Monday rolled around, they never showed up. Never. And there was always some excuse why they couldn't start on Friday.
"Uh, I don't have my tools, uh, uh, I have to pick up my truck from the shop this afternoon, uh, my wife's having a baby..."
Yeah, bull. If you hired these carpenters on Friday to start on Monday, they'd spend the weekend getting wasted, celebrating their new job, and would either be too hungover to come to work or be doing time in some county jail.

I exited I-40 at Jackson. There were gas stations on every corner of the intersection, but only one with a store open at 1:00 a.m. I gassed up my truck and went inside, hoping for the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, but there was none. I found a coffee maker, but its lights were off, and the pot on the burner was clean and dry. I didn't bother asking the attendant to brew a new pot. Folks in these parts must not drink coffee at this hour of the night. I bought another Dr Pepper and was back on the road, about 1.5 hours from Memphis.

At Memphis, nearly brain-dead from fatigue, I crossed the Mississippi River into Arkansas, then continued west on I-40 and arrived in Forrest City at about three o'clock in the morning, still no coffee.

The night was beginning to wear on me. My left elbow was sore from resting it on the edge of the driver's side window. I kept moving it around, but it always ended up in the same spot. I pushed westward for another hour and stopped in Lonoke, just east of Little Rock, and found a gold mine of freshly brewed coffee waiting to be consumed by drowsy commuters heading to work. The line starts behind me, I thought, even though there was no one else in the store. The coffee perked me up, but at some point in a sleepless night, nothing works for long.

One mandatory task I needed to complete upon reaching the Texas border was to obtain a motor vehicle inspection sticker for my windshield. Mine had expired two months back. The Virginia Highway Patrol didn't enforce other states' regulations; it focused only on vehicle violations involving Virginia-registered vehicles. However, a Texas State official could spot an expired State Inspection Sticker through solid rock. I hoped to find a gas station that provided the service—somewhere in Texarkana—before driving too deep into the heart of the state. I didn't need a vehicle fine to welcome me back home.

At 5:30, I stopped in Arkadelphia for gas and another large coffee before continuing to Texas.

In time for sunrise, I arrived in Texarkana around seven and found a gas station that performed state inspections, but it didn't open until 8:00 a.m.

I found a small café nearby, grabbed my roadmap, and went inside. It had the welcoming smell of an old-time restaurant: walls seasoned with five decades of ancient grease and stale cigarettes. I was the only customer. A row of booths with torn seat covers occupied space along a stretch of plate-glass windows, and a long counter with turquoise stools ran the length of the opposing wall. I found the only seat with a backrest and sat down. An attractive woman dressed as a waitress appeared from the kitchen, grabbed a menu, and headed my way.

"Would you like some coffee, darling?" she said, in Texas Southern style.
"You bet," I said. "It has been a long night."
"Sugar?" she asked, as she filled my cup with black gold.
"No thanks."
"You look tired, sweetie."
"I am. I just drove straight from Washington, D.C."
"Without stopping? Where are you headed in such a hurry?"
"Austin."
"She must be pretty," she said, smiling.
"No. Nothing like that. I just wasn't sleepy."
"You still have a ways to go. Would you like some breakfast?"
"Yes, please."
"What'll it be, puddin'?" she said as she pulled out her order pad.
"I'll have two eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and wheat toast."
"Okay," she said with a flirty wink, "it should be ready in a jiffy. Have some more coffee while you wait; I don't want you falling off your stool."
"Thanks, darling," I said with a grin, returning the Texas accent.
"You shut up," she said, sneering pertly over her shoulder as she walked seductively back to the kitchen.

I opened my map, looking for the quickest route to Austin. There were many roads, but the fastest was to stay on the interstate to Dallas and then take I-35 South.

My breakfast arrived hot and delectable. I was famished, more than I thought, and devoured every morsel like a competitive eater.

"Wow! Somebody was hungry! Can I get you anything else, darling? A stack of pancakes? A big ole slice of ham and a dozen bisbuits?"
"Just a coffee to go, sugar."
"Oh, you want sugar in your coffee now?"
"Are you trying to start trouble?" I said, smiling.
"Here you go, mister without-sugar. Come back when you can stay a while."
"Thanks, sweetie."

After breakfast, I returned to the gas station, filled my tank, had my oil changed, and got a new inspection sticker for my windshield. From Texarkana, I navigated back to I-30 and headed west toward Dallas with a full stomach and over five hours of driving still ahead. I was getting tired, but there was no stopping now.

In a different world, I might have chatted with that pretty waitress from Texarkana a little longer. She might have invited me to her place after her shift ended. We would fall in love, of course, and move in together. I would find a job somewhere locally, maybe a lumberyard or hardware store, or drive a grain truck, and later, after we saved a little money, buy that rusty double-wide parked on a half-acre lot at the edge of town, and raise a litter of children—it's frightening how fast the direction of your life can change.

Too tired to think straight, I arrived in Dallas around noon, then veered south on I-35E toward Hillsboro, where I continued further south on I-35. The wind blew so hard from the south that I could only reach a top speed of 45 miles per hour through Waco. That was a first. It was the beating I didn't need after having driven all night.

While passing through Waco, I envisioned an elaborate rain-catchment system for passenger jets that could collect water at supersonic speeds and store it in evaporation-proof tanks—man, I was starting to lose it—it was time to wrap up today's Texas Road Trip.

***

I pulled into my old driveway on Stillwood Lane once again. It didn't look like anyone was home, but I knocked on the door out of courtesy. No answer. I unlocked the front door with the key I still had on my keyring and walked inside. Entering the house I had lived in for over five years after spending the past six months in Northern Virginia was surreal.

Many of the furnishings (my furnishings) still looked just as I had left them. There were new decorations on the walls, new pictures on the end tables, and something else; it didn't smell the same. Not bad, just different. "Is anyone home?" I hollered. No answer. I didn't expect anyone to be there, but I wanted to announce myself, just in case. I called Peggy at work (from my old kitchen wall phone) to let her know I had arrived.

"Hi, Matt! Welcome back! Make yourself at home, but please don't go into my room."
"Thanks, Peggy. All I need is a shower. I have been driving all night."
"Will I see you later?" she asked.
"Probably not tonight. I'm supposed to meet Albert at his place this afternoon. I'll likely spend the night there, but I haven't talked to him yet. You are the first person I called."
"Okay, let me know if your plans change. Let's have dinner tomorrow if you want, and if you're interested, my boss, Pat, has some carpentry work for you while you're in Austin."
"That sounds great. I hoped to find work while I was in town. Three weeks without a paycheck is a bit long."
"Why don't you come by the shop tomorrow morning? You can talk to Pat about what he wants."
"Sounds good."

I walked to my truck, grabbed my suitcase, and took it to Peggy's room—my old room. Puzzling. Why did she not want me to enter her room? It wasn't messy. What does she not want me to see? Is she hiding something? If you don't want your ex snooping through your stuff, don't tell him not to.

I poked around and found some love letters she was writing to me. Why would she not want me to see them? Probably because we weren't writing love letters to each other anymore. These must be old. They were pretty spicy, though. Wait. What? These letters were not for me! They were to another guy named Matt! What the—?

Suddenly, the dog next door started barking. A memory of many sleepless nights in that room came roaring back: I hated that wretched beast; if the wind was blowing just right, he could bark for hours, sometimes all night.

There was no reason for me to be upset with Peggy. I had found new love; why shouldn't she?

I headed for the bathroom to wash off nearly two days of cigarette smoke and travel grime. The shower had seen more lustrous days. I kept it spotless (mostly) when it was just Peggy, Leah, and me. I expected to see it gleaming, with three women living together, but that wasn't the case. They were likely in the middle of some never-ending chore war where the first person to clean the tub loses. Roommates.

I called Tracey to let her know I had made it to Austin, but she wasn't home, so I left a message with her mother and gave Albert's number so she could call me back. I called Albert, agreed to meet at his house, loaded my suitcase into the cab, and headed to South Austin. My elbow was still sore.

Albert and I drank beer until after midnight, a marvel since I hadn't slept in nearly 42 hours, but neither of us was ready to end the party. We shouted, "One more round!" two or three more times before we eventually threw in the towel.

I woke up at 8:30 on Albert's couch, feeling groggy but rejuvenated, after the short rest. Albert had already left for work, and I had the whole day ahead of me. I showered and headed to Dan's Hamburgers for a long-awaited plate of their well-known Tex-Mex breakfast tacos. And if chance would have it, Peggy's office was just down the road from Dan's. I ordered two potato egg and cheese tacos and a large black coffee, and sat at a table where someone had left the remains of the daily newspaper. I looked through the want-ads for carpentry jobs. Nothing.

"You look beat," were Peggy's first words as I walked through the main entrance to her office. "Did you and Albert stay up all night partying?"
"No, we crashed at a respectable hour."
"Two o'clock?"
"Maybe later."
"Well, even exhausted, you look good. I can't believe you're here."
"I can't believe it either."
"Wait here. I'll get Pat so you guys can talk. Do you want to grab some lunch afterward?"
"Sounds good."

Pat was a prosperous short-order book publisher who conducted business in a 15,000-square-foot warehouse jam-packed with printing equipment and a zillion books of all sizes, shapes, titles, and bindings. After a moment, Peggy and her boss emerged through some swinging doors.

"Hey, Matt, how have you been? Peggy said you would be in town for a few weeks."
"I have been well, Pat. I'll be here until a few days after the holidays."
"Are you interested in making a little Christmas money?"
"Sure, let's talk."
"Follow me and I'll show you what I need."

Pat took me to the warehouse and showed me some book carts he wanted repaired, as well as six new carts he wanted built. I gave him a fair price for labor, which I don't recall, plus the cost of materials, and with a handshake, I was formally back to work in Austin again, albeit for only one week.

"I'll start working on the carts about nine tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"
"Sure, Matt. You're the boss."

Pat gave me a mini-tour of his book-binding operation, discussed the possibility of expanding into a larger facility someday, and told me there would be more carpentry work when that time came. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be any time soon. After some time, I returned to the front office and found Peggy proofreading one of their customers' new books.

"Are you ready for lunch?" I asked.
"Sure, where?"
"Dan's?"
"Dan's? Really? Didn't you go there for breakfast?"
"Yes, but I can't pass up the opportunity for a one-of-a-kind burger, and besides, I have been craving one for six months."
"Okay, let's go."

I ordered a large double-meat cheeseburger, an order of "frings" (a combo of fries and onion rings), and a chocolate malt. I don't know what Peggy ordered, but I didn't hear the words 'double-meat' or 'chocolate malt', so nothing registered. We took our classic Austin-style burger lunches to a booth by a window and, without saying a word, got settled into our seats. Outside, a blind man with a cane crossed North Lamar, strolled up the walk, and entered Dan's like he had done it a million times.

"I'll bet he's a regular," I said.
"You went into my room, didn't you?" Peggy asked.
"No."
"Bull!"
"Well, you told me not to. What was I supposed to do?"
"Stay out, that's what," Peggy said.
"Would you have?"
"Probably not...well, what did you see?"
"Not anything that concerns me."

***

As Christmas drew near, the days grew shorter and colder. I finished Pat's carpentry work, hung out with Albert playing music into the wee hours nearly every night, visited many of my hospital friends and carpentry buddies, and began planning my trip to Corpus Christi to spend my remaining days in Texas celebrating a traditional Christmas with my Mom and John (my stepdad), and brothers and sisters. A day before I left Austin, Albert and I went to a bar and had barbecue for lunch.

"On the 26th, I'm returning to Austin to pick up more of my stuff from the Stillwood house," I said. "Do you want to get together?"
"I have a date that night, but I'll be back before it gets too late," Albert said. "We can party when I get home and, of course, you are welcome to spend your last night at my place."
"Thanks, buddy, I'll do that. We can have one more beer before I hit the road."
"Yes! One more beer!"

I left for Corpus Christi the next morning on Christmas Eve. I could have saved about 15 minutes by traveling the interstate through San Antonio, but chose my old, more meaningful route, through Lockhart, Luling, Nixon, Karnes City, Kennedy, Pettus (where I stopped for a burger at the local Dairy Queen), Skidmore, and Sinton, then crossed the bridge over the ship channel and landed in downtown Corpus.

The city had ornamented the streets with the same aging Christmas decorations I recalled from grade school. It felt good to be home. Everyone in my family was happy and healthy, and living as they had before I left for the Washington, D.C., area six months prior.

We all, except John, attended the Christmas Eve candle lighting service at the Methodist Church on Ocean Drive that night. After the service, we stopped at the Bayview pharmacy for some last-minute stocking stuffers before heading home for eggnog and cookies. I had beer. I never developed a taste for eggnog.

Afterward, everyone retreated to the living room to watch Christmas movies, except for John, my mother, and me. We sat around the kitchen table, enjoying our Christmas Eve beverages.

"When are you moving back to Texas," John said.
"I don't know. It won't likely be for another year or two," I said. "The Texas economy is still not on its feet yet."
"You should learn computers," Mom said. "It's much safer work. You can't work as a carpenter when you get old."
"I have no use for computers, Mom. All I ever see people do with them is play video games. Seems like a waste of time."
"You can do more with computers than play games."
"I know, Mom, maybe someday," I said, dismissing the subject.

On Christmas morning, I woke to the smell of bacon, eggs, and fresh-baked biscuits. After breakfast, we all found a place to sit in the living room and opened our gifts. Then we spent the rest of the day visiting and cooking Christmas dinner. John prepared and stuffed the turkey, my sister April made the deviled eggs, and I peeled the taters, while Mom and my little sister Molly made the rest of the side dishes and gravy, set the table, and coordinated the whole shebang. Mom and John always found something about the dinner to "make better next year", but they were always savory and scrumptious to me.

After sundown, I met my life-long friends, Chip and Liz, at El Que for pool and rounds of beer. It was a splendid end to a magnificent Christmas.

The next morning, before driving back to Austin, my Mom made me another bacon-and-eggs breakfast. Then, while enjoying coffee afterward, she reiterated:
"Don't forget what I said about computers."
"Okay, Mom," I said, smiling, with a 'you've made your point' tone. "I won't forget."

I was on the road, leaving Handover Street again, logging away one more holiday season into the past. I watched my family wave goodbye until they were out of sight.

I arrived at Albert's house around sunset. He was gone, but left a key under the mat. There was a note on the table.

'See you around 10. Grab a beer from the fridge. Don't fall asleep early. We have partying to do!!!'

I opened a cold Bud, then took a seat on his couch. I should call Tracey to let her know I'm heading back tomorrow.

"Hello?"
"Hi Tracey! It is great to hear your voice!"
"It is nice to hear yours too. Did you have a nice Christmas?"
"I did. I went to Corpus to celebrate with my family."
"Did Peggy go with you?"
"No. Why would you ask that?"
"I don't know."
"Did you have a good Christmas?"
"Yes."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I went skiing."
"That sounds like fun. Who did you go with?"
"I went with my friend, Sara, and her boyfriend."
"Just the three of you?"
"Well, Jim was home from college. He went with us too."
"Your Ex?"
"Yeah, well..."
"What? Uh, are you getting back together with him?" I asked, timidly.
"I am confused right now," she said.
"Confused? What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I think I love you both."
"What?!"
There was a bit of silence, then I finally asked, "Did you sleep with him?"
More silence.
"Well?" I asked again.
"Yes."

That was it. I said a few ugly things that resulted in a breakup, and the phone call ended, just like our relationship.

By the time Albert got home, I had polished off several cold ones and was fairly sloshed, plastered, crocked, tanked, and wasted.

"What happened, Matt?" Albert said.
"Tracey slept with her ex-boyfriend."
"Awe, crap. I'm sorry to hear that, Matt."
"Yeah, me too, Albert."

Albert joined me in my drunk fest, and before long, I passed out on the couch. When I woke the next morning, he had already left for work, but had left another note:

'Have a safe trip back, Matt. Sorry, things didn't work out with Tracey, but there are plenty of women out there! You will find the right one. Talk to you soon, Albert.'

Feeling ripe from too many cervezas, I hopped in my truck and headed to Peggy's to load up some more belongings to take to Virginia. I filled the bed of my pickup truck with stuff, the most memorable of which was my collection of record albums (I still own to this day). I packed the perishable items in plastic bags to protect them from the weather, and covered the whole works with a heavy canvas tarp stretched tight across the top, like a drum.

I said goodbye to Peggy on December 27th and set out to return to Virginia. I headed out of Austin north on I-35 toward Dallas, following the same route that had brought me back to Texas a few weeks ago. The temperatures in Austin were in the upper 30s, but the forecast for Dallas included a slight chance of an ice storm, which I hoped to avoid.

I managed to miss the ice storm, but not its effects. It came through Dallas about two hours before my arrival. When I hit I-30 East, the traffic slowed to a crawl, then froze. The roads had turned into sheets of ice. My Toyota pickup truck was so lightweight that it began to slide off the pavement while I was at a dead stop behind an 18-wheeler. It caught traction when I hit gravel on the edge of the shoulder. I needed to get off this freeway and find a hotel for the night. I had planned to drive straight back without stopping overnight to save money, but that wouldn't happen.

I took the next exit, where there was only one expensive hotel, and spent too much of my travel money renting a small room for one night. It was nice, but I was a poor carpenter trying to make my way back to Virginia to go back to work.

I woke up the next morning to find the roads were still impassable, but I thought I'd better keep trudging along. I need to get back. I need to get back. I got back on the road but could only go about 5 to 10 miles per hour. It took me six hours to drive just 37 miles to Greenville, where I stopped again for the night. The hotel was cheaper than the one in Dallas, but it took most of my money to rent another room.

One more hotel stay, and I wouldn't have enough money for gas to make it back to Virginia. I would have to contact my boss in the morning to see if he can wire me some funds.

The next morning, the roads were still icy, but there were patches where it was beginning to thaw. I was on the road for three hours before realizing I would need to stay overnight in Texarkana. I pulled over to find a payphone to call my boss.

"Wells and Sons Builders, this is Tracey."
"Tracey, this is Matt. Is Bob there?"
"Hold on a minute," she said rashly.
"Hey, Matt, this is Bob. Is everything okay?"
"Hi, Bob. I got stuck in an ice storm in Dallas and burned through most of my travel money on hotels. Can you wire me some cash?"
"Sure. I'll give you my credit card number. Charge whatever you need."
"Thanks, Bob."
"Do you want to talk to Tracey?"
"No. Uh, thanks for your help, Bob. I'll see you in a couple of days."
"No problem, Matt. Be careful."

Well, that sucked. It was easier to beg Bob for money than to hear Tracey's voice for two seconds. I didn't know how I was going to work with her again. It was gonna be tough.

I reached Texarkana before sunset and found a decent hotel with a small bar and dining room. I paid for my room, settled in, had a chicken-fried steak in the hotel restaurant, and went to the bar for beer. The beers tasted good after a day of driving on slick ice.

After a good night's rest, I woke up the next morning to ice-free roads. I stopped at a gas station, bought a large coffee and a pack of cigarettes with some of my remaining cash, filled up my tank with Bob's credit card, and got back on I-30, headed east into Arkansas.

Why did Tracey have to screw things up? I should have known it was too good to be true. All the fun things I planned to do with her, I'll have to do with someone else. Albert is right. I'll find someone else. In the meantime, there was work to do. Three weeks ago, during my trek to Texas, I discussed taking carpentry to the next level. When I get back, that will be my focus. Who needs a girl who's "confused."

I drove back to Virginia, stopping only for gas and food, and had nothing but positive thoughts. Yeah, right, positive thoughts. Not likely. Beat tired, I pulled in front of my home in Woodbridge on a dreary, cold Thursday afternoon, December 31st. New Year's Eve.

So ends 1987, and my Texas Road Trip. It was a fitting time to start the next phase of my life.

~Matt