The Visible Woman...September 22, 2003

We drive and drive. Six hundred and forty-nine miles. Ten hours and a half. Mostly at the speed limit with brief stops for gas, restrooms, grabbing our food from the cooler.

These long drives are mesmerizing. You think the flat meadows that host the antelopes will never end. Then you realize you've reached a vast landscape of sandy red clay that is the Red River valley. We see road kill deer. It's not very exciting.

When we get to Electra. We drive around the town and find some brick streets. We have in mind to go to Archer City tomorrow and this is the turn off. The one motel we find doesn't look too promising. So we go to Wichita Falls.

We settle on staying in a La Quinta and eating at an El Chico. The former is fairly nice with a remodeled room. The food at the latter is nothing to write home about.

This is the kind of travel my dad does when he is 'getting somewhere.' He doesn't vary much off course but he takes in what the highways and byways can offer as he hurtles by.

Monday, September 22, 2003

A Journal from Austin, Texas. A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.
food	reading	writing	time	exercise	health and mood

it's good to have a big brother to show you the way	just driving, my dad's kind of travel We drive and drive. Six hundred and forty-nine miles. Ten hours and a half. Mostly at the speed limit with brief stops for gas, restrooms, grabbing our food from the cooler. These long drives are mesmerizing. You think the flat meadows that host the antelopes will never end. Then you realize you've reached a vast landscape of sandy red clay that is the Red River valley. We see road kill deer. It's not very exciting. When we get to Electra. We drive around the town and find some brick streets. We have in mind to go to Archer City tomorrow and this is the turn off. The one motel we find doesn't look too promising. So we go to Wichita Falls. We settle on staying in a La Quinta and eating at an El Chico. The former is fairly nice with a remodeled room. The food at the latter is nothing to write home about. This is the kind of travel my dad does when he is 'getting somewhere.' He doesn't vary much off course but he takes in what the highways and byways can offer as he hurtles by.
JUST TYPING The hours do go by fast. What I'm entertained by. I can't say. Maybe the antelope grazing. Or the road kill. Deer. Possum. The pink dawn on Pike's Peak. The mountains. Or the concrete sound break decorated with fake mountains to replace those hidden. The crossing of rivers Dad predicts before they come. Without a map. He's traveled the road and he remembers.
		Food Diary. *breakfast* coffee yogurt, banana *lunch* crackers, cheese, boiled egg *dinner* A Jack Daniels and water. A beer (Dos Equis), chips, salsa, a big Mexican dinner (enchilada, chile con queso, small guac, a little rice, a tiny bit of beans, a crispy taco). I'm a pig.
		Time flies.... Just driving and then trying to get to sleep to do it again.

		Reading. Two Sides of the Beach by Edmund Blandford. Didn't read much.
		Nothing. Well...I scribbled in my notebook once again.
		Exercise Nothing.
		Mood is always locked in this okay place when I'm hurtling across the map.