Thus, my journey was divided into four 100 mile segments. During the first leg I listened to Marfa Public Radio, and caught a repeat of a Morning Edition story on my new home from that very morning. I was sad to be leaving Marfa, but happy to be on the way to see my boy and to have a fun weekend in Austin. I heard two Dylan songs in this radio-fueled stretch, a familiar one whose words I really paid attention to this time (Like a Rolling Stone), another that I never knew Dylan covered (Freight Train Blues). The programming seemed to be custom-made for my drive and I was off to a good start.
I lost reception around the 100 mile mark, and after stopping for air the second time I switched to Drive Time Spanish. This six CD set attempts to make one conversational in the time it takes to drive across Texas. It had been several weeks since my last lesson, and I had trouble keeping up with questions about what time the theater started and what Marisa needed from the store. I enjoyed repeating the phrases without thinking too much about what I was saying. though. If I do this commute enough times, the meaning will eventually sink in.
From Ft. Stockton, I could see that the next town was right around 100 miles. My plan was working out perfectly! I grew tired of the Spanish lessons as I was pulling into Ozona, and popped in The Shins. For the past year or two, my ipod -set to shuffle- has kept me entertained while driving, and it was a nice change to listen to a whole CD, especially one that makes such great use of the album format like 'Wincing the Night Away'. I was half-way there!
A mild sense of panic crept through me as I realized that there was no 'next town' listed on highway mileage signs. Ozona had been listed when it was a little less than 100 miles away, yet here I was over 40 miles out of Ozona and still nothing. I popped in ABBA's Greatest Hits and put my trust in the universe. The sign for Junction finally appeared like a mirage in the desert, and it was almost exactly 100 miles from my last stop. Yes! I was singing along with ABBA at the top of my lungs! This music fires more than one neuron in my brain. Some songs immediately take me back to my childhood: during the disco craze, even my parents had a copy of 'Voulez-Vous'. Working at Wheatsville Co-op in my 20's, I heard ABBA played over the store sound system by Neils, a very friendly young post-punk cashier with a mohawk. He was as sincere in his love of ABBA as he was about sporting a hair-style that was 10 years past its time. I didn't get it. Then one day while stocking natural shampoo, it hit me. I've been an unashamed ABBA fan ever since. Most recently, I enjoyed seeing 'Mama Mia!' in Las Vegas with Mary and Katie, and connect other songs to the story line of that musical. Paul promised to watch the movie version with me a few months ago...I made a mental note to remind him.
As I aired up in Junction, I heard a faint hiss. It was definitely coming from my tire: I felt air escaping from a small spot at what felt like an alarming rate. I decided that the best course of action was to buy a sandwich. If my tire was about to go flat, I wanted it to happen while I was not on-the-highway-going-80-miles-an-hour. I asked the guy at the counter if there was a service station nearby; he said my best bet was about 15 miles down the road at the Segovia Truck Stop. My tire inexplicably showed no signs of deflating, so I pressed on. Those were the longest 15 miles of the whole trip. Pieces of tires seemed to be strewn all along the highway, and images of the unlucky travelers I had passed earlier that day changing flats or looking otherwise stranded kept running through my head. I hoped against hope that I would not be one of them. Even ABBA couldn't cheer me up, and I drove this section in silence.
Segovia only had one exit, and it was there I found the truck stop and, behind it, the service bay with an offer of 'new and used tires' on the sign. I had peeked at my full-sized spare before leaving town, and thought getting it on was the best solution for now. Feeling a little more hopeful, I tore open the gas station sandwich I purchased in Junction and waited patiently for the attendant to finish with the tires on the flat bed trailer ahead of me. I called both Paul and Holly, who each mentioned the unbearable heat in Austin. The truck stop radio weather report said today's high was 101. I realized that I hadn't been aware of the temperature the entire month I had been in Marfa. The reporter then said something that really alarmed me: people should not work outdoors between the hours of 2 and 7. Does anyone else think this is extremely uncool? (pardon the pun)
The attendant made me sweat it out for an hour, after which time I was so happy to have a tire on my car that I paid $18 to the truck stop and $20 to him for sweating more than me. I jumped in the car and didn't stop again until I was in Austin. All Things Considered kept me company for the remainder of the trip, yet I found my mind wandering through story after story about the economy. I have been blissfully unaware of the big picture for the past month. My world was about to expand again and I'd better readjust, at least temporarily. Living in a small town has made me rediscover my love for people in general. Here, outside of Marfa, I found myself being kinder to people I came across. Now when I say 'have a nice day' to the lady working the counter at the gas station, I really mean it.
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