When the red red robin comes bob bob bobbin’ along along

There’ll be no more sobbin’ when he starts throbbin’ his old sweet song

Wake up wake up you sleepy head get up get up get out of bed

Cheer up cheer up the sun is red live love laugh and be happy

I have now traveled 1200 miles since Tuesday (most of that in Texas). Today is Friday so that is 4 days, at 300 miles/day. That may sound like a short day, but I am averaging 45 MPH. Seriously. Part of the problem is that I am now pulling over for gas every time I hit the half empty mark. That stop then involves walking Tango, nosing around in the camper for coffee and a munchie, and then a potty break for me. Check the phone and Internet. Clean up trash in van. Check van/camper connections. Oh yeah, fill up propane tanks.

Another reason I am just bobbing along is the roar of trucks who do their best to run me off the road. They scare the bejesus out of me and I handle them best by slowing down when they come roaring up from behind. Stress, stress, stress.

More stress as I approached San Antonio. The highway was all torn up. More bumping and jiving, wondering when the camper was going to fly apart. It was too close to rush hour anyway, so I pulled over at a Flying J and took a 3-hour nap in the camper. Then, rummage around for dinner in the frig,

As I finally got back onto I-10 in San Antonio (8 PM), a voice spoke to me through the post nap fog. GET OFF the Interstate, silly, and I did exactly that, taking a back road towards Big Bend National Park. I entered a wonderful, unexpected journey along the border between Mexico and the US in the dark of night. Suddenly, I was in the Southwest (Chihuahuan Desert). I recognized outlines of prickly pear cactus and creosote bush. I started thinking about the writer Carlos Castaneda, whose mystical books were big during my time living in AZ. I remember scenes in his books where people driving alone at night in the desert were followed by no-good spirits. The wise shaman advised the unwary novices not to look into the lights in the rear view mirror or their soul would be in danger. I wondered if his books might make sense to me now, and I made a note to order one if I can find any (I later discovered that all his books are still in print and several in Kindle format).

The roads were mostly empty as I bobbed along past several Border Patrol Checkpoints. Since my days living in the SW, those checkpoints morphed from little shacks with an agent or two into large multi-bay stations crawling with agents and dogs. In the old days, the little checkpoints sort of popped up when you least expected it. Now, you can see them from afar, lit up like a giant truck stop. Some of the stations looked like a prison complex, with razor wire fencing around large buildings (holding stations?).

Nicely groomed and uniformed young men are always a nice sight. I drove through at night.

Now, this is Travel at its best. Low stress, fun things to see, and a patrol car with flashing lights behind me. Huh? Is he pulling me over?  Why yes, I think those lights are meant for me. I manuever the ship into a parking lot and wait. A handsome young man in uniform saunters up to my door. I am thinking….oh maybe I will get frisked, then realize this is serious. I am pulled over, God knows I wasn’t speeding at 50 MPH, so what? Is it that the van and camper could be full of aliens? After all, Mexico is right over there, through that fence.

Tango emits a half-hearted woof when he hears the police car door slam.Then, I freaked. Will I be in trouble now for having an Idaho drivers license, North Dakota plates and a permanent mailing address in Florida? Where is my proof of insurance? However, when the officer saw me he smiled. Just a gray-haired gal and her dog. “Good evening m’am. Did you know one of your headlights is out?”  I sigh. “No! I guess that’s why it seemed so dark out tonight!” Duh. Anyway, I give him all my absurd paperwork – the license, proof of insurance, etc, and then I pray silently as he takes it all back to the car. No frisking, no searching the camper or van. Nothing seemed out of place with my address mayhem as he handed it all back with a written warning about the headlight. “Got to make sure you are safe, m’am. Have a good night.” I reply, “Thanks for watching out for me!”

All this took place in Del Rio, TX. That is a whole story in itself so I will end for now and share soon everything I know about a small town that could one day have a wall going right through.  I am so happy I got off that Interstate!!!!

That Rio would be Rio Grande, or Rio Bravo as the locals call it.