Roads Less Traveled

The trip up to Jekyll Island is pretty uneventful.  The F250 easily handles the 5’er it’s hauling, and even though there is significant wind shear courtesy of a named storm, it’s as solid as a rock on the road while returning about 10 MPG in the process.  As a memo, my old truck was an F150 gas motor and it got 8 MPG under similar conditions.

The only drawback I can see right now is that I need to search for the “right” gas station, which is kind of like finding the right girl.  Most of them do have what you want, but easy access without drama is a big concern. 

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An eon ago, I was a perennial road warrior and “million miler” frequent flyer for a Fortune 100 company.  Then I traveled on my own pretty much all over the world.  I’ve taken a lot of cruises, gone on many guided and escorted trips, and I’ve planned and executed my own multi-month journeys on numerous occasions and continents. So, “I know a thing or two because I’ve seen a thing or two” about travel, I guess you could say.  

But what I’m NOT used to doing is hooking up my own house to a truck and driving it across the country.  Nor am I used to camping out far away from the city center.  My travel philosophy in general is- luxury and convenience don’t suck, so the idea of setting up my own portable house at each and every location I visit seems on the surface to be a bit crazy.  

That attitude explains why my last RV adventure with a bumper-hitch trailer was a minor disaster, but my wife convinced me that a fifth wheel (“5er”, as some call it), is an easier way to “camp”, so I bought one, being both of unsound mind and married as I am.  Now I’m ready for our first road trip in it, and I’ve decided, for those of you who are on the fence about this kind of travel, to keep a log and see how things work out.  Continue reading →

Texas-AKA flyover country

So I’m fueling up my new truck in east Texas cattle country, and for the first time, briefly, I feel like a real Texan.  After all, this beast has a giant diesel motor just like every other vehicle in the Lone Star state, and it’s so tall that a ladder would be a nice accessory, so now I think I finally fit in, at least from a vehicle standpoint.  I even have a country music station tuned in for good measure.  Then I look down at my feet and see flip flops there, which provide indisputable proof that I am not any kind of Texican at all, but rather just a Jimmy Buffet-style Florida wannabe poser.  Because after all, anybody knows that real Texans wear rattlesnake cowboy boots and belt buckles the size of dinner plates, so who, at the end of the day, am I? 

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