It all began with rain and my dear good friend, Mr. Oops, I Need To Turn Back Because I Forgot It. As I hit the asphalt at nine in the morning on Saturday, the roads were soaked from rains of epic proportions. After a few minutes, I adjusted to the tough conditions. However, there was a catch, I forgot my camera at home. What kind of a highway writer am I?
Thirty minutes later, I picked up the camera and began the journey a second time. After driving to Katy, 40 miles northwest, the skies were cleared and the roads were very passable.
As I drove Interstate 10 to San Antonio, I listened to songs ranging from "I Can See for Miles" by The Who to Jerry Reed's "Guitar Man," a perfect blend of guitars and pedal to the metal.
After 12:10, I reached stage two of the trip, Texas Loop 1604, San Anton's equivalent to I-610 in Houston and I-820 in Fort Worth. At which point, I discovered the worst feeling in the world; being new to an area and having to deal with both inclement weather and idiotic drivers.
For half the drive along the loop, the rain was coming down at a painful rate of two drops a minute, but because it rained earlier, it was still a burden to drive in. Nonetheless, this was a minor problem compared to what I experienced several minutes later.
After getting off the loop, I got onto Texas Highway 16, which as we will see was quite an experience. The road was the final leg of the Bandera run and I enjoyed the winding curves and such until a person in a Hummer decided to turn while I was in full throttle. What was even worse was the fact that he had the fortitude to slow down, as if he was high fiving himself for that electric turn. I thought to myself, no wonder Hummers are no longer made, apparently they change the way the owner drives.
The remaining trip along 16 was smooth and quite pleasant. When I reached Bandera, however, I got lost looking for the Antler Cabins. I followed the directions to a "T" until I committed a violation of my own road rule, always trust your instincts. For the next 23 minutes, which felt like hours, I drove around in circles, rectangles and any shape you can fathom. Despite receiving text instructions from the cabin owner, I called her to make sure I was not sending myself into some form of blue lagoon.
Well, I survived getting lost and settled in my room, which was quite neat. The western motiff room reached its apex when the "Duke" greeted me at the front door.
I unpacked and decided to fill my stomach up, so I continued north up TX 173 to Camp Verde. At which point, I decided to battle the elements and tempt my own fate by taking a beautiful photograph of 173 as it descends southward.
As I walked into the Camp Verde General Store, I felt an overwhelming sense of being at a great-grandparent's watering hole during the early 20th Century. It was quite unique with objects ranging from signs that read "No Smoking Purdy Please" to a welcome like no other.
The hamburger was delicious, but it was time go out and explore, which I did outside the store. Some beautiful creeks just waited for my camera to catch its spectacular dazzle.
It was time to head back to the cabin and relax for a spell. What I loved about it was the fact was quaint and quiet. When I got to the door, I was greeted by two roosters, which by the way was my daily alarm clock every morning at 6:45.
I opened the door and looked to see where the television was. After not finding it for a minute, I began to panic, the city boy and 21st Century human came out. Moreover, after I turned it on and found out they do not get ESPN, I almost needed a brown paper bag. Nonetheless, I was able to overcome that tragedy.
The last thing I did was call for a cab to take me to the 11th Street Cowboy Bar. (I was in Bandera, I had to go out and catch some Country and Western music). However, the company had two drivers escorting over 40 people to San Antonio and the other driver the owner had was as reliable as a fair weather sports fan pulling for his hometown team. Regardless, I went to the place. I loved listening to Merle Haggard serenading on the jutebox and the live act was splendid. The Rocky King Band was a knockout, as they performed Bob Wills covers while displaying their own tunes.
I did meet one interesting gentleman at the bar. I call him Mr. I Love My Job, But Would Get Fired If I Was a Bartender. The welder from Hugo, Oklahoma told stories of his family, work and beer drinking capabilities, all of which caused a sturdy laugh from the bartender and myself. A quirky guy for a quirky day.
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