November 2:  New Orleans to Dallas. Starting mileage 33,391.

Today, our plan was to drive across Louisiana into Texas, and spend the night near Dallas. We pulled out of New Orleans just before 9 a.m., weaving our way out of the city past the SuperDome, Lake Ponchartrain, and into a landscape of bayou swamps punctuated with stick trees. By the time we turned off I-10 West onto I-49 North the view had changed to pine trees and miles and miles of sugarcane fields.

Any day beginning with Cafe du Monde’s fresh hot beignets and coffee in New Orleans is a good day. Add a lunch stop for Louisiana home-cooked veggies and pie, and well, it’s a grand day! In keeping with our Road Trip lesson #6, we wanted a diner lunch. Now, this is not always easy to do when traveling on the U.S. interstate system. Sure, Cracker Barrels and McDonalds are everywhere. But how often do you find a local diner when on the interstate? Lucky for us, as we were nearing Alexandria, we saw Lea’s Diner listed on one of those blue services sign. The exit took us far into a rural area. Was the sign old? Was Lea’s gone?  Just as we were thinking of turning back, we saw Lea’s–a large white building with a huge–and nearly full–parking lot. Turns out that Lea’s in Lecompte is “The Pie Capital of Louisiana”. So, in addition to a wholesomely delicious vegetable-plate lunch, we left with two pieces of pecan pie to go.

Texas, sassy Siri, and the Grackles

We crossed into Texas around 3 p.m. Everyone knows that Texas is a big state, but we were a little overwhelmed to see an exit numbered 635!

Sassy Siri

Since Washington D.C., we’d been using Siri for directions. Always a reserved travel companion, her calm voice gave us 10-mile and 2-mile exit reminders, and advised us on the lane we’d need to be in to make needed turns. About the time we were thinking of stopping for gas, she suggested a detour off the highway because of an unnamed hazard ahead, helpfully telling us the alternate route would save us six minutes. We took it.

We were driving along a back road, chatting about who-knows-what, when Siri interrupted with a sharper-than-normal voice, “I don’t know who your mother is. In fact, I don’t know who you are.” Well. Hello Siri! Mama and I laughed until we cried, amused and shocked that she had chimed into our conversation with such sass!

Only in Texas

We pulled over at an Exxon near Longview, to dry our eyes and fuel up. I stepped out of the car, surprised by the number of black birds walking around the busy fuel pump area. My chosen pump was broken and I had to go inside to prepay. Waiting in line, I noticed a tiger posed in a display case–dead and stuffed. Other majestic wild animals–now dead and stuffed–ringed the room. Sickened, and filled with growing fury that someone had hunted and killed these animals, it was, all of a sudden, my turn at the counter. I was not going to spend a penny to support this place. Nearly tongue-tied with sadness and anger, I think I said something along the lines of “Nevermind. I’m not shopping here because of the dead animals,” and left.

Grackles

Back in the parking lot, more black birds had gathered. They flocked around the cars, hopping between the pumps and making the strangest, loudest sounds I’ve ever heard from birds. Two sat by the driver-side door as I came around. They stared without moving–maybe they were looking to see what they could grab out of my hands, or how easy it would be to peck my eyes out. They–and their parking-lot gang–sounded off like slide whistles or car alarms as I jumped in the car slamming the door. One bold and steely-eyed bird flew up to stand on the hood of the car as I put the key in the ignition. I didn’t want to run over his friends who might follow me now, and possibly into the afterlife, so I started moving very, very slowly. He sat there on the hood, staring back at me as if I was car-jacking his ride. It was only when I reached the street that he flew away, thankfully leaving us with the windshield wiper.

Later in the safety of our hotel room, I did a little research and found out these brazen birds are Great Tail Grackles, notorious for their array of “songs” and likelihood to be found hanging out at restaurants and convenience stores.

Until the cows come home?

We drove and drove and drove that day, through a surreal Texas landscape of smiling brown cows in fields, oil derricks shading picnic tables, and a sad truck carrying live chickens. A truck blew a tire right beside us. The sun went down and we were still on the road. Siri once again advised a detour to save three minutes. We declined, and ended up waiting in traffic to pass through an accident area with multiple fire truck and police car lights. Policemen motioned a single file of cars to drive with care through a mass of gravel on the highway. As we neared our hotel for the night, Siri took us off the highway onto backroads lit by the moon and bordered by golden fields and cows still grazing. Apparently, the cows don’t come home at night.

November 3: Dallas to Kansas. Starting mileage 33,911.

We were up early for the hotel’s free breakfast buffet and drove into Dallas just after the Friday morning rush hour.

Dealey Plaza

Back in D.C., we had visited John F. Kennedy’s grave. Today, our first stop was Dealey Plaza, where JFK was assassinated in November 1963. Like 9/11 or Pearl Harbor, “the day Kennedy was shot” is one of those days people remember. They remember exactly where they were, and what they were doing when they heard the news that he’d been shot in Dallas and had died. And today, almost 54 years later, we were standing at the scene of the crime.

There it all was, just like we’ve seen in movies and in the Zapruder film–the grassy knoll, the book depository, the turn on to Elm Street, the overpass. A green X on Elm Street marks the spot where Kennedy was hit. Signs tell us where Zapruder stood to make his infamous film, and where witnesses heard noises and saw smoke. Anyone can stand in that plaza and look at the X, and the 6th-floor window of the Book Depository behind it, and see for themselves what an impossibility it was. Plus, Zapruder’s film shows Kennedy’s head going back–as if a bullet had come from in front of his car, from the grassy knoll. Call it what you will. But having stood there, there’s no way there was just one shooter. I’m not the only non-believer. Other people were there too, most photographing, and one measuring and making notes. Mama and I walked around slowly, looking more than talking. Absorbing.

Oklahoma

We drove north out of Dallas, headed through Oklahoma to see Alex in Kansas. Wind farms, cows, birds gathered on bleachers and wires, and flat land for miles. Later, fog. Siri took us off the interstate as the sun was going down. We drove backroads that changed names, directions, and included a 3-mile stretch of gravel before returning to streets that, at least, looked inhabited. We found Alex’s house just inside the Kansas state line and enjoyed dinner with him.

November 4:  Kansas to Denver. Starting mileage:  34,308.

There’s nothing like a thick fog to start a day of driving. And my-oh-my what a day this one would turn out to be. After breakfast at the hotel, we wound our way north on little roads until we caught up with I-35 just before Wichita. The fog was heavy for a long while. There still wasn’t much to see when it lifted beyond Kansas’ crop fields, windmills, cows, and an occasional flock of birds murmuring.

Warning Light

Hours later, somewhere around Colby, Kansas, the change oil light came on. We’d driven the car 5,000 miles in just over two-weeks. Of course, it deserved an oil change. We pulled into a truck service station and they kindly told us they could change it for us, but we’d have to go to another place to buy the filter and oil. At the other place, they told us that if a Chevy dealer didn’t change the oil, it could void Mama Lucy’s warranty. I searched on the phone. The nearest dealer was in Denver. It was Saturday and the dealer would close at 4 p.m. MST. It was 1 p.m. MST now, and we were three hours from Denver. The race was on.

Mama called ahead. “Of course we can change your oil if you arrive by 4 p.m.,” the dealer in Denver said. Meanwhile, I drove fast–let’s just say it was a little over the speed limit. The interstate was practically empty, and though it was getting windy, the sun had come out.

It was a fine day for a drive….until the tumbleweeds

We were humming along. A little tense, but confident we’d make it to Denver in time. The Kansas fields were golden, cows grazed by windmills–bucolic, pastoral, bread-basket land. Around the Kansas/Colorado state line, I began noticing tufts of straw balls gathered in little piles along the road side fences. “Ah! They must be tumbleweeds that got stopped by the fences,” I said as I noted to myself that the piles seemed to be stacking higher. And then…crossing the road just in front of us was a tumbleweed on the move! It was about the size of a basketball and bounced across the road and off to the shoulder to join others in the fence pile. We chuckled that we’d gotten to see a real, live tumbleweed. Neat! They’re not just in Texas or Arizona or where the Westerns and the ghost towns are!

And then, here comes another one. This one was closer, and more like the size of a suitcase. We missed it. And another one, two, three backpack-sized ones–now tumbling diagonally across the road toward the car. We hit one and heard the sound of brittle sticks breaking beneath the car. A minute later, a large one–about the size of an ottoman–rolled right between the wheels. We heard dings and scraping just before the stick-breaking sounds. This went on for several miles. I felt like I was in a video game–trying to avoid the tumbleweed obstacles, while staying in my lane with my swerving and the wind pushing, and still hauling because of the time limit.

Denver and the Oil Change

This story has a happy ending. We arrived at Bozarth Chevrolet in Aurora right at 4 p.m. It was the whitest, cleanest mechanic shop I’ve ever seen. They welcomed us and got started. A mere 25-minutes later, they had finished changing the oil. We barely had time to use their facilities and got some snacks in the waiting room. I think they even gave Mama’s Chevy a car wash and must have picked the tumbleweed straws out of the grill. Lesson #8 of the trip:  Always take care of your ride.

There’s more to read about this 7-week road trip with my mom: New Orleans, Washington D.C., and Going Old.