Sedona at Sunset ... Without the Sun

Damn

We missed Chiricahua National Monument yesterday, only to arrive in Tombstone to find that we've gained another hour. Arizona doesn't observe daylight savings time. We could have stopped after all.

We get to our hotel in Tombstone only to find the room dirty. The sheets are piled on top of the beds and the bathroom floor is filthy. They give us another room. It's the same. We're so used to it by now, it doesn't even phase us. The girl at the front desk says she'll change the sheets while we go to dinner (the Crystal Palace Saloon -- not exciting).

Mom misses the hotel from yesterday in Deming, New Mexico. She thought she died and went to hotel heaven -- from the fluffy pillow top mattress, satin brocade comforter, to the silky sheets and a fan in the bathroom. She felt like Shirley Temple in The Little Princess. Ironically, this is the cheapest place we've stayed at about $42.


Double Damn

We stayed in Tombstone a wee bit longer than planned, so we don't get back on the road until about high noon. That's cowboy speak for 12:00 pm. We go through another border patrol with an officer that's the spitting image of Matt Damon, but cute. He asks if we're all United States citizens. I tell him we have one illegal alien in the back and point to Grandma. He isn't amused.

We lunch at a Cracker Barrel in Tucson. Grandma says she wishes they had more fun doing this when she and Grandpa were a young couple with my Mom and uncle. With Grandpa, it was his way ... or the highway. I ask her if she thinks I'm like that. Her answer is "sometimes." My giving Mom a hard time about the three or four phone calls a day to her boyfriend, or wanting to go trinket shopping Tombstone instead of the Bird Cage Theatre with us. Anyway, it's food for thought.

We roll into the Phoenix area just after the the last tour of Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West in Scottsdale launches.


Damn ... Damn ... Damn

We turn 3,000 miles just after Phoenix. It's just a few hours later as we roll into Sedona and the Red Rocks region. My excitement of seeing sunset in Sedona is pretty much squashed with the overcast cloudy sky.

Are you kidding me?

To add insult to injury -- apparently we didn't think about it being a holiday weekend, the last big holiday of summer. Do you think there's a hotel to be had? No. We drive out to an overlook by the airport to watch what we can see of the sunset over the gorgeous red mountains.

Ever notice how people just don't seem to think about anything but themselves? There are more than 25 people taking pictures and watching the sunset when this woman walks out in front of everyone taking pictures. She just stands there getting the pics she wants without thinking about the fact that she's now in everyone else's pictures. When she comes back to hand the camera to someone to take a picture of her and her husband, I see the perfect opportunity to stand in front of her camera.

I'm so vindictive.

We drive on.


I will say this -- I LOVE Sedona. The smell of the Ponderosa pines is intoxicating, and the fire in the rocks stunning. There are so many quaint little shops and restaurants that I can't wait to come back. I could see myself living here easily.

We have dinner at an Olive Garden. When I look over at Grandma, I realize she might need a booster chair. She's so small I think she might actually be shrinking on this trip. Our server, David, is a total cutie (which I say for the benefit of my boyfriend -- it's my way to find out if he is really paying attention to the blog posts!) David has three sisters and says he totally understands familial discord. So much so he gives me my chocolate fix without charging me. I heart David.

We arrive and check in to a hotel in Williams, Arizona. It's closer to the Grand Canyon -- our first stop tomorrow. Then it's on to Vegas, baby.

Disney World ... Western Style

I can't really say too much about Tombstone. I just didn't find it that thrilling. It was like being at Disney's version of the Wild Wild West. Here's a play by play:

Ghost Tour

We took a tour with Josh Hawley of Tombstone Ghost Hunters. Here's a pic of him with friend from the other side. Actually, Josh says there's no guarantee you'll see a ghost on the tour. The point is debunking myths and filling you in on Tombstone's history. Sadly, it starts pouring as we begin to head out -- and the tour is outside. The metal roof we stop under for our first "lesson" is metal, making it virtually impossible to hear with the pounding rain. It seems like an off night -- from people walking through the middle of the tour and talking to our guide, to lots of traffic. This weekend is the annual gunslingers convention, and that means more people out an about. If I were a ghost, this is the weekend I would choose to take a vacation. It may be that we're just tired, or that many of the people on the tour are really in to the paranormal side of this. I was looking for more of a history lesson, and was grateful for the story about John Heath. THAT was worth the $7 we paid for the tour.


Bootleg Cemetery

For a nominal $2 donation, this is a total MUST. When we walk up to the building where you pay and enter the cemetery, I notice these plastic bags with water in them nailed to either side of the door. I ask the proprietor the purpose. He says it's holy water, that the city makes him put it up to keep the spirits in the cemetery. Given that we just went on a ghost tour last night, and that Josh said he's actually recorded plenty of "activity" in town, I'd say it's not working. The twinkle in his eyes tells me he's fooling me, so I call him on it. It's fly repellent. Each bag has a penny in it, and something about the shininess makes the flies stay away. They give us a great guide that talks about the people buried there and a little history about them and how they met their ultimate demise.


"The Town Too Tough to Die"


We stop by the Bird Cage theatre for a look back in time at the bird cages where shady ladies would 'entertain' cowboys and miners. I'd read the book "Soiled Doves" last year, which is about prostitution in the early West, so this was a really interesting stop for me. One of the rooms was supposedly used by Josephine Marcus, "Sadie Jo", who would later become Wyatt Earp's wife.

Next, we stroll through town a while, watching people dressed in the full regalia of the time period. Most are either working in the shops or in town for the gun fighter gathering. Speaking of ... let's head to the OK Corral for a gunfight.

One of the crews here for the convention get to
perform a skit, then there's a reenactment of
the infamous shootout at the OK Corral. Well, not actually AT -- near. It occurred at 3:00 pm on Wednesday, October 26th, 1881. Wyatt Earp, his brothers, and 'Doc' Holliday against the outlaws ... Frank McLaury, Tom McLaury, Billy Claiborne, Ike Clanton, and Billy Clanton. Thirty shots were fired in 30 seconds. The McLaurys and Billy Clanton were killed; Wyatt Earp's brothers and Doc Holliday were wounded.

When it boils down to it, the fight was political. The outlaws were cowboys ... criminals that didn't let the law stop them. They were rural Democrats from Texas involved in the cattle-trade. Earp and his crew represented the East -- Yankee Republican capitalists and businessmen. I thought this sign summed up how popular politics are in Tombstone:

Cranky to the Tenth Power

Ever wonder how long being trapped in a car with your immediate family takes to officially push you over the edge?

The answer is one week.

It's day eight, and I want a refund. Okay, okay -- it's not as bad as all that. But today wasn't all Kumbayah and campfires.

Mom keeps losing things. Her cell phone case ... her camera battery ... and today, her keys. She says her mind is next, though I think that happened sooner than she expected. I grab Grandma's keys and we're pulling onto the highway when Mom hands me the keys she's just found. I just look at her and we both start laughing.

She handed them to me so I could start the car I was already driving.

We stop at Walmart for a potty break and to pick up a tripod for me and camera batteries for Mom. I go in, go to the bathroom, pick up the tripod, grab some socks and underwear (yeah, I know, Walmart underwear. I'm desperate. We haven't done laundry in a few days.) I get back to the car, change into hiking clothes and shoes for our next destination -- Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument -- and move the car in front of Walmart to pick up the girls. Then I wait.

And wait.

I call Mom several times ... no answer. Grandma comes out. I go in and have Mom paged ... no answer. I walk around the store and finally find her at the camera counter. She has a new shirt tucked under her arm, which I know is the reason for the delay. Our tiny pit stop morphed into a 30 plus minute Walmart extravaganza. And I hate Walmart. There is always somebody beating their kid there. The kid is crying because Mom or Dad won't give them what they want, so said parent spanks them to get them to shut up. They cry harder.

Really ... what did you expect?

Back on the road, we're past Silver City when we realize the path to Gila is NOT paved with good intentions. The road SUCKS. It's very winding and there is little room for error -- meaning one false move and we're Thelma and Louise, with Grandma in the backseat. I'm tired, and nobody is talking much. When anyone does pipe up, it's to give me flack for my driving. "You should be using overdrive and downshifting." When I do, the car's engine revs so hard I'm afraid it will keel over and die. "There is such an incline you shouldn't have to use the gas." So I stop accelerating and we coast to a stop. I look over and I can tell Mom is trying not to laugh.

But then she stops talking all together. I'm not sure what's wrong, but her vow of silence is madenning. She stays in the car as Grandma and I head to the cliffs.

Gram is a total trooper.

This is rough terrain, and you wouldn't guess this woman is 86 years old. It's slow going, but not many women her age would have even attempted it. Tough old broad. She does stop before the climb gets too steep, as I continue the hike up to the dwellings. It's absolutely amazing. The ceiling is still stained black from the fires of the Mogollon (mag-gee-yohn) people that lived here about 800 years ago. Park Ranger Bill Simington gives a fabulous tour, explaining what each room was likely used for.


It's raining on the drive back down, which makes the road even more trecherous. We get close to the bottom and I get another comment. I pull over the car and get out. I consider walking to the nearest airport, then decide that someone else can drive for a while. I fall asleep for about 20 minutes, then it's nitpicking about booking the hotel for Tombstone.

Somehow, a stop to get gas at this station touting "The Thing" pulls us all back together. We pay a buck each to see this roadside wonder. There are a few dusty exhibits in pole barn structures looping around the building, and in the final one ... the main event. I'll let you determine how fabulous "The Thing" is for yourself. Then we have ice cream at Dairy Queen. I'm not sure which is the catalyst, but the ice is broken when we get back in the car.

Destination ... TOMBSTONE.

But you'll have to wait for that adventure tomorrow.

Mom ... The Last Alien Standing

My idea of sleeping in does NOT include waking up at 8:00 am. Mom and Gram start rustling around as they get ready. Next, my little brother calls for a 30 minute tutorial on how to use the coffee maker at the girl’s house. He’s watching their two ‘portly’ Yorkies while we’re away. Apparently the machine takes a PhD to operate. I bury my head deeper under the pillows. Then housekeeping comes by to clean the room.

I get the message … I’m getting up!

The Alien Museum in Roswell is totally tacky. Mom loves it, of course. Especially the bits about the cover-up. I ask her if she believes in aliens. She says she doesn’t disbelieve. For me, I guess I just hold out hope there is intelligent life out there SOMEWHERE in the universe.

Though it may not be in Roswell. The folks we've met here are not the most friendly or approachable we've met on this trip. Maybe it's related to the cover-up. Or the po-pos that are absolutely everywhere. That’s ghetto slang for cop, in case you didn’t know. And although aliens might not exist, rednecks certainly do. The one driving in front of us with the monster truck tires keeps revving his engine every time Grandma tries to talk. Mom and I think it’s hysterical that she can’t get a word in edgewise. It’s a Grandma silencer.

Which is EXACTLY what we need. She drives from the backseat most of the day … the matriarch on her throne. I threaten to get her a Fisher-Price steering wheel, complete with horn and gear shift. She says what she really wants is a brake pedal.

I have a confession. Against my better judgment, the GPS and I kissed and made up. I was pretty irritated when she told Mom yesterday that Carlsbad Caverns was in the middle of an empty field. Then she told me to take a u-turn for almost an hour, but kept pointing straight ahead, which I knew was the path to Roswell. I chalked these up to innocent mistakes.

Yeah, right -- this bitch has it out for me.

I program in White Sands National Monument and press GO. I don’t give it another thought as I drive ... and drive ... and drive for the next hour and a half. In the WRONG direction. We're not far from the Texas state line before we realize what's happened. Not many road signs here in the Land of Enchantment.

I just want to DIE. We turn the car around and I ask Grandma to break out the emergency chocolate, but she can't reach it. I want to launch the GPS out the window, so I ask Mom how much she paid for it. I need to determine how cost effective my actions will be. Writing a $200 check ... versus ultimate gratification at watching the damn thing demolished under my tires. Hmmmm.

I unplug the GPS and put it in the console. Then I play some Yo-Yo Ma so my head doesn't explode. I reach for my phone. Then I'm looking for my frantically for my phone with assistance from the peanut gallery. My Mom calls it ... nothing. My heart sinks. We pull over and Mom calls it again. There's a muffled ring, but we can't seem to place it. I get out and she calls again.

Crystal clear ring. I was sitting on it. Mom says it was on butt mute.

We arrive at White Sands National Monument right at sundown. The gypsum sand here is so gleaming white that it looks like snow. It's absolutely breathtaking. Watching the sun set over the dunes with the blue mountains behind it is just unbelievable. Mom wants to put some of the sand in her pocket. I tell her it's against the law -- and sand doesn't belong in your pocket, anyway. We're laughing so hard she says there will be pee in her pocket in a minute, so what's the difference?












And on the road again ... Just can't wait to get on the road again. Our next destination is Silver City, New Mexico. We stop at a Pizza Hut in Las Cruces just as they're closing their dining room. They are darling to let us order to go and eat there while they finish cleaning up. It's nice to have the place to ourselves.

Just outside of Deming, border patrol is stopping all vehicles for inspection. They even have a dog out sniffing cars. Grandma says they'll probably make us throw out the apples. Mom says their looking for illegal ALIENS, not illegal FRUIT.

I can't top that.

Naughty, Naughty Stanley

We’re just getting in the car when we realize -- we've already lost Flat Stanley. Grandma says she handed him to me while I was busy packing the car. Busy being the operative word here. Mom comes to my defense, but Grandma proclaims her innocence. I can hear them going at it back and forth as I UNPACK the car I just finished packing.

I lose it a bit. I say I take full responsibility for losing Stanley, but don’t care about a stupid piece of paper. This is of course not true – I feel terrible.

Then I find the little bugger hiding between the door and my equipment (audio recorder, camera ...the magic eight ball binder.) I curse at him, and the girls crack up at the sight of me scolding an inanimate object. I give Stanley a time-out.

Maybe I’m the one that needs the time out.

I drive first. The speed limit is eighty, and I’m taking advantage. There is nothing – and I mean NOTHING – for miles around. Not even billboards. The windmills aren’t moving, and even the sheep that occasionally dot the roadside look like stage props. Regardless, we all agree there is something beautiful in the simplicity.

Mom wants me to pull over to get a piece of cactus to take home. I'm not sure why she can't just BUY a cactus. Grandma reminds her there are rattlesnakes and that seems to end the conversation ... for a while.

We switch off after a few hours. The girls tell me about the acres of wind turbines we passed when I closed my eyes for 30 minutes in a failed attempt to get some sleep. We stop at all the historical markers we come across. And after what seems like eternity (and a flat butt later), we arrive at Carlsbad Caverns. Mom and I are going to do the Natural Entrance Route, a one mile hike into the depths. It's really, really steep -- so we tell Grandma we'll meet her in the heart of the caverns, which she can access by elevator. We tell her to relax, have a cup of coffee, and we'll do the 8.2 acre Big Room Route together when we get down there.

She's nowhere to be found when we arrive.

Here’s our respective reflections:

MOM

It was as amazing as I remember it. I had never done that approach before – and now find that I’ve outgrown my interest in spelunking. I walked into Slaughter Canyon once -- when my knees where less stiff -- and I was a lot younger. It made me appreciate a good working elevator.

It was also like breathing in the fumes of the world’s largest cat litter box. And there’s just something about grabbing a slimy wet handrail that made me cringe every time I had to do it. Yucky.

GRANDMA

The girls stuck me in an elevator and said we’ll see you downstairs. I looked around. Waited around. Then talked to a park ranger who suggested touring the Big Cavern – either the half mile or mile and a quarter walk. I started with the short tour and decided to go all the way. I came upon a rock formation that looked just like Jabba the Hutt.

Karen and I were too pooped to make our way down to watch the bats fly out. The nice park ranger Amy met earlier suggested we park at the East end of the parking lot. There was a never ending stream of bats. I don’t know how to describe it.

BACK TO ME
My favorite part was meeting Park Ranger Gosia. Actually, that’s just her nickname, but if I tried to tell you her real name, you’d go blind trying to figure out how to pronounce it. She’s from Poznan, Germany -- the same town as my great grandfather. Gosia goes over the rules and regs, telling us not to talk in regular voices since sound can carry up to a quarter mile. She tells us the rules apply to Flat Stanley as well, then regales us with a few stories.

In the stretch of cave we’re tackling, sound echoes. It gets amplified – a lot. She tells us about this guy on the trail ahead of her one time who farted. Well, the fart sound echoed ... and amplified ... and carried. He was horribly embarrassed.

No kidding. Who farts in a cave? I’d be more worried about scent than sound carrying.

Gosia also tells us about this elderly couple touring the cave. The gentleman came up to her and said his wife wanted to know what it meant when water landed on your head in the cavern. She replied, "It's a cave kiss." He turned and shouted into the darkness to his wife, "It's cave piss."

Man, people are funny.

Mom shouts my name as soon as we get in so I can hear what it sounds like in a cave. Her knees are killing her when we finish and begin the search for Grandma. We search the gift shops ... the restrooms ... the car. Mom stays there as I run back in to the cavern for a full-scale search and rescue effort. I'm beginning to worry the old lady has been grandma-napped.

She's just finishing the loop when I get off the elevator. She's tired after the pretty strenuous (especially for an 86-year-old) walk, so she heads to the car as well. I do the loop solo, and I'm glad for the quiet and solitude.

And when I say quiet and solitude, that's EXACTLY what I mean. It's so silent here that my ears are actually ringing from the lack of sound. There's occasional dripping sounds (cave piss), and so much to look at it's nearly impossible to take it all in. I keep thinking it's like walking on the moon. Beautiful, but foreign and slightly alien looking. Fitting for where we're heading next -- Roswell.

Before we head out, we head to watch the bats fly out to hunt bugs. Carlsbad Caverns is home to about half a million Mexican free-tailed bats. They start trickling out around 6:45 pm, and steadily pick up pace. As they leave the mouth of the cave, they fly in a counter clockwise direction before heading South. The "audience" is watching very quietly The bats are extremely sensitive to sound. It affects their sonar and thus their ability to fly. You can hear the flaps of their wings and the smell from the caves brought up with the cool air from the depths of the cavern. It's kind of like a bat tornado feeding a stream of black water disappearing into the night sky.

I sit next to Zach and his Mom from San Diego. They're driving back from Gainesville, Florida, where he just finished college. They've been driving the same route as us and have stopped in many of the same cities. We agree that being trapped in a car with your Mom for thousands of miles take a Zen-like patience at times.

For context, it takes the about two hours to fly out of the cave. We leave after 35 minutes. Zach says a bat is a bat. I agree, but it was still pretty cool. Once.

We arrive in Roswell around 11:00 pm. There's another bug in the room, but I think we're all too tired to care. Grandma snored so loud last night, she’s earned the privledge of her own bed tonight. Yaaaaaaay!

I'm sleeping in.

Breakfast and a Blog

Would you believe in this tiny Days Inn in Junction, Texas, we finally have a fan in the bathroom? Thankfully, it's a clean room and it's a relief not to find bugs in the bed, especially here. Need I remind you -- everything is bigger in Texas. I am still a little weirded out from Day One and have a hard time sleeping without thinking about bugs crawling around at my feet.

We wake up Flat Stanley and head to breakfast. Karisa ... we fought over the muffins. Mom and I like the pumpkin spice best, but Gram likes the bran. We do discover something in Texas that is NOT representative of the big Texas Spirit -- the apples and muffins at the hotel. They are teeny tiny. We feed them to Stanley.

All Hail the Chipped Windshield!

Everything happens for a reason.

Did I mention that we had a rock chip the windshield yesterday outside of Austin? I prod Mom into action and we had an appointment to get it fixed before we even arrived at Bunny's. The plan was to drop the car off at 7:30 am and go get breakfast.

But the breakfast place Bunny is taking us to is AWOL. Looks like they may be out of business. Time to pull out the binder -- the four-inch thick mass of materials I gathered and organized for months before the trip. It's like a magic eight ball, and when I shake it this morning ... out falls Taco Express .

Hailing itself a "Hippie Church", they have gospel music for brunch on Sundays. And tacos for breakfast. The girls are really skeptical. They keep trying to reroute us to Ihop. There's a theme in this city -- "Keep Austin Weird." This place wins a medal toward that effort. Tucked in amidst Willie Nelson and Che Guevara images are media mentions of this place in every form. From Diners Drive-Ins and Dives ... to Rachel Ray. Southern Living Magazine calls owner, Maria Corbalan, the Texas Taco Queen.

All hail the Queen. I order a migas taco and add chorizo. It's freaking amazing. My lips are tingling deliciously when we head back to the car. Thankfully, we gassed up last night so we can get right back on the road. Sorry, couldn't help myself.

We stop at the business next door -- Taste No Evil Muffins. We pick up a few for tomorrow's breakfast. The really cool thing about this business is it's in a travel trailer. Like the Hey, Cupcake business mentioned in my previous post, it's a mobile business that doesn't move. Airstreams and campers parked on the sides of the road selling snow cones, crepes, popcorn -- even Thai food. It's a relatively new thing here in Austin, and a story I'm working on for NPR. Stay tuned.

We decide since Bunny can't come with us to San Antonio, we'll hang out a little longer in Austin. I suggest a visit to KUT, the local NPR station. We pass the original Whole Foods on the way, and I discover that Austinites also call it "Whole Paycheck". At KUT, local Morning Edition host, Jennifer Stayton gives us a tour. We finally get a taste of what I was searching for in this city ... MUSIC!

This great little band -- Shotgun Party -- is getting ready to play live on the air. They're practicing their song "Mean Old Way", which is on their first CD, set to be released in just two days. We meet the band, and they are just fabulous. Band member Jenny Parrot follows us downstairs to talk a little more about our trip. Give them a listen ... it's totally worth your time. Here's us with Jenny:



Then we meet Kinky Friedman, Texas gubernatorial hopeful, singer, songwriter and novelist. We introduce ourselves and tell him about the trip. Bunny introduces herself as a registered voter. His handshake to her seems to last a little longer. As he gets on the elevator to go in for an interview, he peeks out the door and says, "Don't mess with Texas!"










We head to the place where Kinky hopes to work soon -- the state capitol. It's the largest state capitol building in the US, and everything is done in BIG Texas style. Every nook and cranny, including the door hinges, is decorated to the hilt. In silent protest, I ignore Dubya's likeness in the row of Governor's paintings. Mom says that's how she feels about President Obama. I bite my tongue.

Outside the capitol we meet Joanna Demopoulos. She's holding up and trying to take a picture of this little paper doll at the same time. I have no idea what this thing is, but I offer to hold it up for her. She introduces me to Flat Stanley. I offer to take Stanley with us to Las Vegas. How many Stanleys get to travel cross country to Sin City with three hot babes? I'm seriously considering an NC-17 version of Stanley's trip, but Mom insists I keep it G-rated. This Stanley belongs to a third-grader at Bethany Christian School in Tempe, Arizona. Seeing this, I feel terrible about my nefarious plans for Stanley. I promise -- he'll be on the straight and narrow.

As we get ready to leave, I go to shake Joanna's hand. She looks at me like I have a screw loose and says, in her wonderfully warm accent oozing Southern hospitality, "This is Texas -- we HUG." It's just about the best damn hug I've ever received from a total stranger. It makes me think of something Bunny said earlier about the larger-than-life nature of Texans. She called it charming, and I totally agree. I think it must be because it's not malicious. The people of this state really do believe Texas is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Make that Texas Toast. Everything is bigger in Texas, and I have to say -- the hugs are definitely better. I like Texas.

Mom has always wanted to travel with a Flat Stanley. She says she wished she'd had one in Greece since it would have been more fun than the guy she went with. There's not a car in sight, so we walk across the road on a green light. Mom's thinks a car will come flying over the hill. I tell her not to worry -- we'll only have a Flat Grandma to add to our collection. She says they can share a seat. Grandma doesn't think we're funny.

It's been just four four hours since we dropped off the car. Hell of a morning, right?

We're on our way to San Antonio and the car is making a bizarre sound. I've accidentally discovered how to turn overdrive on and off. I laugh and point out all the new things Mom's learning about her car on the trip -- from hidden cup holders to reclining back seats. She says my humor is on overkill. I'm laughing so hard at her I keep missing when the lights change. She's getting irritated. I tell her it's not my fault -- the lights in this town change super fast. The lights in Washington DC take so long you could read through Pride and Prejudice at each stop.

I tell her to pull out the magic eight ball and read up on out next stop -- the Alamo. Apparently when I printed the pages, it got cut off on the right side. I tell her to improvise. This is what she reads:

"An event occured in San Antonio nearly 170 years ago that remembered today. The historic event, as most visitors to the already know, was the epic Siege and Battle of the Alamo. Neve those who look for the remains of the battlefield are often disappo mystified by what they find at 300 Alamo Plaza."

Really ... what the hell kind of co-pilot do I have here?

When we arrive, Grandma asks a guard when they moved the Alamo. He looks at her like she's off her rocker. She insists that the last time she visited it was in the boon docks. He says no. She argues. He firmly, if not indignantly, tells her the Alamo was NOT moved. She seems placated by his explanation that there's just been a lot of development, but I have a sneaking suspicion she's still skeptical.

We take a boat ride along the riverwalk. It's a stunning area filled with all kinds of shops and resaurants. After a grueling death march to the car (my excellent sense of direction obviously impaired by my lack of sleep), we pile in and head for a place my friend Maurice suggested for dinner. He's a Texas native and says Mi Tierra has the best Mexican food around. It's all he's promised and more. Our server, John "Gonzo" Gonzales is from Lansing, Michigan, where I grew up and went to college (Michigan State -- Go, Spartans!). Small freaking world. He recommends the chicken and mole enchiladas, and we are not disappointed.

We're getting so slap happy from exhaustion that we totally forget to drive down Missions Trail on our way out of town. I'm a little bummed, but Mom keeps saying, "homie don't play that" in response to just about everything I say. And poor Grammie looks like she might soon join the legions of the undead without sleep. I need to get these girls to a hotel.

So I drive an hour and a half. We stop in Junction, Texas.

It's now 2:00 am. Do you know where your sanity is?