Home time was great, but it’s time to roll this beautiful bean footage on down to Laredo again and squeeze a quick turnaround out before we hop on a plane for Dallas and GATS next week. Our “Texas Traveler” punch card should be full. I think we get a free rattlesnake for our participation. I know for sure I’m about What-A-Burgered out and have gained more gray hairs than I care to mention from Dallas traffic. I’d choose a leisurely roll around the 285 loop in Atlanta over DFW traffic these days, but only because we haven’t been on 285 in a while, and much like childbirth, the pain is forgotten.
Ever notice how your desire for something increases proportionately to the scarcity of it? Like, when I was young and my mom would make fried chicken once a week, I never really craved fried chicken. Now that I’m grown and don’t get Momma’s home-made fried chicken very often, I will beg George to break traffic laws to be able to get home when she announces she’s cooking it so I will stop having dreams about it.The same principal holds true for me with Krystal hamburgers. The last time we were in Georgia, we were there for a week, and could have all the Krystal hamburgers I wanted. After the second day of eating Krystals, I decided firmly they weren’t the delicious rapture I had once thought they were. However, once my intestines recovered and I was 600 miles away from the nearest Krystal, the burning desire to have one re-emerged, and I now again believe they are delicious rapture on a weirdly squishy bun. Absence does indeed make the heart (and the gall bladder) grow fonder.
After about three days of being out, I want to go home and after three days of being home, I want to be back out on the road. It’s nice to always have something to look forward to, and it’s official: I have wanderlust, but it’s short-term, a lot like my memory. But home time was great, really.
Can we go now?
On March 18, Weddle’s trailer crossed over the centerline of the highway, ...