Texas 08

Upon our return to Texas, where we were to spend the month of February, we settled briefly into our hotel in Houston. We spent no less than an hour and a half standing in what could easily have been – to those who had never seen one – a stockyard disguised as customs and immigration. These lines, though dreadful are always fascinating in their own “nothing else to look at” way in that they are often comprised of the most interesting samples of humanity from across the globe. You can usually determine from whence a flight has arrived by the dress and languages spoken by the clusters of frustrated, weary yet remarkably well behaved folks awaiting their turn to be scrutinized and mentally prodded for in-discrepancies in their reasons for visiting the mighty USA.
We were nearing the top of the line when “All Canadians! You may join the US citizens line!” was called out. About a third of us grumbled our way over to the sacred roped off section, realising that in our desperation, and with little thought, we had possibly created a longer wait since some folks which had only just arrived, jumped the queue to the disgust and disdainful observation of the rest of us.
In the end, we were whisked through, as much as the term can be applied to US customs and we soon found ourselves in line for a cab.
The following day was Superbowl. We had researched local sports bars on google maps the night before and had determined that the cheapest location in terms of cab fare was Division 1 in neighbouring Humble. We were very early due to some confusion with a gypsy cab; the details of which are hardly worth elaborating on, but to say we were extremely early and rather annoyed. Being that there wasn’t a single business or alternative venue in which to distract ourselves nearby, we found a good spot where we thought the game could be seen on all angles and settled in. Eventually, the place started to fill. Folks came in similarly testing seating and viewing as we had. Give- aways were laid out and last minute decorations hung by the staff. The game started. We met and chatted with a few people who sat nearby and we had a great time. We laughed at the half time ads and delighted in the victory of the underdog team against the undefeated champs. It was great night. Outside, I met a chick who had a cruiser bike. We talked bikes and I noticed the Vance & Hines pipes she was sporting.
”C’mon, spark that puppy up woman!” I cried, and she obliged. The pipes were so loud they set off several car alarms. We high five-d and delighted in the rumble of the pipes. Jeff was inside chatting to some guys at the bar. It was a fun night. But there was one thing very different about this occasion, and it wasn’t the event so much as the circumstances provided by the venue. The very large sports bar was packed, to its capacity as one may imagine any American sports bar to be on Superbowl Sunday; and we were the only white people in it. Naturally we noticed, we couldn’t help but notice! It was an experience often encountered by many, but not often by white folks. There is nothing more to say on it but that, we were not, nor did we, treat anyone any differently than usual, but it was glaringly obvious to us and those about us, that we were most certainly in the minority that evening! So much for sticking to your own neighbourhoods for “safety reasons.”
The following day we collected the trailer from its repair shop and the truck from its; and moved across town to a very nice area of Houston. It was so nice that what subsequently happened during a lunch break the day after could not have been predicted. After spending the morning at several calls, we, Brent, the Houston rep (who refuses to fly anywhere after 911 and whose name I have forgotten) and myself decided to park the Roadshow back at the hotel and jump in the reps truck to go to lunch up the road. We did so and ate, at my suggestion at the California Pizza Kitchen where I love their Thai crunch salad. I marvelled at the manner in which our local rep ate his cheese pizza by scraping the topping off the dough roughly with his fork and manipulating his lunch in such a way as I had never seen a grown man do with a pizza, or any other food?
Less than an hour later, we returned to the truck and as I pressed the remote to unlock the doors, the sick feeling of violation I have felt on several occasions past came into my gut as the remote chirped not its usual twice but three times; indicating a “Vehicle Violation Occurred.” I immediately saw the gash in the passenger side door below the handle where it had been tampered with. Brent and I immediately looked for the GPS, a popular item among petty thieves and found to our relief it remained in the arm rest. But what had they taken? I pawed through the armrest and could find nothing missing. My plastic yellow shopping bag containing a few CD’s was also there. Had they been interrupted and gained nothing? Then came Brent’s voice from the back seat; “They got my laptop and briefcase.” We were now both surely flooded by the revulsion of this realisation. We looked about at the busy electronics store in the adjacent parking lot and back at the hotel and marvelled at the brassiness of a mid day robbery in this distinctive neighbourhood. There was no time to call the police as we had another appointment downtown and couldn’t wait. I did take the time to report to the front desk what had happened and we left.
Later that day, not wanting to leave the truck vulnerable for further attack, I brought it to a local dealer where the service advisor who was most accommodating theorized that since Katrina, crime had risen considerably in Houston. I considered his point but chose not to pursue the notion because of its obvious and unsubstantiated insinuation. He was a good ol Texas boy if ever there was one and he went on to explain that his security system consisted of an hours distance drive from the city as well as some measure of calibre the likes of which I don’t recall. He was kind enough though to organize a loaner truck for me for the night and I made my way back to the hotel.
On the way back I tried the Houston PD again since they had not returned my call and it was well after five. I knew the Houston PD to be very busy, but I also imagined they had entire units dedicated to this type of crime and I at least needed a Report number to provide to our insurance company for poor old Brent’s missing laptop. I had been robbed before too, in varying degrees from knifepoint to vehicular B&E’s, but the thought of losing one’s laptop was so gross to me; especially in the case of a laptop which had never been backed up. For those without a laptop, imagine that you could carry a ginormous wallet about; and in it you carry family photos, personal memos, schedules of appointments, notes from meetings, to do lists, as well as financial info and so forth. Now imagine all of it, gone, and in the hands of some scoundrel who may possibly pick through it for information, but in the end, will treat that most valuable part of the thing as trash. Sickening. I thought of this as I grappled my way back to our hotel and felt very sorry for Brent indeed. As I muscled my way into a lane – which you absolutely need to have a truck to do in Texas, my phone rang, it was Brent. “You’re never going to believe this?!” he declared. I’m on my way to the Pasadena county police, they’ve recovered my briefcase and laptop!” I was absolutely blown away. “You mean they found your briefcase..” “And lap top, and spare wallet, and passport!” added Brent unbelieving. “Oh Brent, that’s wonderful! You must be so relieved!” “Yes, I’m on my way to pick it up now, they found the whole thing except some paperwork.” We discussed the un-likeliness of such a thing ever happening and I promised to call him with a police report number when and if Houston ever got back to me.
The next day, after our proper workout at a nearby Bally’s Gym, Jeff and I collected Brutus from the dealership and began repacking him for our trip to San Antonio. It was my birthday and we were going to be on the famous Riverwalk that evening to celebrate. As we each packed our side of the truck, I was about to place Leland in his usual station behind me which is on his bag of clothing ( so he can see out the window – of course) when I paused. There was no Leland Luggage to put him on? I dug under the other items in and under the back seat, then I checked the back of the truck where we keep our luggage, but my suspicions were soon confirmed when the bag was nowhere to be found. “Leland’s been ROBBED!” I cried to Jeff. “What?! But I saw you put him in the truck at the hotel!” he said rather annoyed. “No!” I replied, “LELAND has been robbed, not stolen.” I corrected him. “His bag of clothes were in that small carpet bag that, to a thief, may have been mistaken for a small purse, so Leland has had his clothing robbed from him!” I then looked at Leland who seemed unaffected by such an affront and wished I hadn’t left him in his Honduran travelling clothes after all. It was cooler here in Houston and he couldn’t possibly be suitably attired for cooler climes, but again, there no reaction from our fleecy friend. Such was his inner strength during adversity that I immediately promised he and Jeff that we should sort him out with a new wardrobe as soon as could be arranged. Jeff sighed and rolled his eyes as he climbed into the truck and we doubled back to collect the trailer from our hotel and get on our way to San Antonio.
En route we finally did receive a call from Houston PD. This time a far friendlier Officer was calling after a very rude and annoying experience I had had that morning. Starting at 5:30 AM and every half hour subsequent calls from an abrupt and tired sounding (like an Ottawa “help line” bureaucrat kind of employee) had announced on her third and final message left at 9:30 AM that she had done ALL she could to reach me – though never left a call back number – and that I was basically out of luck regarding the report.
The friendly Officer thought he may know the civilian of whom I spoke as I went on to explain that it was my birthday that day, and I had turned my phone off after her first attempt had woke me up at such an ungodly hour. I furthered that I had kept the phone on me at breakfast and at the gym (which I hate seeing people do – what could be THAT important?) but had nevertheless managed to miss her other calls. I added Leland’s lost wardrobe and luggage to the report and went on to explain that in fact another county’s Police had raided a house known to front stolen articles the very afternoon we had been robbed, and that my colleague already had his stuff back, but that this other PD was waiting on a Report number so that they could properly process and charge the people they’d arrested for the crimes. He was also quite amazed that the items had been recovered, and so quickly. As we hung up, he wished me a happy birthday and luck re-clothing my lamb.
The drive to San Antonio was like any drive longer than a half hour in Texas, it felt longer than it was and was pretty damned boring. The highlight of the trip was our half way stop at a gas station whose mascot we had seen splashed on huge billboards for miles before reaching the spot, it was a beaver with a blank look wearing a red cap. At “Buckey’s” we filled Brutus, and bought a few small items. For the middle of nowhere, the place wasn’t half bad in terms of what was on offer. Every kind of beef jerky known to man was proudly displayed, like fine cuts of meat behind a 15 foot, glass deli counter. Jalapeno, teriyaki, smoked, BBQ, hot pepper, black pepper, garlic and more. Alligator heads and stuffed (as in once were alive stuffed) armadillos were also available as well as a fine collection of magnets, bottle openers, postcards and more. We browsed for a few minutes to stretch our legs, and despite all temptations left with only some water, a t-shirt featuring Buckey and a giant bag of kettle corn.
We had a great time in San Antonio. We had strategically chosen the Hampton Inn situated almost across the street from the Alamo, which also meant we could walk to the Riverwalk, which we did after settling into our room.
I enjoyed showing Jeff this magical place and recalled my wonder at it when Brent had shown it to me two years prior. We strolled along, trying to decide where we wanted to start the night and found a Texas themed place with not much of a line up. We sat at the bar and had a few, then ordered some appetizers which were not really what I had in mind for a birthday dinner, but who cared, we were supposed to be drinking anyways – and we were and did. We tired of the place and decided to venture to the Coyote Ugly’s next door. We had been to several of these fine establishments in other towns, such as Nashville and Memphis and knowing there were no airs nor graces to be offended felt that this was as good a place as any to celebrate my joining of the human race 36 years ago.
At the bar, the scantily clad bartenders (all very young, tight bodied and female) were up to their usual Coyote Ugly antics dancing on the bar, and taunting the young, wide eyed men to buy body shots and beers. We placed our order and watched the fun. The girls also controlled the juke box, and a Shania Twain song started blasting. A cluster of bartenders gathered around one group of guys in the middle of the bar and a lot of encouraging tones and coaxing came from the ladies whose largest item of clothing were their cowboy boots. The song ended and the girls were annoyed at something. They started calling out, “Hey Canada! We played that song for you, EH! Now you’re too cheap to buy body shots for your pals! Why don’t you tight asses go home!”
Ah, yes, we were definitely at a Coyote Ugly’s. The threesome shuffled away and likely made their way to the front door. This was a typical scene at these bars, and if you couldn’t muster the fortitude to be front and centre, you may as well skip it and move on, cause there is no mercy. Jeff and I were somewhat embarrassed by our countrymen living up to their “cheap” reputation, but decided that indeed $20.00 bucks was an awful lot just for the privilege of watching one girl loll atop the other with a shot of tequila or whiskey, then squeeze a lemon or lime with her teeth into a guys mouth as a chaser. In fact, we determined, that anyone who would pay that kind of money for cheap liquor and a cheaper thrill, had to be desperate and a loser. We quietly congratulated our compatriots and continued our observations.
By the end of the night, I was quite melancholy over another year passing and also rather soused, so it no longer seemed quite so impossible that I, Lorna Tate should join the other daring female clients and bar staff who were dancing on the bar. It was a ZZ Top song which particularly inspired me to such heights and I danced my butt off!
The following day, we dropped Brutus off at a local truck accessories place to be fitted with some anti-entry devices called “Jimmie Jammers” the name being self explanatory, and headed for the San Antonio rodeo!
The only rodeo I have ever been to had been a small affair in Saskatchewan when I was around 12 years old, so I was quite excited to be at a real, Texas major event. The cab dropped us off at the main gate and we were glad to have not driven, since people were having to park half an hours walk away it was so crowded.
Jeff bought our tickets for entry and for the evening Rodeo which was to be capped off by a performance by the famous southern rock band, Lynrd Skynrd! We couldn’t believe our fortune?! This was turning out to be a birthday weekend for me.
We wandered through the huge grounds and found a BBQ tent for lunch. It was no Rudy’s, but man, it was BBQ – something we’d been staying away from in our weight loss efforts – but not today! After lunch, and due to the heat and the fact that we were really kind of early, we spent a great deal of time looking at the vendors inside the pavilion/ arena. Naturally there was everything from saddles and bridles to hair clips and spurs. There was clothing to suit any rider and weather front as well as household goods and cookware. It was a needy ranchers dream since there couldn’t have been anything any cowboy or girl could have wanted beyond what was on offer in that arena.
We wandered outside for a while and found cover from the sun at where else, but the beer tent. We sipped slowly and found we could pretty much see all there was to see – which was mainly the folks in attendance from our shaded picnic table. We people watched and eventually moved on. The real attraction of the day was the evening rodeo and we were really just trying to fill in some time. The daytime activities were mostly the carnival rides and tents geared towards the kids, but curious and not wanting to miss anything, we wandered about nonetheless.
In our wanderings, I satisfied a life long yearning; to meet the Pillsbury Dough Boy! As we rounded the corner from the beer tent, there, surrounded by kids, was the Pillsbury Dough Boy himself being photographed and prodded in the belly. I let go a burst of delight to signal to Jeff my glee, but he only rolled his eyes and grumbled something about that stupid dough boy or something or other. We rounded past him and I watched longingly the happy and some fearful children and adults having their picture taken.
We went to the birds of prey tent, which I knew Jeff would like, because he likes birds of prey. Various falcons, owls and eagles were chained to posts on display and though they were gorgeous, it was kind of sad to see them so.
We made our way up to the 4 H tent, but nothing was going on, so we doubled back. I, of course, had already a strategy to happen past the Pillsbury Dough Boy, quite innocently, of course so as not to be suspected by any suspicious minded people. The timing was right, during a break of toddlers, I moved in and thrust my camera at Jeff. “Take a picture babe, please?” Jeff, feeling the pressure of the other anxious fans wanting their picture taken, snapped a beauty, and we were on our way.
We wandered through other markets, and passed the Swifty Swine Racing Team, whose members were passed out in their cages and not even close to performing. In the end we found we were most content at the “Crown Royal Tent.” It looked like a shrine to Crown Royal and was situated just outside the Rodeo/ concert venue which I believe also serves as the arena for the San Antonio Spurs NBA team. We remarked, not for the first time at America’s love affair with our treasured Rye and wondered if indeed they even knew it to be of Canadian origin? We decided it was most unlikely, but at least it was good for us and our economy!
Finally the hour came for the Rodeo and concert to start, we stood in line for Lynrd Skynrd t-shirts as proof that we had actually seen the legends live, and made our way to our excellent seats.
The show started with a bang and all the usual patriotism. We saw the bucking broncos, bull riders, and barrel racers. Half way through the show, my favourite event was the Mutton Bustin’ where little kids in hockey helmets clung to the fleece of their steed – in this case sheep; and were timed to see how long they could hold on once the sheep was allowed to run! It was hilarious! They also had a calf round up where young men and women scrambled like mad after a herd of calves in an effort to rope and hold them. The winner of that event, got to keep their calf and also received a scholarship for Agricultural school from the Rodeo Association. Another man came in riding a team of horses by standing on two separate horses at the rear and cracking a great whip to bring up their speed. It was amazing. As I watched, I felt my face to look like that of a child who was witnessing the most amazing thing ever. My neighbour noticed too and asked where we were from and if this was my first rodeo? We replied accordingly and she told me that her husband, who was sat right next to me, had been a pro bull rider and cowboy and was now retired. He quietly looked on at the calf wrangling below; both proud yet unassuming to make much of it; just as you see a real soldier react to similar fanfare. I respected his reaction and replied to his wife that that was quite something, not wanting to overdo my response.
In the end, came the grand finale. Lynrd Skynrd. It was surreal, they opened with “Sweet Home Alabama,” one of their signature songs and the crowd sang along excitedly. I snapped pictures madly at the jumbotron – since the pictures would turn out far better (a trick I learned at a ZZ Top concert at Ottawa’s Blue’s fest). We sang along and gave each other “can you believe this?!” looks. It was an amazing birthday to be sure.
We wound the night down back at Coyote Ugly’s but tired from the days activities, called it an early night around midnight.
The following days were spent at the gym and of course meeting up with Brent and working. We made our way up to Austin mid week and spent a soggy couple of days there. We had planned on staying the weekend, but Brutus was blowing unusually dark exhaust, so I changed plans and we left for Dallas Sunday. Monday, we dropped the trailer at its mid week venue a small trade show at our local reps office and I promptly brought poor ol’ Brutus into yet another GM dealer to see what his matter was. The service advisor called back in no time with the diagnoses of injectors. There are twelve fuel injectors and they have been replaced several times under warranty (the last time being in Memphis a little over a year ago) but this time, no warranty, we pay. Becky quoted me the $5067.00 job and I got it approved by our office. With no truck, we got around Dallas mainly via the shuttle service at the Hilton Garden Inn and cabs. We weren’t up for much activity and though we went out a couple of nights, the highlight of our Dallas trip was getting our tattoos!
We researched extensively and found a shop that we would have crossed town for, right nearby! Jeff knew what he wanted and printed up some ideas from the net to give the artist. I, was still unsure, but knew I wanted to combine my Canadian pride with my career and pride as a driver. I sat down with some markers and paper and drew up an idea. The following day we met our artist, Michael and presented him with our ideas. He said he’d need a few days to tweak the art work and to come back on Friday. It was supposed to be his day off, but he said he thought quite highly of us Canuks and would make the time. It was Tuesday and the days passed too slowly for me.
Finally, Friday came and we returned to the shop. Michael and I made some last minute changes to his configuration of my concept, I signed the paper work and we got started. It took about an hour and a bit, and I loved the additions he introduced to my driving maple leaf. He made the steering wheel flamed and chrome and he turned the shifter into a Hurst shifter. He added kick ass biker boots and a wicked little mischievous grin to my maple leaf, I loved it!
Jeff was next and I took a couple of pics of him getting his first tattoo. He had decided to get his family crest and translate the motto from Latin. It depicts a wild cat fighting a snake and the motto translated reads, “Touch Not The Cat Without A Glove.” In other words, politely put “Don’t mess with this clan.” which, quite frankly is good advice! – (Love you McCombs)
Our tattoo artist, Michael was great and he spoke longingly of wanting to go to Canada – so if anybody wishes to adopt a tattoo artist from Texas, he’s quite willing. He was such a good guy as to drop us off at his local watering hole where he later returned to to join us for drinks.
All in all we had a full time of it in Texas this time around and I doubt we could ever come close to matching that adventure, but we’ll surely keep trying!