We pass through little towns with corner ditches full of signs pitched into the ground looking for CDL drivers, telling you to vote for Mark or Terry or Tom, and advertisements of buy 1 get 1 free, the print too small to see what you have to buy to get 1 free.
In Houston, Texas, we were able to meet up with some friends we’d met through online gaming (if this doesn’t label us as geeks, I don’t know what will) and they introduced us to some really amazing local beer (New Belgian Fat Tire). And even better, we got to sit out on a patio! In April! At night! Without chattering teeth, or the need to prove anything. In Toronto an open patio is a full patio. No matter the weather we will sit out and freeze our arses off to prove that it’s spring dammit! even if the temperature disagrees.
Know this: good beer is the currency of our hearts.
We pass by dozens if not hundreds of abandoned cars, some with tags, some without wheels, some that have fallen into ditches, some that are only bumpers and a few plastic pieces.
Next we travelled to Laredo, Texas right on the border of Mexico. We were told the yard had a shop where we could get our truck fixed but the only thing we found was some old tires and a little Mexican named Ulysses who had a hammer and a screwdriver. He wasn’t able to fix our bi-polar truck but he did introduce us to an amazing authentic Mexican restaurant, the original Taco Palenque.
We spent the night at a hotel sitting around the pool drinking cheap American beer (that you can buy in the convenience store!) chatting it up with fellow truckers.
Trucking is not a career for democrats, sometimes I keep my mouth shut, but it’s more fun when I don’t.
We pass by the word Jesus on churches and billboards and painted on the roof of some people’s barns. What are they trying to say? That if Jesus were to come back this is where he should look for the good people. Or are they just offering him a place to stay? “Hey Jesus! Over here man, we’ve got a spare room.”
I think America is actually two countries trying to coexist as one. It’s like after the Civil war the Confederates went off and raised their kids one way and the Union army raised theirs another and what evolved is a country of Democrats and Republicans. Two ideologies that on paper shouldn’t be that different but when planted in the minds of children it becomes a second religion complete with mythos and dogma.
We pass by highway billboards that assure us we’ll have a good time at Ponderosa, that scream out 5 miles to Denny’s! Arbys! Hardees! With the verse and paragraph of bible passages, that advertise hospital wait times and billboards that guilt trip those who are pro-choice that God knows a soul when he sees one.
How to spot a Republican:
They will most likely have a southern accent.
They will make a derogatory comment about Obama or Obama care or Universal health care within the first five minutes of meeting them.
They will have a visible tattoo of either a gun or a cross, or possibly a cross made into a gun.
“God gave me the right to own a gun so I’m going to shoot first and ask questions later.”
How to spot a Democrat
They’re always right. Nope! They’re right!
They will make a derogatory comment about Bush (doesn’t matter which one) or the Iraq war or Afghanistan within the first five minutes of meeting them.
They have a job that takes more than 5 minutes to explain, and when they’re done explaining, you still don’t know what they do for a living.
“The problem with America is too much patriotism and religion and not enough education.”
We pass by homes, tucked up in underpasses, the owner’s possessions hidden as they step out to run errands.
Our luck runs out in Waco, Texas and our truck (Franklin, yes it’s a boys name) tells us enough. We deposit him in a repair shop, which closes in an hour for the weekend, and get a room at the Motel 6 next door and spend the next 2 days lounging by the pool, doing laundry and watching way too much reality TV.
Who exactly comes up with this stuff? Naked and Afraid must be one of the worst TV shows in history, but we watched it, along with My 600lb Life. These shows are like epic car accidents on the freeway, you can’t help but stop and gape, mouth ajar, eyes wide.
For the weekend our world has shrunk to four square blocks (the distance Chris is willing to walk) which consists of a 7-eleven, a Texas Roadhouse, El Chico restaurant, a Stripes, and a H.E.B. which I found out is pronounced “Hatch eee bee.” Maybe it was the accent. Also I think I might talk too fast.
We pass jeeps with college girls singing along to the radio, people texting, people picking their nose, screaming at their kids, eating cereal, doing makeup, destinations unknown.