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Thoughts From The Road

Travels

Been back a couple days from my road trip, and now that I’ve washed the dust off, a couple of salient observations have suggested themselves to me.

I hate, absolutely loathe interstate highway travel.

My trip was to Colorado, and I took the familiar route of US 380 west, US 287 north, and after a brief trip along I-40 west, US 87 north, and I-25 north to my eventual destination, Denver.

I was actually looking forward to the part of the trip from Raton NM to Pueblo because unlike most other interstates, that section of I-25 passes through some extraordinary scenery. Sadly, I spent a lot of time looking at said scenery because a rock fall had covered the northbound side of the highway and we were reduced to crawling along at walking pace in a single lane along the southbound road. Once clear of the construction area, I thought my problems were over, except that from Pueblo all the way to my destination, the traffic was the same density as rush-hour on the various Dallas interstates, i.e. parking-lot speed.

So coming back, I turned off at Castle Rock and after a short drive east, found my old friend US 287.

Unfortunately, US 287 outside northwest Texas is terrible: a two-lane road with only occasional (and too-short) overtaking lanes, and which was almost as bad as an interstate in terms of stressful driving. All the way through southern Colorado and the Oklahoma Panhandle was white-knuckle driving, which was only bearable because I had set myself no time deadlines for my return, and could spend long stretches behind 18-wheeler trucks without ever feeling the need to overtake them. And then I crossed the border into Texas.

I love US 287 in Texas.

If I could wave a magic wand, I would abolish all interstate highways and make them all like US 287 in Texas. Here’s why.

It’s a four-lane divided highway. This means that while the speed limit is 75mph, you have to be aware of the road and traffic because there are “turnarounds” from the left lane (with an added left-turn lane so traffic is not obstructed), and frequent intersections — even driveways — so once again, ya gotta pay attention.

Best of all, though, are the frequent signs which say “Left lane may only be used for overtaking”. And the Texas state troopers enforce this little rule with gusto, you betcha, which means that people (even truckers) actually drive like Germans, and only use the left lane for overtaking. After the horrorshow of a two-lane road and the earlier interstate highways, travel was not only easy but enjoyable. (A simple indicator of this is the fact that for hours, I had a spoken conversation with myself about various topics, in French — which means that I was completely relaxed.)

Another good thing about US 287 in Texas is that until you get closer to the DFW area, you don’t bypass the many little towns, you go through them. You know that you are approaching a town because there are speed-limit change warnings posted as the limit drops from 75 to 60 to 50 to 40 and finally to 35 within the city limits, and follow the reverse order once you leave town. Why is this a Good Thing? Because what happens is that you slow down figuratively as well as literally, and stopping for gas, food, or even just to stretch your legs is not the same ordeal as when hurtling along an interstate. Here’s one such town:

Dare I say this also gives one a chance to try local eateries such as K-Bob’s, instead of the same chain crap along interstates? (Yes, I did; an excellent steak, perfect baked potato and wonderful cole slaw, all for $12. I left an $8 tip for Sandy, which made her day.)

When I first arrived in the United States, I drove along many roads like these (usually with my friend Trevor), and trips like this made me fall hopelessly, helplessly in love with America. This last trip? It happened all over again, only more so.

I cannot express how good a thing this whole approach is when you’re driving long distances, and no doubt it added to the fact that I arrived home completely relaxed and at ease, and not with the frazzled thank-God-that’s-over! nerves of a typical road trip on interstate highways.

As my Loyal Readers know, at the end of the month I’m off to Britishland for an extended sabbatical which will deposit me back in the United States only in early January. As soon as winter is over, probably in April, I’m going to take another road trip, this time from Plano to Bar Harbor, Maine* and back (along a different route). I will only use the interstate highway to get me clear of Texas and Arkansas to my first stop in Memphis (because boring, done it many times). Thereafter there will be no interstate highways in the plan except for unavoidable things like mountain passes, and even then, I’ll try to find an alternate route. Five days up, five days driving along the Maine coast, five days back. Maybe more, I don’t care.

William Least Heat-Moon once wrote a book, Blue Highways, about this kind of travel. Well, from now on, all my highways will be blue — because I intend to fall in love with America all over again, and again, and again.

*Why Bar Harbor? Why not?

 

Well, Duh

Food & Drink

Apparently, the world is agog about the ingredients of Nutella, the sickly-sweet-chocolate-y spread beloved by Euros. (They put it on their bread or toast for breakfast, as if anyone needed confirmation of Euro-decadence.) Here’s the offending pic at Reddit:

I am a little iffy about the proportions as shown — but only of the cocoa, because I’m not sure that so small an amount of the stuff could make the whole thing as dark-brown as it is. Whatever. I don’t like Nutella, possibly because I don’t really like the taste of hazelnuts. 

So, for the first time ever, I am going to reveal to the world the sooper-seekrit recipe for my own favorite spread. (Be warned, it is highly addictive, super-fattening, and probably causes all sorts of health problems, not to mention fainting fits among dieticians and weight-loss gurus.)

Here are the two ingredients (no substitutions allowed):

  

The mix proportions are approximately 4:1 (Jif : syrup), although obviously you can adjust that to make the spread more or less sweet. Adding syrup alleviates the dryness of peanut butter and adds just the necessary sweetness.

The optimal delivery method for this variation of PB&J (or peanut-butter-syrup, as I call it) is on lightly-buttered white bread, or even deadlier, on lightly-buttered white toast. I sometimes make myself a sweet snack by using a heaped tablespoon of Jif with just a tiny squirt (or teaspoon) of Golden Syrup. It also makes a superb dipping sauce for Thai Chicken Satay.

Here’s what it looks like in its final form:

For reasons unknown, Lyle’s Golden Syrup is not commonly found in U.S. supermarkets (Kroger carries it, as does H.E.B. down here in Texas), but it can be ordered online. It also comes in glass jars or tins. Because I hate maple syrup (it makes my throat close up, similar in effect to cigarette smoke), I’ve eaten Lyle’s either with peanut butter or by itself on bread/toast and on waffles since I was a child, and my life has been all the richer for it.

In the interests of Extremely Stupid People Who Need This Shit Explained To Them, this spread contains peanuts and sugar (NO!!!!) so if you are allergic to either, don’t eat it. Ditto the bread if you’re gluten-averse. Sucks to be you.

Final warning: if you become addicted to this stuff, as I am, don’t come crying to me when your weight balloons or you become pre-diabetic. That’s like complaining to me of your hangover when you follow my advice to drink single-malt Scotch, and get wasted on it.

And for the record: it tastes far better than that Nutella shit.

The N-Word

Funny Stuff

Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora Nigora

There, I’ve said it. Although I don’t understand all the fuss about some Uzbeki tart marrying an elderly Scottish millionaire who’s nearly twice her age.

By the way, if you’re wondering whether Bannatyne is wearing a Black Watch kilt in those wedding pics, he isn’t. That’s the Clan Duncan tartan. Completely different.

Apparently, the old fart and his new wife may try to have a baby. Now that’s enough to make one snigger.

 

 

More Guns

The Gun Thing

So apparently Americans are still buying guns in record numbers:

The FBI just reported that the number of gun sales background checks for May was the highest ever for that month, 1,942,677, a trend that will make 2017 the first or second highest year for gun sales.

Why? Well, duh:

“People are nervous about their safety, and rightly so. It’s a dangerous world we live in and American citizens know that we’re not immune to terrorist attacks. They’re taking the necessary steps to defend themselves. Frankly, the most recent terrorist attack in London underscores the importance of an armed populace. Remember that when seconds count the police are only minutes away.”

There was a time when even I would sometimes go out without a gun (quick trip to the store to buy lottery tickets, gassing up the car, daily walks, etc.), but now I never leave the house unarmed. Never.

And I carry more than one backup magazine for the 1911, because I might just need them (warning: annoying autoplay):

Armed officers responding to the London Bridge terror attack fired an “unprecedented” number of rounds at the three attackers because they were wearing what appeared to be suicide belts, police said. Eight officers fired 50 shots at three attackers to ensure they were neutralized.

When all I might worry about was being mugged or whatever, I’d always said that one mag, or two at most, would suffice.  Now that there’s the possibility of confronting a greater threat, I carry three extra mags. Granted, I doubt that I’d need thirty-two rounds of .45 ACP (never mind fifty) to put down three terrorist assholes, but who says there’d be only three? And you can be sure that I won’t “run, hide and call the police” as the British cops told people to do, unless by “hide” you mean “take cover prior to opening fire”.

And yes, I could be accused of having some kind of “Rambo fantasy”. I’d still rather be prepared to do something, as opposed to looking like this:

 

Fuck that bullshit.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the range to make sure that I don’t need more than four 8-round mags to end a bad situation in my favor.