April 13 - 15, 2011 We start moving a little faster…

Leaving Junction we drive to Fort Stockton, hoping to purchase the yard-art metal peacock we had seen on the drive east when the store was closed (a Sunday). Fort Stockton doesn’t look much different today, a weekday, but the store is open and the peacock has been sold, to our disappointment. We cross the street to the only café in town and enjoy a lunch, but this is no substitute. We drive on.

Texas is in a bad drought, perhaps the worst in 40 years, and as we speed through windy west Texas we see burning hills near Fort Davis and a lot of smoke in the air.

We drive on to “Historic Van Horn” (the sign says), a town sadder than Fort Stockton. I don’t know what glued this place together, but today the main street consists of closed stores, closed motels, motels offering rooms for $25, and a few newer motels that look like they should never have been constructed. The low-priced motels bring images, perhaps unfairly, of bedbugs but on a gamble Marcia calls the better looking Ramada Inn and the Holiday Inn, but the former holds firm at $59 and the latter wants $79. We go instead to the Eagles Nest RV Park, which wants $30; I point out to the manager that there are motels in town advertising rooms for $25 and he gives me an indignant look and comments that his prices are in line.

The next morning we continue I-10 through west Texas, a long drive made the worse because of blowing dust and smoke. El Paso is its usual chaotic self but the dust and winds continue well into New Mexico, where we settle at the Lordsburg KOA for about $34. Having a desire for New Mexico style Mexican food we disconnect and drive to El Charro, an old but large place near the railroad tracks endorsed by the largest collection of still-runing cars in town. Service is very pleasant and most everybody seems to know each other. Dinner is okay and probably what I expected, but not what I wanted. After dinner we drive the dusty streets trying to figure what used to make this town tick – perhaps mining, just not sure.

On Friday the 15th the winds and dust are much improved and our drive through New Mexico and into Arizona is reasonably pleasant. We are making good time now and expect to be home on the 18th, in time for Sue Burmaster’s memorial on the 19th. We spend the evening in at the Saddle Mountain RV Park in Tonopah, Arizona, for only $14 using Passport America.

April 12, 2011 LBJ and Booker country…

We had planned on an overnight stop (or two) in Austin but instead decide to limit our touring to the LBJ Presidential Library and Museum, and the LBJ ranch tour in Johnson City.

Parking with the big boys.

The LBJ Library and Museum.  If you are my age you might remember in 1966 Charles Whitman killed 16 people from the UT tower, at the left. 

There is no parking or admission charge to the library and museum, a pleasant surprise, but also no RV or bus parking. We manage to back in between some school busses, hiding along a perimeter fence.

7/8 scale oval office.

LBJ is portrayed as a victim of the times, which he mostly is – the champion of an unpopular war at a time all sorts of things were going wrong. He successfully passed major “Great Society” (a term I never liked) legislation but had to deal with great unrest on campuses across the country, the assassinations of MLK and RFK (and of course JFK), riots in the black communities, etc. The museum includes a temporary exhibit on radical groups of the 1960s. It must have been difficult deciding and defending the groups included and excluded. Interestingly, the John Birch Society was included.

We drive on toward Junction, stopping at the National Parks visitor center in Johnson City, but we can find no one to answer questions. We pick up maps and continue to the LBJ Ranch on the Pedernales River, near Stonewall.

Cow's-eye view of the LBJ Ranch.

Air Force One Half on left, Airstream One on right.

The LBJ home.  The Texas White House is mainly in the addition to the left.

View toward the Pedernales River.

At the ranch visitor center we are provided a narrative CD to play as we drive a paved one-way road (trailer OK) through the working cattle ranch, enjoying the views and the calming surroundings. We can see why he liked the ranch. The tour ends at the LBJ home, which includes the rooms that became known as the Texas White House. Outside is a runway and a parked four-engine executive jet with presidential markings - LBJ dubbed it Air Force One Half.

The conducted house tour costs $2 and is well worth it. LBJ bought the house from a relative but it was apparently in depressing shape. With Lady Bird’s money and direction it was expanded and improved and, although it doesn’t look it, I swear the ranger said it is now 8000 square feet – perhaps that includes outbuildings.

The inside has a modest traditional look but no photos are permitted – don’t know why. The eating area has a large window permitting a view of the ranch; after LBJ’s passing Lady Bird would not eat at the formal table, preferring the small one at the window’s edge, where she could look out at the ranch and watch wildlife through a pair of binoculars. Lady Bird died in 2007.

Marcia snapped a photo of LBJ’s office and was admonished, but then the ranger realized he had forgotten to tell us no pictures. At possibly great personal risk, Marcia has let me post the photo.

Ed and Marcia ready dinner at the Booker Ranch.

We continue from the LBJ ranch on the Pedernales to the Booker ranch on the North Llano, and a great dinner and catch-up. Ed had two blown tires on the trip home from Florida; both in the same wheel position, causing some body damage and the slicing of a water feed tube. After a good night’s sleep in their guest hook-up spot, we continue our drive home.

April 11, 2011 Tabasco in the morning...

We talk to Ray offering our condolences for Sue's death and learn the memorial will be on the 19th, several days ahead of our scheduled return home.  We will have to speed up greatly to be home in time.  We decide to give it a try for a couple days, but the goal seems impossible to do safely.  At best we see ourselves arriving late on the 19th - too late for the memorial - unless we can fine a way to eliminate a day.

Okay, just put the gun down.

This morning we take the short drive to Avery Island and visit the Tabasco factory for a tour.  Tabasco has been made here since soon after the Civil War.  In hindsight, although pleasant on Avery Island,  this was probably our best candidate for elimination to get home on time.

We drive on and camp west of Houston, skipping our plan to get together with Carlos and Rosemary for dinner.  Every camp has its oddities: in this one, liter soda bottles are used to plug unused sewer ports.

April 10 - 11, 2011 Marcia duz crayfish...

We backtrack a little, heading south-east to Abbeville, LA, recommended by the Cajun caravan. This, like Eunice and Mamou, is another small town we would have buzzed right through if we hadn’t had caravan contacts.

Cajuns improvise - in this case, a homemade 5th wheeler.

The Abbeville RV campground is very nice and casual – we can find no one to check with for an opening, so we simply find a vacant spot and set up; that evening a woman comes to our door and we pay our $20.

We drive to the central square, where a street fair is underway. The music is Cajun and the oaks are huge, altogether a pleasant half-hour, even with oak worms dropping on us.  Abbeville has history: a statue in the square honors the mam who died giving assistance to the scores killed by yellow fever here.  But today children are playing, couples are dancing, and everyone is having a good time.

For dinner we go to Richard’s Seafood Patio, pronounced with a French accent. This is a  wood and cinder-block nearly windowless buiding on a gravel and weedy parking lot. The caravan visited Richard’s to experience crayfish, and we are here separately for the same reason.

Inside the restaurant is lit by fluorescents and a few Budweiser and Coke signs. We take a seat where we can see the action, under a Budweiser sign that flickers on and off each time I accidentally bump the loose and dangerous looking electrical receptacle.

Faced with choosing between 3 or 5 pounds of crayfish, Marcia wisely goes for 3; the locals seem to favor the 5-pound size, served in great flat aluminum boiling pot.  I order 18 drunken shrimp, boiled in Budweiser. I also order a trip to the salad bar, which is roughly five feet wide and consists of lettuce, your choice of dressings, oddly sliced tomatoes, croutons, and baco-o-bits. It tastes fabulous – I guess I needed some greens.

Before...

...and after.

Casey, our server, shows Marcia how to shuck crawfish and mixes a dip from the many hot sauces on the table. I try a crayfish but I’m a little intimidated by the visible “vein” (do crayfish have colons?) and the strange dark stuff within the body cavity. Casey says she eats that stuff, no worry.  Marcia pronounces the crayfish good but they aren't worth the effort to me.

We know the crayfish are grown in the many rice fields in the area. I ask Casey if the Deep Horizon oil spill caused any problems with the shrimp but she isn’t certain. She leaves and returns, telling me that they had no problem with supply, but the price jumped. I enjoy my shrimp, dipped in Marcia’s hot-sauce.