TOWARD SUNDOWN: Cloud photos always have a special attraction,
and this display was particularly appealing.
The Red Roads of Texas / Part Two of Two
On the Road to Fort Worth...
Story & Photos by IRA KENNEDY
As much as I've scorned Interstates in the past I feel kinda
bad and all now. Driving the breadth of Texas from Laredo to Fort Worth I learned to
appreciate Interstate 35 as never before.
Like Momma always said, "There's good in everything,
at 80 MPH folks were passing me by so I decided early on to slow down and take my chances
with everybody but the law. And, except for that mean piece of I-35 going through
Austin to Round Rock, the ride was cruise-control most of the way.
As I was just north of Waco the sun was setting.
The lower it dropped the deeper my dread of being lost at night in city traffic. I
wondered what Ollie Gravis might say, hoping he'd cheer me up a mite.
"You ain't lost." I could hear him
saying. "Not yet. You'll know when your lost. That's when you run out of
options and ask for help.
"Remember " he continued, "you can
make only so many wrong turns. The law of averages, dumb luck and Ol' Heisenberg are
all leaning in your favor."
"Who's Heisenberg?" I asked just to make
conversation. (Boredom can be a powerful opiate.)
"One of them Quantum Theory types. He held
forth on the Uncertainty Principle. Which is, ''the more precisely the
position is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known." Put another
way -- relating to your present delima -- sooner or later you're gonna give Ol'
Nigel the Land Rover a rest, and when you do you'll be there. Think about it."
I wore down the better part of my brain on that one.
I finally realized that when I quit glancing at the dashboard to monitor speed, gas
consumption and the like I'd have a better idea where I was. Maybe.
It doesn't take a prophet to predict I'd get lost, so
when I did I responded the way any red-blooded (is there another color?) American male
would do these days -- I called for directions on my cell phone.
My son, Dave, had been waiting for me in the
hotel's bar when he got the call and commenced to relay directions from the
bartender. I got loster -- which is to say I was lost further away from my
destination than I was when I called for directions. My main clue was the
highway sign for the airport on the edge of town.
Now here's irony for you. Because I ended up
lost near the airport the bartender's directions suddenly made sense. I
stayed on the phone till I saw my son standing on the sidewalk, waving.
"I'm on the sidewalk, Dad. Do you see me?
I can see you."
Finally my geezer eyes spotted Dave and in no time at
all we were at the bar where I started an adult beverage collection.
After all those phone calls for directions I was
getting my fair share of ribbing from the Aussie bartender. He was funny at first,
but that kinda wore off, so I asked directions to the Men's Room and had the Aussie repeat
them for me. Please.
On my return I stopped in the hallway and phoned for
directions back to the bar. That's when the Aussie realized I could rib myself
better than he could, so we moved on to other topics.
Later on in our room, Dave and I chatted for a time
but he had a big day ahead and I was double wore out.
Dave, at 33 years, is a professional photographer
with real awards and lots of heavy complicated camera equipment covered in knobs,
buttons, little white marks and functions of all kinds that he actually knows how to use.
By the time I woke up Dave was already at work
shooting photos for Gannett publications of the Byron Nelson golf tournament featuring
Annika Sorenstam. Last year he photographed the World Series and the Super Bowl for
A.P. and Reuters. Someday he's due for a Pulitzer.
After emptying that iddy biddy coffee pot all by
myself, I grabbed my camera bag and headed for a walk around town. When I arrived at the
hotel the night before it was dark and I was confused, so I hadn't the slightest notion of what lay outside. I wasn't lost
anymore. Just disoriented.
PAGE 1: TO FT. WORTH
/ PAGE 2: DOWNTOWN COWTOWN
PAGE 3: THE MUSEUM / PAGE 4: KERRVERTVILLE
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