Day Eighteen

Kudzu and I finally made it to my cousin's house in Dallas around 2:30 in the afternoon. What we had originally thought would be a three or four hour trip ended up taking around seven hours total thanks to traffic, rain, and wrecks. I have also discovered that there are three impediments to Zoobley and I arriving at a predetermined location and a predetermined time; neither of us wears a watch, we are both easily distracted, and we both have a bladder the size of a peanut.

Big Sam

We hadn't been on the road thirty minutes before we were distracted by a giant white statue on the side of the Interstate at Huntsville which turned out to be Sam Houston whom Huntsvillians claim as a Texan. We of course had to stop and check it out and let Kudzu sniff for any previous canine acquaintances. I was quick to note that Sam Houston was a U.S. Congressman and Governor from Tennessee before he ever set foot in Texas. The statue really was incredibly big. I've never seen such a tall statue in my life.

Me, Kudzu, and my cousin's family

A few miles further and as we stopped at Centerville for gas we were again distracted by the aroma coming from Woody's Smokehouse and Bar-B-Que. Between the aroma and the crowded parking lot it was a cinch that the food would be great and I wasn't disappointed. Apparently deer season had just started in Texas and me and Zoobley were the only customers around not outfitted head-to-toe in camaflouge which made my shorts and sandals look even more out of place. I think we also had the only pick-up truck without an Easy Rider Rifle Rack. For $3.99, tax included, I got a chopped beef barbecue sandwich that took both hands to hold and a whole roll of paper towels to clean up after. Fortunately, Zoobley got anything that fell to the seat.

Me, Kudzu, and the future Mrs.

After our many distractions, we were welcomed at my cousin's house in Dallas with our first home cooked meal since the start of our journey and were joined by his family including his charming four-year-old granddaughter who almost immediately informed me that she loved me and was going to marry me no less. Why is it that all the members of the fairer sex professing such sentiments are always 40 years on the wrong side of middle age? Maybe if her proposal still stands in twenty-five years when she graduates from law school to a high paying job, I'll reconsider and she can keep up my nursing home payments.