All true Texans will implicitly recognize the truth of this equation. It’s not an assertion, it’s an equation, as in mathematical certitude. Allow me to present my case. Take I-20 in east Texas. Nice smooth interstate, well-marked overhead clearances, you generally have a view of what’s ahead at an exit. The best of our tax dollars at work. But cross the border into LA on I-20 and ay chihuahua! It’s like riding a bike down a train track for pete’s sake. This abysmal condition continues unabated for 25 miles, until past Shreveport. In fairness, it gets better after that, but not enough to cure the migraine.
Speaking of going from the dinner table to the dumpster, that’s exactly what my gas mileage is doing now that I am dragging The Beast. Before I was getting about 16-17 mpg on the open road, but now it’s trending more toward 9-10. Oh well, I knew it would happen, just not the magnitude.
All kvetching aside, I made over 400 miles today, stopping just over the Big Muddy in Vicksburg. It’s a nice little park, about a mile from Ol’ Man River, near a National Park commemorating the Civil War battle that took place here. I am far from a Civil War buff, but I’ve been twice to Gettysburg which is one of the finest Museums ever. I’m sure Vicksburg would be interesting too and it needs to go on the list for another visit.
When driving through Texas south of Dallas this morning I realized that I have seen a bunch of Texas over the years, and so much of it looks exactly like this:
Which is perhaps further proof of the titular equation.
Tonight was the first attempt at cooking in the RV, which has quite a respectable kitchen setup:
Nice size fridge and freezer, 3-burner stove and oven, convection microwave, double sinks, decent amount of cabinet space. It was a modest production, but all’s well that ends well, right?