Easterly Pt. 3

San Antonio left me with two surprises. The first came soon after I posted my last update. I hadn’t realized how late it was until I noticed the Panera staff cleaning up for the night. After I closed my computer and cleared the table, I was greeted by a young lady -- I would guess the night manager -- offering me a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread.

I understand that it’s normal for Panera to give away the bread they can no longer sell, but I was surprised by the gesture and felt all sorts of gratitude. I told her I was in the middle of a long trip, so this was perfect for me, then she and another employee started asking about where I was going and how long I’d been on the road, and before you knew it we were all the best of friends. At least according to Facebook. So to my Panera friends, thank you again.

San Antonio’s second surprise came as I was on my way out, back on I-10, and I started seeing signs for Houston. I suddenly realized that I had completely misread my map, and that the drive to Christopher’s was not nearly as far as I thought. This was cause for celebrating, which I did with a slice of cinnamon raisin bread and an unreturned wave to the car in the next lane.

Not too much later I crossed the Colorado River. It was too dark to actually see it, but I honked anyways and offered my thanks for the Grand Canyon. I stopped about half an hour out of Houston, found a place to park on a quiet street away from the interstate, and curled up for some sleep.

A heavy fog moved in before sunrise. This was beautiful, because it cooled the air and gave the day’s beginning an eerie significance. But it was also unfortunate, because it turned everything kind of sticky and damp and made the funny smell in my car a little bit funnier. So I rode into Houston with the windows down to let everything air out.

Dark clouds were hovering over the city by the time I reached it, threatening but never delivering rain. I spread some apple sauce on my new cinnamon raisin bread and made a sandwich, then pulled out my bike and wandered downtown for a bit. I wasn’t in much of a city mood, though, so before long I was back on the interstate. It was only a couple hours to Beaumont, and the drive was pleasant enough, if not exceedingly memorable. I remember the sky clearing up quite nicely, and I remember crossing increasingly frequent bayous and rivers, with colors and textures that spoke unmistakably of an allegiance to the Gulf of Mexico. This made home feel close and allowed for a pleasant frame of mind.

I reached Beaumont around lunchtime. Yes, my brother lives in Beaumont, and yes, this allowed at least a few moments of narcissistic satisfaction on my part. As a man next to me at a gas station said so eloquently, “Wait, your name’s Beau? And you’re in Beaumont? Oh wow, what a gas!”

I was surprisingly and thoroughly charmed by Beaumont. By this point it was a gorgeous, clear day, and the downtown streets wound through a collection of small parks and old buildings. There were pillared government centers, weathered brick buildings, an ancient limestone church, some small theatres and a great regional art museum, even a Back to the Future style clock tower on an old hotel. I biked down Main Street, which wandered past shady parks with fountains and flowerbeds, then ended up at The Barking Dog café for lunch. There I noticed a sign saying that, starting next month, they could no longer afford to stay open during the day. This pointed to a sad theme hanging over the town: despite its charm, it was eerily still and quiet for a Monday, clearly overshadowed by the endless miles of development surrounding it, filled with fast food restaurants and chain stores you can find in any city in the country.

With the heavy realization that this perfect little corner of America was fading away, I biked down to a rolling riverside park, complete with a terrific steel bridge for trains and pedestrians. Downstream a bit the river was lined with factories and smokestacks, but even so it was a beautiful scene and the soft breeze carried a wonderful woodsy scent, so it wasn’t long before I was stretched out in the grass asleep.

Later that afternoon I found my brother’s apartment and took a long, much-needed shower. I hadn’t realized how gross I had become until standing in front of his mirror, but after the hot water and about a gallon of shampoo I was as good as new. I visited with Chris for a bit when he came home from work, then we both decided to nap for a couple hours. His couch was the closest I’d come to a bed since California, and when I stretched out I could feel knots in all kinds of new spots on my back from the nights of curling up in my front seat, so this was perfect.

Christopher treated to a hearty dinner, then we wandered a bookstore for a bit before heading home. We stayed up for a couple hours sharing about our lives. He’s in an interesting place right now, carving out a life in an area so far removed from anything we’ve experienced before, and I loved being able to see him there.

I regretted having to leave so soon, but there was still a whole lot of road in front of me, so after a long and full night of sleep I climbed back in the car and said bye to my brother. I noticed then that the tingling in my right hand, which had been there since I got so cold and numb at the Grand Canyon, was finally gone. A good night of sleep can work wonders.

Texas ended after not too much longer, and before lunchtime I was in Louisiana. This stretch of I-10 was interesting; at several points the road transformed into low, flat bridges, one of which lasted more than half an hour. These bridges tore through the heart of swamp country, which allowed for an odd sensation: still being closely surrounded by trees, but looking over the edge of the road and seeing water in every direction. I was intrigued by this terrain, and would have liked to see a little more, but I wasn’t terribly sad to keep driving. I think my heart may still have been on the rim of the Grand Canyon.

Just before Baton Rouge I crossed a gorgeous steel bridge spanning the Mississippi. This, crossing such a monumental landmark, always feels significant. Now I have to remember to add “east of the Mississippi” to all my superlatives. Baton Rouge came and went fairly quickly, as did New Orleans. I had taken this route with the intention of exploring New Orleans, but I was in a driving mood and before I knew it I was crossing another state line.

Mississippi was remarkably unmemorable. The landscape could have been compelling in its simplicity if not for the monstrous casinos and the endless miles of billboards advertising them. I have heard good things about parts of Mississippi, especially the Biloxi area, but by this point I was rather grateful for the relentless interstate, and I had no thoughts of slowing down.

At first Alabama didn’t feel a whole lot different. Except no casinos, which made for a much more pleasant drive. Then, Alabama began to Floridafy. My word. The land dried up, the trees grew and thickened, the grass became distinctly Floridian, and by the time I reached the state line I was already feeling at home.

This feeling continued through the panhandle, which lasted for about an eternity but somehow remained enjoyable. It might have been the dusk sky, or the fact that I was in my home state again, or maybe the rolling hills that always surprise me about this part of Florida…whatever the reason, I was in a ridiculously good mood.

I had been planning on pulling over for the night, but somewhere before Tallahassee I realized I could finish it all in one drive. When I stopped for gas I called Jacksonville to make sure I had a place to land when I got in town, and with a renewed burst of energy I continued across the northern middle of our state.

Of course by now it was fairly late, and I had been driving since morning, so that energy didn’t last too long. By Lake City the main thing keeping me awake was the occasional action required to flick off my brights for oncoming traffic, that great nighttime equivalent of the friendly wave, a way of nodding at my fellow travelers and saying “Hey, I see you and I don’t want you to go blind. Now drive safe, you hear?” For the last hour or so I was also kept up by the thought of being so close to a familiar place, a place with memories, where I share a meaningful history with a community of people terribly close to my heart.

Quick side note: at one point I saw a bumper sticker that said “Thank a Vet.” And I thought this was a wonderful idea, showing some appreciation to the people who care for our pets. This might be a sign of how tired I was, but it wasn’t until I was about to pass the car that I realized the sticker was talking about an entirely different kind of vet.

When I reached Jacksonville I stopped to mail some Grand Canyon postcards to a few people I would be seeing the next day. That seemed strange, but something about handing out postcards in person feels so silly to me. Then, after almost fourteen hours of driving, I pulled into the house of some friends, just about the closest thing I have to a home in Jacksonville, and immediately settled in for another long night of sleep.

The next day I joined a few people for lunch, then wandered the campus where I had studied, amazed by the growth and the changes. I got to see a couple of friends and old professors, but it was spring break so most people I had hoped to visit with were gone for the week. Then I headed out to the beach, stopped by the Atlantic for the sake of capping off the feeling of a cross-country trip, and met up with my friend Brendan for a few hours. Many parts of my time in Jacksonville are rooted in the different stages of that friendship, so it felt good to be with him again.

We had a relaxed night, dinner with a few friends and some conversation back at the house where I was staying. My relationship with these friends is such a central part of who I am that it felt as if no time had passed, like I had been there all along, so our time together was natural and refreshing.

In keeping with a theme of this trip, my Jacksonville stay ended entirely too quickly. After an early lunch the next day with my friend Shailyn, I was on the road for Bradenton. Partly because of the nature of our lunch conversation, and partly because of having to leave so soon, that last drive was emotional and difficult. But I’ll be back in Jacksonville again in a few weeks, and that thought was a comfort.

So was the idea of being close to Bradenton. I’ll have more thoughts about this in the next post, but something about the journey of returning home speaks powerfully to me, and by the time I turned from 301 to I-75, which led me through the rolling farmlands and sunny fields north of Tampa, I was once again wearing that ridiculous and shameless grin which had marked so much of my trip.

Thursday night we had a giant family dinner, complete with Kathryn home for spring break and the family’s new special someone, about whom I don’t feel ready to write in such a public place. The night was lovely and delicious and an absolutely perfect way to mark a homecoming.

I think that’s all for now. I’ll post a few final words in a bit to wrap up my thoughts here. In the meantime, remember love.