A Lap Around America

by Shawn Inmon

  Looking ahead, I saw Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, and Georgia on our itinerary, with no real hope of cooler weather any time soon. So, we prepared to spend a lot of time in the air-conditioned Silver Bullet, dreaming of the cool autumn days we knew were coming in Maine and Vermont.

  My friend Al Kunz, of the Big Al’s Books and Pals website, told me before we left that we were probably making a mistake by driving counterclockwise around the country. His logic was that if we drove clockwise, we would scoot through the northern part of the United States in August or early September, long before the bad weather. Plus, it would be a little cooler for our drive through the southern part of the country. I couldn’t argue with his logic, but if we had done that, we would hit the northeast corner of the United States in early to mid-September, and we wanted to be there for prime leaf-peeping season, which doesn’t start until October. So, we were rolling the dice and taking our chances with snowstorms in Michigan, Minnesota, or Wyoming, and suffering the heat for now.

  Today was mostly about the drive. We wanted to get to San Antonio by nightfall, so we didn’t have a lot of big stops planned. I’m not sure we could have stopped a lot even if we’d wanted to. There’s just not much around this part of the country but back roads, long, flat stretches of nothing, and the occasional small town. One of my blog readers said this part of Texas is so flat you can throw a ball, stand on a sardine can, and watch your dog run for days.

  We passed through one of those small towns, Sterling City, population under a thousand. It didn’t have much to recommend it, other than the fact it is the county seat for Sterling County. About ten miles outside Sterling City, we saw an arched sign for a cemetery. We pass cemeteries every day, but this one was unusual. Cemeteries are attached to towns. Montvale Cemetery was in the middle of nowhere, without a building or other road in sight.

  Intrigued, we pulled in. Eventually, we located a sign that told the story of the cemetery without a town. Montvale had been formed in 1884 and grew to be a prosperous town. The first school opened in the late 1880s. Then, in 1889, a local businessman, R.B. Cummins, decided to start his own town five miles over and named it Cummins. Of course he did. Why else would you start a town if you didn’t want to name it after yourself? Between some of the population leaving for Cummins and the rest for Sterling when it was founded in 1891, Montvale was deserted. Except for the cemetery, of course, which now stands lonely amid flat fields and scrub brush.

  Nature is slowly reclaiming the cemetery, despite someone’s efforts to keep it at bay. Long grass and sapling trees are pushing up everywhere. In another half-century or so, when the sign inevitably falls, it’s likely there will be no trace left of Montvale Cemetery.

  Some of the headstones are better maintained than others, so we were able to wander through the waves of heat and humidity and find small stories that are told in few words. Here’s one that touched my heart: Virginia M. Holloway, Born November 26, 1885, Died June 6, 1897. Sweet Virgie unto earth/A little while was given/She plumed her wing for flight/And soared away to heaven. It may be because I lost a granddaughter named Aubrey Ruth when she was just a baby, but grave markers for little ones tear at my heart.

  We made one small side trip on the way to San Antonio. We drove to Comfort, Texas, to see another memorial that marks a little-known event in American history. The Japanese Balloon Bomb memorial in Oregon was sad and somber because it was so unlikely, such a tragic twist of fate. The memorial in Comfort is more about what man is capable of doing to man. It memorializes the loss of 40 German-American lives in the Battle of Nueces, or the Nueces Massacre, depending on which side of the issue you stand.

  Long story short, there was a large settlement of Germans in the Hill Country of Texas at the start of the Civil War. They were, overall, not friendly to the idea of slavery. When Texas voted to secede from the Union, many of the “no” votes came from them. This put them under scrutiny and suspicion. When the war started outright, some of the German men decided to ride into Mexico, then across to Union-controlled New Orleans, where they could join the Union army.

  Understandably, Confederate forces were not crazy about a group of local men joining the other side, and so set out to stop them. On August 9, 1862, the Confederate forces caught up to the German Texans along the Nueces River. A battle followed, with the Germans taking the heaviest losses.

  Eventually, the remainder of the German forces broke and fled. So far, so good, as far as calling it the Battle of Nueces. However, after that, the surviving prisoners and those who fled into the river were hunted down and killed as well. A point toward calling it the Nueces Massacre.

  I don’t pretend to know the truth of the situation, but this memorial presents a powerful picture of loss and grief. Several of the remaining German Texans bought a lot and had this memorial built by local stonemasons in 1865.

  Where the Japanese Balloon Bomb Memorial is hidden in a forest, the Nueces Massacre Memorial is right in Comfort, alongside a quiet residential street and right across from a church. One thing that caught my eye is that the flag flying above the memorial only has 36 stars—the same number of states as were in the Union the day the memorial was dedicated.

  Between Comfort and San Antonio, we were attacked by a horde of moths. All right, “attacked” might be a bit dramatic, especially since we were the ones doing the killing, but we couldn’t help it. No matter how slowly we traveled, clouds of the little things threw themselves at our front grill. We killed so many, we felt as though we were wiping out the entire population of the state of Texas. Not so, though, as there was apparently an infinite supply of the wispy, white-winged little bugs.

  By the time we pulled in to San Antonio, it was a little after 5 p.m.

  “Good timing,” Dawn said. “The only city we’re going to hit today, and we manage to time it right at rush hour.”

  It wasn’t bad, though. We’re used to Seattle traffic, which is slow-and-go or a parking lot at almost any time of the day, seven days a week. The traffic in San Antonio, at least on this day, was mellow and manageable. I had found a nice hotel downtown and near the Riverwalk that had a good rate, so I booked us in for two nights.

  We threw our bags into the room and went for a walk around San Antonio. We immediately got the dichotomy of the city. On the one hand, it is a modern, booming city. On the other, there are remnants of history everywhere. Old churches, restored buildings, and historical markers abound.

  As tourists in the city, we knew we had to do three things—see the Alamo, visit some of the old churches, and eat some Texas barbecue. We saved the first two for our full day, but walked along the Riverwalk until we found the third. If you’re not familiar with Riverwalk, it is a network of walkways along the San Antonio River, which flows below street level through the heart of the city. In 1921, the river flooded, killing fifty people. A plan was put in place to build dams and otherwise redirect the river so it could be controlled. Now, Riverwalk is a tourist attraction in its own right, like a lower-key, classier version of New Orleans’ French Quarter.

  We walked along it for a mile or so, until our noses drew us to a barbecue place called The County Line. We threw caution to the wind and ordered the All You Can Eat Whole Mess of BBQ. It wasn’t just all we could eat; it was much, much more than we could eat. It was delicious, but we had to ask for several doggy bags to carry the bulk of it back to our room. Happily for us, the room came with a refrigerator, so we had another meal for the next day.

  Overall, we didn’t get lost often on this trip, at least while on our feet, but we got totally turned around in San Antonio. GPS was no help. Finally, about midnight, Dawn spotted an old building we had stared at on the way out of the hotel. We had been wandering around lost about two blocks from the hotel. JRR Tolkien said, “Not all who wander are lost.” Typically, that applies to us, except in downtown San Antonio.

  Day Seventeen

  Another blessed day when we were not driving, so we didn’t have to pack up before leaving for
the day. We were becoming skilled at packing and loading, but it still felt good to put down roots in the same place two nights in a row. It was also nice to leave the Silver Bullet parked in the garage.

  We set off on foot, heading for The Alamo. If you’ve never been to San Antonio, you might not be aware that The Alamo is literally in the middle of the city. The city grew up around it, and now has it surrounded.

  We weren’t in any hurry to get there straight away, so we took one of our typical circuitous routes, which led us past a museum we didn’t know existed: the Briscoe Western Art Museum. We were just walking down the street when we noticed an eight-foot statue of a cowpoke busting a wild bronco. Kinda hard to miss.

  Among the impressive pieces on display were Santa Anna’s parade saddle, Pancho Villa’s sword, and personal items of the heroes of The Alamo—Davey Crockett’s bear knife and comb, for instance, were proudly displayed. There was a scale model of The Alamo, featuring tiny figures. Seeing the little model before the real thing gave us perspective on exactly how outmanned the Texas troops were that day.

  Accompanying the historical exhibits was a wide display of western art. The museum doesn’t look big from the outside, but it manages to display a massive number of paintings, statues and other displays inside.

  After killing 90 minutes in the museum, we forced ourselves back into the humid 95-degree weather and made our way to Misión San Antonio de Valero, more commonly called The Alamo. The downtown location makes for some strange bedfellows—there is a Fuddruckers and a Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Museum within a block or two of the famed landmark.

  There are two ways to tour the Alamo. You can plan your visit and book a tour with one of the knowledgeable park rangers, or you can be us. Maybe I should say me, as I am the one in charge of planning. Either way, I had not planned ahead, and all the ranger-led tours were booked for the day by the time we arrived. Happily, there is also a self-guided audio tour.

  Never to be forgotten

  Here are a few things we learned: The Alamo is not as big as it once was. The main buildings are still standing, but the small settlement around them once occupied a lot of what is now valuable downtown real estate. The buildings and rooms themselves are also smaller than I would have guessed from the movies and TV shows I’ve seen. Also, although The Alamo is hallowed ground to Texans, the defenders came from all over the world, not just Texas. I learned that some fighters from Ireland gave their lives, which is where I trace my own heritage.

  Of course, it’s the story behind the Alamo that has stirred imaginations ever since Santa Anna overran it. You can feel the weight of that history while walking around the grounds. There are several memorials in the walls, but my favorite was the one that recognized the sacrifice of the men from Gonzales, Texas. While Santa Anna was gathering his forces and establishing his lines, the men inside The Alamo, knowing how badly they were outnumbered, sent messengers to seek help. In most cases, this was futile, but thirty-two men from Gonzales volunteered. They helped reinforce some of the weaker defenses in the fort. All thirty-two died in the final attack.

  The grounds and buildings that remain are somber and lovely. In several spots, we just sat and reflected on what had occurred there so long ago. It wasn’t hard to do. That seemed to be the mood of the visitors. Yes, there were the inevitable selfie sticks and the kids running around, not understanding what had transpired there, but the adults seemed to feel the weight of it.

  After a few hours in The Alamo, we walked back to the hotel. Our Fitbits told us that we had completed our 10,000 steps by early afternoon. Here’s something odd we noticed about Texas, or more specifically, San Antonio. We had always heard about Texas hospitality and friendliness. Sad to say, we didn’t see much of that in evidence on our trip. I’m the kind of person that smiles and says “hi” to just about everyone. I love to engage with people. In San Antonio, that wasn’t returned much, if at all. Time after time, I would nod, smile, and say hello to someone we met. Each time, without fail, they looked away and didn’t respond. Maybe they just didn’t like the cut of my jib.

  We had one last San Antonio sight to visit—Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo, or, as it is more commonly known, the Mission San José.

  Walking through these two sites, I realized how important the Catholic Church had been to the development of the Mexican territories, including what we call Texas today. The driving forces were the Spanish hunger for gold and riches, and the Church’s desire to spread its doctrine. Signs of Catholicism are strong everywhere in San Antonio, hundreds of years later.

  We have learned the value of watching the movie whenever we go to a visitor’s center. I’m glad we did that again at Mission San José. The film presented a history not just of this specific mission, but of the whole mission era in Texas. The Mission San José, being a bit more on the edge of San Antonio, is more complete than The Alamo, and we were surprised by the size of the grounds. We were able to walk hundreds of yards over grass and through trees before we ran into a wall.

  It’s easy to lose track of time wandering around the immense mission, where there are things to see and learn everywhere. We spent a few quiet, sweaty minutes inside the church itself, imagining what it must have been like to attend services there.

  I learned a lot at this stop, much of it relating to how the Catholic Church related to the First People who had lived in the area for 10,000 years. The Catholics thought of the natives as “savages” and wanted to “civilize” them. The Spaniards and the church brought much more than their version of civilization, though—they also brought European diseases to which the natives had no immunity. Many of the native people gave up their hunter/gatherer way of life to join the Mission lifestyle. After a century or so, both the Spanish and the church proper left the area, and a new culture emerged—a blend of Spanish and native culture known as Tejano.

  We were hoping to accomplish a lot on this trip. We wanted to see things we’d never seen, get new perspectives on our country, and learn the kind of history that doesn’t jump out at you from a book. So far, so fine.

  We found a carwash on the way back to the hotel and did the best we could to wipe the bugs off the front grill of the Silver Bullet and restore her to something resembling her initial glory. Assuming, that is, a Hyundai Sonata can ever be glorious.

  We were dead on our feet by the time we got back to the room, so we collapsed on the king-sized bed and went to work on the leftover barbecue from last night. There are a lot of things we’re going to miss about Texas, but barbecue tops the list.

  Day Eighteen

  In many ways, it felt like this whole trip had its genesis when I went to Austin, Texas, back in March. If I hadn’t attended the Smarter Artist Summit there, I might very well have still been back in Enumclaw, selling real estate. So, it felt important to me to take Dawn through the city that started it all.

  We drove straight through to Austin, where we met two of my writer friends, Marlayna Sanders and Bobby Adair, for lunch. It’s not much of a drive, so we got there early. Austin has evolved into a non-traditional Texas city. Most of Texas is conservative by nature, but Austin lives by the unofficial slogan, “Keep Austin Weird.” I’m sure there are parts of the city that reflect more typical Texas values, but the part I’ve seen is markedly more liberal. Austin has become a hotbed of artistic activities. Every March, it hosts the SXSW (South by Southwest) Festival, during which musicians and filmmakers from all over the world descend on the city.

  We parked on Commerce Street and walked up and down looking at the funky little shops and businesses. It reminded me of Broadway on Capitol Hill, back in Seattle, which I always loved.

  Eventually, we hooked up with Bobby, Marlayna, and her husband, Alan. Here’s a word of advice: If you’d ever like to get a word in edgewise, it’s probably better not to sit down at a table full of writers. We swapped stories for about ninety minutes, and I would swear a few might even have been true.

  Back in the Silver Bullet,
I pulled out the atlas and realized we had a problem. By the time we were much down the road, it would be late Friday afternoon. Houston lay dead ahead. Any number of people had warned me to avoid Houston and its traffic if possible, but whatever I did, I was never to hit it during rush hour. I’m sure doing so on a Friday wouldn’t improve our chances. So, I set about finding us a route that bypassed Houston.

  Typically, it’s pretty easy to miss a city, but Houston is truly sprawling. As a tourist, I had no idea where the bad traffic would start, so I wanted a route that gave a wide berth to the whole mess.

  At the same time, we wanted to end our day’s travel in Galveston, just a short drive to the southeast of Houston. You might be asking, “Why, Shawn? Why did you want to spend the night in Galveston?”

  A reasonable question. There are three answers, really: Glen Campbell, a great disaster, and my step-dad. Glen Campbell, of course, had a big hit with the song, “Galveston.” I grew up loving it, though in itself that’s not enough to get me to drive out of the way to see it. Dawn and I had watched a documentary a year or so before that had told the story of the incredible storm that had hit Galveston in 1900. Finally, for some reason, my step-dad had spent time there, and he always got a funny look in his eyes when he talked about Galveston. He often brought it up, and it had come to take on a mythical connotation in my mind. I admit it’s possible that he had just gotten lucky there once, and that was the reason for getting all misty-eyed, but I digress. Add all three of those together, and we were heading to Galveston, whether it made sense or not.

  We followed a winding route, making so many highway changes that I can’t come close to remembering them. Eventually, we found Surfside Beach and saw the Gulf of Mexico for the first time. We turned north toward Galveston Island, keeping the gulf on our right as we drove. We immediately began seeing an architectural style that would become old hat over the next few weeks: houses built on stilts. Not just a few of them, but essentially all of them.