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Going backward, as it has been a while since I tried that…I am writing this on Tuesday morning as I had a good time last night.

I was in my room, 317 @ Le Richelieu, around 11PM and showered to clear the road grime. My feet were wet the whole day when the flash flooding at Zorida’s house overflowed my Air Force ones and filled them with cold Texas water. I need some warm water.

The hotel is in the French Quarter but close to the dividing line. It is an older building remodeled into a more modern hotel. My room has a balcony and a bedroom with a huge closet. The bathroom has a hallway, too. It is all hardwood floors with no rugs to trip a guest. It was all more complicated as I had a few beers, and it was all new.

I opened the door to the balcony to hear the sounds of the city, something I often do when visiting an exotic location. The train was close enough to nearly throw me out of bed, but this happened only once. The office or living room (yes, I have a separate entryway, sitting room, and living room from the bedroom and bath) has a balcony, so the sounds were muted, and I slept well.

Before this, I asked Taylor, the night manager of Le Richelieu, for a place to see some music. He directed me to BMC, which is a few blocks away. The streets are lit by lamps and are a bit dark and maybe spooky looking for someone walking alone, but I kept up my situational awareness and managed it. BMC has just had a band finish; I bought a raspberry beer (the rest sounded uninteresting), found a seat on the side with a table, spilled my beer on it, decided this was usual here, and waited. My phone has a Kindle app; when I wait now, I just sit down and read my books. Soon, the sax player was doing mic checks. He was pretty good. The keyboard, drums, and bass soon showed. The keyboardist led and sat in a comfortable chair he brought in front of his two keyboards set up in a folding rack. A nice setup. The music was excellent. Piano Man “G” is the band’s name, and they soon packed the place, which was empty except for me. I even got a fist bump for sitting and enjoying the music from one of the folks dancing.

Before this, I walked seven blocks to Taylor’s, and again, the night manager for the hotel recommended gumbo. The best places and closer places were all closed on Monday. There is a tradition of having just beans and rice for dinner in a pot while you clean and do your laundry here in New Orleans, and many places still practice closing on Monday. Kingfish advertised a duck and sausage gumbo. Taylor is a no-seafood gumbo person (this is a thing), and I agreed to align with his outlook for now.

I walked the blocks, and small groups of tourists were here and there. One mentally disturbed person was having a heated argument with themselves. The person sounded like there were two people, one with a cross of Gollem and a demon procession movie voice and the other an angry woman who just wanted to be left alone. We crossed the streets, and later, I saw the person more recovered.

Jackson Square was closed, but homeless people were setting up for the night in the various entranceways near the park. The air was damp and misty. A guy was singing in the dark. I did not see him again when I returned.

The gumbo at Kingfish was good. I got a window seat in the near-empty place. Taylor told me that New Orleans is dead on weekdays now. They are busy on the weekends. I was hoping for some time to write, and I have chosen well. I am less interested in tourist trappings. Excellent Food, music, and a comfortable chair and table to write are perfect for me. I ordered, not wanting a lot of food or dessert. The chef came by and agreed it was a good day, damp and cold, from gumbo. It is Monday, and somebody forgot to put out the desserts to defrost. My light chocolate mousse cake was more like ice cream. My waiter, Catalina, and I agreed to put it in a box, and I would save it for the morning. I was not in the mood to send it back. I also had a signature cocktail, and while it was excellent, I am not sophisticated enough in my drinking to appreciate it.

I found the Crescent City Brewhouse with live music on my way back and stopped in. I had a giant Red Horse Ale, cracklings, and pinto cheese while listening to a sax, keyboard, and bass perform some soft jazz. It was an excellent follow-up and an excellent distraction.

Returning further into the day, I drove from San Antonio today, about ten hours with stops and lousy traffic in a few places, and enjoyed the drive once I was no longer in flash floods and water pounding the car so that the windshield wipers could barely clear the water. The terrible rains did not stop until I was four hours into the trip and on the other side of Houston. I took Highway 10 in various forms of disrepair or construction in Texas.

Texas was flat and brown with desert plants. Louisiana was green and filled with plants and swamps. Highway 10 is often on a causeway over the Bayous. I will need to learn more about Louisiana and the center area that was a causeway for miles and miles. I was fascinated and enjoyed the western Louisiana drive.

At the end of the ten hours of traveling, I was getting tired, and the traffic jams in Baton Rouge and New Orleans were trying. The traffic and driving were kinder than in Texas and moved better than in Portland. Most waits were just eight minutes.

I used the map app on my phone. It also lets me know when to slow down for “speed checks,” also known as police. I found it quite helpful, and it guided me well through the narrow, obviously not-made-for-cars streets of New Orleans.

I started my day at 6AM, which is hard as the time difference of two hours makes it feel much earlier. I showered and dressed and splashed my way to Air Honda. The streets were full of three inches of water running fast and overflowing my shoes. I could have moved Air Honda, but my shoes were already soaked, so I just splashed on. I thanked Zorida for a wonderful stay at her house, had some coffee, and then took on my eight-hour (no-stops) trip to New Orleans, according to the Maps app.

San Antonio roads were flooded, and I had to be careful. The police were out blocking flooded lanes. I saw an angry officer with a stick punching a drain to work. Once an hour from San Antonio, I could drive the high-speed limits of Texas, 70 mph (112kmh). As it happened, I got used to it again and was often ten or more over just going with the traffic. The car slipped as the water does not always flow off Texas roads. So I spent the first hours watching and driving with care at insane speeds–typical American driving.

I stopped somewhere in Texas at noon and called my doctors in Oregon. I need a cardiac clearance for brain surgery. I spoke to scheduling, and they told me they had the wrong forms from the heart doctor. I suggested that they contact the surgery doctor and have the doctor do what is needed–they implied I should contact a doctor to tell the doctor to call the doctor!? After a moment of reflection, they agreed that they would take care of it–I told them I was calling from the road in Texas.

I found that the old chain Stuckey’s was alive in Texas. Most of the East and Midwest places are gone. I got some pecans. A pleasant surprise on the road trip.

I saw little of Houston as the city was shrouded in mist. Once an hour away, the rains stopped, and the temperatures climbed into the sixties. The land changed to a swamp, and the road signs changed from steaks and Tex-Mex to crawfish, pork, and Cajan. A bridge took me out of Texas, and I stopped at the travel center for Louisiana and enjoyed the little park as a break.

After a break, I returned to my drive across the state. It was a tremendous grey day for a drive, with no sun glare.

I think that is full circle.

The morning started with me being surprised that it was 6AM already, rolling back over, and waiting until 7:45AM to rise. I put on my slippers and robe, sat at the table with my laptop, and started the blog. It was a busy day on Saturday, and it would take a while to write about it. Zorida rose, all dressed and ready. She made breakfast while I continued to tap away. I stopped to eat the fine breakfast and then went on tapping away until almost 11AM.

The pictures are sort of in order. I just put in the ones I liked.

Zorida passed on the Botanical Garden as the storm in Portland had decided I needed more exposure, and it was cold and raining in San Antonio, a cold Oregon mist! I showered and dressed and headed out a bit late in the morning. I used my iPhone to once again travel back to the area near the University of the Incarnate Word to find the San Antonio Garden. There were few cars in the parking lot, mostly staff. My coat, hat, and sweater were usually enough, but gloves were needed as I like to keep my hands out if I slip or trip. My balance has not been improved by the brain tumor!

The place looks like an aging Jurassic Park from the first movie. There is a lot of cement and fogged glass. I headed for the warm conservatory, partially underground in a cement bunker- very Jurassic Park! The first glassed-in area contained my favorite, but nothing I grew: Orchids. I know the tribes and wish I was good at houseplants as I would love to grow them. I have killed every last Orchid I have tried to keep. It was nice to see the tribes and so many different ones. My favorite, the slipper orchids, were not there. There was a Miltonia that I loved. I walked through the area multiple times, trying to find orchids and identify their tribes. This is another hobby that I could get back to, but I think for now, I will look at other’s orchids and be envious.

I walk into two young people making out in the desert plants. He was embarrassed she just smiled. I disarmed them by saying something about being careful not to fall into the cactus. They were happy that I pretended not to see. They were the only people I saw in the garden who did not work there. I mentioned the orchids and that I had already seen them. They headed there and were there for a while. No comment.

The desert plants include a frankincense tree that I had not seen before. I also saw a chocolate tree, which was my first. I recognized the leaves as I had seen a version of them in a video game where chocolate is a product you grow in your colony. Strange to see them myself.

The palm tree area was huge, with massive trees and plenty of vertical space left. I walked up the stairs to the look-out section. All cement and glass, and it still reminds me of a particular movie.

The ferns, not an exciting topic, were a grotto with a waterfall, making up for the less interesting topic.

An outdoor pool in the center court was a few feet deep with a giant goldfish and small ones. I used the stepping stones and managed not to fall in. I should have been more careful, but it was fun.

A Japanese garden is also included. I had more difficult stones to walk on; I had to use the grass. I did sit on the dry bench under an excellent roof.

I spoke to the staff. They were removing the covers for frost from the kitchen garden. They grow lots of herbs and spices. Some indoors and some outside. The gardeners told me they have lost their plants, Rosemary, for example, when it gets to 8F (-13C). I was surprised to hear how cold it gets here.

I was cold. I headed to Jardin, the restaurant associated with the Garden, and soon learned it was run by the same chef who runs Tre, where I had lunch yesterday. This time, I picked the fixed-price lunch for $20 and then added bread and dessert (which I brought back boxed for Zorida, who liked the Olive Oil Cake). My waiter was also the bartender, Selinda, and she was studying computer science and mathematics. I told her I was a practitioner, and we discussed her choices. She is interested in security, so I recommended she look at Violet Blue’s newsletter and consider doing an internship at Nike when she is further in her studies. I also shared the URL for my blog with her.

As for lunch, the starter was wonderful, and the next course, a salad, was one of the best chopped salads I have had in a few years. The red onions and tiny sliced peppers seemed to have been soaked just for the right amount of time in an oil-vinger dressing to balance their flavors. The main was a chicken breast grilled and covered with dry Indian-style rub. The sauce was light and covered some of the rice. It was good but maybe too plain for dinner, but very light and perfect for lunch.

Jardin is not open for dinner, just lunch. I thought it was perfect. I did not eat again on Sunday as I had enough food for these two days. Recommended as is Tre, their other place at the art museum.

I missed my turns twice on my way back to Zorida’s place. No matter. I reached her house without issue. The traffic and the Oregon mist made the drive less fun. There was lots of traffic for a Sunday, I thought. Again, I am driving one-handed with one holding my iPhone with directions. I have still not learned the roads here in Texas.

I just read and hung out with Zorida tonight. I needed to write the blog tonight as I am traveling early on Monday.

I received a message from my hotel and confirmed my reservation while at lunch at Jardin, all online. I called them and told them I would be there after 7PM.

Well, that is about the end of today. I will be up early to leave for New Orleans in Air Honda, the Purple SUV.

Thanks for reading.

I am writing this Sunday morning. I find it hard to get going in the morning as the time difference of two hours makes 6:30 feel like 4:30. Ugh. So, on Saturday, my alarm went off on my phone. I turned it off, rolled over, and was up at 7:45 (same as this Sunday). Zorida worked on Saturday, so I padded out in my robe and slippers (I brought both for the trip) and moved the purple SUV known as Air Honda.

Zorida cooked me a lovely breakfast with some smoked brisket and eggs. This and coffee got me a long way today. I spent the remains of the early morning writing. I ran out of time, so the post is not as well edited as I would like, but some days, I don’t have time to polish the wording.

I discovered, falsely, that I had left my toothbrush and other valuable items in Oregon at the Raddison. I showered and did what I could. I would have to stop at a CVS Pharmacy or Target to replenish. I found the McNay Museum on my iPhone, as Air Honda does not have Navigation and headed out with one hand on the wheel and the other holding my iPhone, showing me the way.

Driving in Texas with one hand is a bit exciting. Having to look down while going 70 mph to make sure you are going the right way is not ideal. Few cars let you in, and some will cut you off. I remember a Mercedes SUV that would rather crash than make room; I had to merge behind them and saw several other close calls for the German-made SUV. I had one vehicle change three lanes and cross within inches of my bumper at 45 mph to exit. I gave them a yeehaw as they did it. Air Honda is expensive as it includes total coverage and has a star crack in the windshield. We will see if Air Honda makes it through this.

The Austin Highway is much like other city roads that pass through a college, The University of the Incarnate Word, with food joints, cool bookstores, and rundown strip malls. I kind of like the area. In the same area is McNay Museum, the former Mansion of a wealthy family that collected art in the 1900s. The family turned their house into a museum, and from what I saw, the collection is still expanding.

The McNay mixes and matches its paintings in themes, and often, a display will have beautiful items from the museum’s origins and new acquisitions of new art (made in the last ten years). But they did leave their few excellent French Impressionists in the same room. Monet, Chagall, Gaugin, Cezanne, Picasso, and more cover the walls. Gaugin’s self-portrait is one of the best of his works I have ever seen (from McNay’s personal collection), and various Picasso periods are presented in different rooms.

There are multiple floors, and I used the tiled stairways and looked over the walls into a fantastic courtyard. There, on the second floor, was a religious art. The El Graco was tiny, for El Graco, head of Christ with eyes that capture the pain and hope of the moment, was a surprise. The painting was doubted to be from the master for years, but it seems settled now.

I spoke to the docents, who were helpful and knew the paintings and art in the museum. A piece of stained glass from the 1500s seemed too good of condition. The docent agreed, and it may have been repaired, but the docent and I looked at the lead, and it was unmarked, so the window may be original. The collection had bits of European churches in it here and there. Likely left over from repairs or from demolitions after WW2.

The sculptures are modern, not my cup of tea, except for Rodin’s Burghers. I had never seen them before, and they had the whole collection. I found them in a case near an elevator. I think it is some of his best work.

McNay was worth the $20, and parking was free (something that is not true in most of San Antonio and can be expensive). I would recommend the mansion museum, and I suspect the grounds are lovely in the spring and summer. Next, I crossed the town to the San Antonio Art Museum in the repurposed Long Star Beer brewery.

Air Honda crossed San Antonio with my one hand piloting and my iPhone in the other. Parking was over $10, and you had to perform a scan of a QR code and pay. I would have preferred a choice other than all day. I crossed the street to the museum.

This is a historical art museum with collections of ancient art to current modern. Many folks have donated their family’s collections gathered in the 1930s for the ancient items (from reading the sources). Fragments and broken pieces were everywhere on the first floor. I was surprised to see Akhenaten in the Egyptian collection. Bits of walls of his palaces are mounted in an excellent display. It is the first time I have seen the image of Akhenaten from his palaces! The Greco vases and plates were also excellent and covered the period well. Again, these are not great pieces but representative. The giant statues and Roman bust collection were tremendous and impressive.

I was tired, and my back hurt after four hours of standing on hard floors and climbing stairs. The Japanese collection included important swords and some armor. The China collection was endless pottery and some fabulous clothing. I rushed the rest. The European collection was more a study of typical styles by date–no great masters in the collection. The Modern art section was new pieces and none of the more well-known items. So I did not mind the rush. Overall, it is a good place for the history of art and ancient culture, but other than the Egyptian and Roman sections, it was the same as in many secondary museums. Worth a visit, but compared to the McNay–do McNay!

I asked my phone for food locations, and I was next to a Tre that served Italian-style food on the river walk behind the museum. I walked for a while, and the directions were suggesting at one point, you are beamed up into the restaurant. I walked the other way and found a path and a sign. There was also a sign I often saw about gun regulations in Texas. Unarmed as I was, I ignored it.

The place was buzzing with energy, and the hostess set me at the bar, which was more like sitting in the kitchen. Perfect. The bartender, Stacy, was happy to get me a nice glass of wine and picked out pasta to match the wine. I passed it on to the fixed-price menu for Saturday. The $30 price did not stop me; I did not want that much food. It looked nice, and maybe on the next trip.

Stacy was headed to New Orleans for her birthday on Monday, and I gave her my email and blog URL as I drove to New Orleans. She had car issues (I don’t have permission to retell her story here) and was taking the Greyhound. I told her to email me if something went wrong, and I would help as we traveled to the exact location. I don’t expect to hear from her, but I would not mind company in the long drive.

The food, slightly salty (like all the food here), was excellent, and the pasta was freshly made and had that perfect bite. The beat sauce was great with the right mix of meat and sauce. The wine, costing almost more than lunch, was an excellent pairing. Stacy was proud of their food, smiling, “Yes, I know it is that good.”

After lunch, saying goodbye to Stacy and also doing a “light” dessert, I headed out. This time, I discovered I could just walk through the museum entrance to the restaurant. The courtyard is made of old bricks, and I did trip but managed not to fall. My fear is always to fall when alone on a trip–I have no time for 911 calls!

I got back into the Air Honda and was sad to leave after paying for a whole day of parking. This was part of the reason to find food in the area. I would hate to pay twice for parking! I called Leta while sitting in the warm car. I wear my sweater in the dry 44F (6C), so the warm car was excellent. Leta, Susie’s mother, is not feeling well today but looked good in her chair in her home. Barb, her daughter, was there. We chatted for a few minutes.

Next, I tried more edging things. I found the closest board gaming store and drove into the more rundown parts of San Antonio. They are no longer the old mansion-like homes but are more industrial and fading. The funky-looking antique stores were everywhere. I found the store, a house made into a gaming place. It seemed clean, and there was a warning not to let the free-roaming kittens out. It smelled clean, and the players of Warhammer and Magic were all young and clean-looking. The owner said it was a mom-and-pop place, and they mainly played collectible card games (I saw the locked display of treasured cards you can acquire for money), and they had cheap figures for sale. It looked like they bought sets cheap and then sold them individually. A much better plan than investing in a wall of figures and hoping to turn a profit in months. I bought some pre-painted Templar Knights on horseback in soft-ish plastic for a few bucks each. I would have bought the whole set if I was traveling back from here. These are salvaged from some board games; I have not seen them for sale before. I always find something unique when I find these stores on my trips.

I spoke to the owner, and she was thrilled to have a visitor from the Portland area. She loves it in the Portland Area and even visited the Nike Campus. The bars on the windows and the wrecked car near the building suggest the area has seen better days.

Next, I headed to Nowhere Bookstore. The main street has angle parking that requires you to back into traffic. I nearly connected with a car backing up. My reactions and the brakes worked on Air Honda. I also did not get rear-ended and managed to get around the vehicle, which continued to back up. Texas driving is about making your way, not getting out of the way!

I circled back and parked in the strange angle parking place and found a liberal Texas bookshop. The aggressive stickers for sale, a wall, were much more in-your-face than you would see in Powell’s or another locally owned bookstore. Apparently, “bleeding heart liberal” in Texas means I rip your heart out and eat it dripping with blood in front of you. Being liberal in Texas is to not be timid. I was impressed. I got a cup of coffee at their coffee bar–good coffee. I read and finished the last twenty pages of my Canada-based murder mystery. This time, I was right on the murder!

I read another sign on the coffee bar. In Texas, it is a felony to bring a gun into the store without proper permits, and it comes with jail time. It appeared that Texas is not the gun-carrying mecca it is reported to be. You bring a gun into this bookstore, and you go to jail unless you have a concealed weapon permit. I only report what I read and saw this sign in many places. I was unarmed.

Air Honda, and I have no issue pulling out as the rear-view camera gives me a safe view. But I do have a problem. I left the battery charger at the house. My phone is nearly dead. It is my lifeline for navigation in this town I barely know. I have a map and can do analog traveling, and I know the basic road structure of San Antonio, but it will be much more error-prone and likely to take longer. I rush back to Zorida’s racing battery death. I just made it, and I have to stop at the gate. I have to find the gate code on my phone. Other cars are behind me. I have the past. Someone knows the code and opens the gate just as I find it.

I make it to Zorida’s place and soon have the phone and the battery charging. Zorida appears soon after, and we plan on a Texas steak dinner at the Longhorn Restaurant; we always remember Susie at dinner and toast her memory. It is a thing. The wait was thirty minutes with folks jocking for a bar seat, but I will not sit at a location that is not clear. The bartender was not filling drinks fast for those not seated at the bar. She was busy being a waiter for ten people sitting at the bar. Also, my COVID-19 distancing still makes it uncomfortable for me to be that close to strangers. Not to mention the flu, colds, and RSV going around now.

Zorida does the steak and lobster tail; I have an excellent NY strip. The chaos means our bread comes late, and drinks are slow as the bar is behind. But still, the salad was good and the food excellent. My steak is not overly salted. Someone in the kitchen knows what they are doing.

We returned to Zorida’s house in the dark no-streetlight Texas roads. It always seems scary and dark.

I was in bed at 11 and slept better.

Thanks for reading.

 

This morning, Saturday, I set the alarm for 6:30 and rolled over, shocked to wake at 8ish. So starting my day writing the blog here at Zorida’s house in Texas. It is a two-hour time difference, so I did not sleep until midnight local time.

Yesterday was a travel day, and they are always hard. I woke at 6ish PST, having slept poorly, as usual, in my room at the Raddison. It is always to sleep in a loudish, unfamiliar place. I rose, showered, dressed, and repacked the few items I had out. I then dragged all my luggage to the restaurant that charged $15 for breakfast, which was free in most places. But, still, I had it and paid. Biskets and gravy with coffee from a self-service buffet fortified me for my adventures at PDX.

The shuttle was early, but I had finished my food, paid, and was in the lobby ready. My two bags plus carry-on for this trip joined me in the van. The driver regaled us with tales of working non-stop for a week. All the other drivers were stuck in the snow or had breakdowns, and he was at the hotel and thus got to cover everyone. The hotel runs a car park, so they must pick up people at PDX to get their vehicles at all times.

The driver was sad that he was not at his sister’s beach house in South America. The other passenger asked lots of questions, and we learned the details. I think the other passenger will look up the area and try it out. It made for a fascinating drive through the snow and ice, still quite pronounced, to PDX.

I was flying first class and upset a fellow flyer when I let the Alaska crew on first. This crew was flying with us to Seattle, obviously to support flights. He all but said, “Who is this riff-raff getting on before us?” But his wife calmed him and explained that we let the crew on the plane. I was in a floppy sweater and Nike shoes, and he thought me just some of the help. He did startle when I sat in the 1st class section. Apparently, I am a traitor to my class with my politeness.

The first flight was on a smaller jet with three seats, one and two. Some passengers were surprised and happy to see me in the expensive seats. Apparently, politeness and friendliness win you lots of friends in the proletariat. It was a forty-five-minute flight with no service. A milk carton of water was in my seat. I left it on the plane for the next person.

Tacoma-Seattle Airport is a maze. I found the one sign and an escalator descending to the tunnels and trains. Two stops, and I was at N gates. I had more time as the flight was delayed by 30 minutes. Bad Egg, a newish concept restaurant, was busy, and the bar was packed. I found a table in the back. I ordered the egg and Spam slice, fried, set over donuts covered in syrup. I paid the extra for cheesy grits. It was wonderfully awful and not likely something I will try again, but it was fun in all its heart-stopping flavors.

The plane process was the usual, but more rushed and less concerned. I had an older seatmate in first class and the window. The plane was an older 737-800, which I think is the most uncomfortable plane in service. The economy is smelly and loud, and the seats are thinly padded and so close that a trip to the restroom (no joy to use in its doll-house-sized facilities) is a flexibility test for you and anyone seated with you. Asile seating means you are bumped the whole trip. I love the 737-Max with its extra air movement and colorful lighting. While the seats are still insanely close, at least you get a screen and plugs for your gadgets.

My seatmate ignored me and read–perfect. I read on my iPhone until I had to get out my new power brick with built-in cables, one for an iPhone and one for a C USB, which uses a supercharging process to recharge the phone in thirty minutes. Excellent. My Kindle, still at home, syncs the page I am on with the iPhone app, so I am always reading in the same place. Perfect. I set my phone for free texting supplied by Alaska Air, ignoring the $8 fee for better slow internet access for a three-hour trip. I chatted with folks on the ground while we flew to Texas.

Dinner was chicken; I asked the steward (using the gender-free word) what she recommended. The steward for First Class was dressed in pants and a sweater, going with Alaska Airlines’ more practicality. She chatted with the passengers in the first two rows. We on 2 were all reading.

The food was a surprise, and I had ginger ale as the Spam was not settled. I eat when I can and when offered on a travel day. You never know when food service will be canceled, the plane will be rerouted to some remote place, or other possible crazy things will happen when traveling.

The plane arrived with no problems, and I walked the long hallways of San Antonio airport, but this time, I knew where I was going. I had to wait for my bags to appear. They survived uninjured, and I carried them to the rent-a-car desk.

It took the usual long time for all of this. One group was still going when I left! A mistake was made in my reservation. The car was there, and I would drop it off at Lewis Armstrong Airport, but I had only a one-day rental! This was corrected, and the most expensive part of the trip was the car, like last time. The full coverage was $68 a day, let alone the rent cost. You can tell that the car companies have consolidated and now charge what they want. Another group cannot form a cheaper car rental as the fixed costs are so high. The corporation has eliminated competition and only has artificial competition. It is a sign of our times–limited competition by acquisition.

I was happy to have the car until the 28th and found my purple CR-V Honda. I have an SUV, which also makes the price higher. There is navigation. Well, I get to use my phone. That is not that fun. I also have to pull over on the road to find the lights for the Air Honda (my new ride). A police car reminds me that this is no place to pull over, and I move on. I managed to circle the airport once but finally followed the phone’s directions. On the highways in Texas!

For me the most challenging part of the trip is the rental. It is expensive and a learning experience. It is much worse in the dark and in end-of-day work traffic. It is high stress as I balance the phone trying to read it and find the matching tiny signs of Texas without making a sudden and crunchy lane change.

I am headed North, which finally fits my driving direction, and my iPhone app agrees. I called Zorida; my phone was connected to the rental this time, and it soon arrived. I park Air Honda and unload.

Zorida and I catch up, and I give a small wrapped box. Earrings I found in Susie’s unsent gifts. Susie would forget to send them, or it did not get done. They are stylized Elephants, which had to be for Zorida, who collects statues of elephants. Zorida and I both shed a tear, remembering Susie.

I went to bed but then got Doc’s messages and answered them. I need a cardiac write-up for the surgery. I get back to my computer and reply. I have more appointments to make.

I read a bit and finally slept.

Thanks for reading.

 

I woke at 7ish and rolled over until 7:30. It was a work-from-home snow day, and I did not have to rise early to drive to the Nike WHQ Swift building (no, we are not called Swiftees). Instead, I did my morning meetings, one actually technical and interesting. I still had some process meetings and then caught up with someone I had worked with for years. It was not a busy morning, but it was interesting. I slipped a shower between meetings.

The slick was not leaving, and the temperature forecast was not improving. Then, another storm watch was announced, puke, and more sinking temperatures. The noise of water melting was loud in my gutters. The underwater ice was dangerous; I nearly fell putting N-95 masks in Air Volvo–restocking, as the news is sad on that front.

Next, I took the chicken I pulled from the cooked chicken I picked up a few days before, put it in a non-stick fry pan, and fried it. Next, I added water and covered the pan to heat the chicken. I added BBQ sauce from a bottle. I heated more. Added water again and covered. This got everything hot and lovely. I stir-fried the mix a bit. This went on a bed of lettuce and some shredded cheddar cheese. That was a great lunch.

I found another shorter Sean Munger YouTube video on the start of WW1 and enjoyed that while I ate my BBQ chicken salad. I have read many books and know the details of many areas he covered, but I felt he knew them better than I did, which is unusual for YouTube videos. I thought his story and how he told it were fantastic. I loved the quotes, which I had not heard anywhere else. Recommended!

Aside: The Guns of August, while aging, is still, I think, the best book and captures the emotions well. Sean references it at the end of his video. Go with this book if you want to dip your toe into this history. It is a great book.

I also finished the packing. I ran the dishes and the laundry while I worked. By 2PM, I had closed my suitcases and had a few meetings. Dondrea and I debated by text and calls if I should head to PDX instead of risking a drive in the storm-frozen Portland. To reach the PDX, which is almost in Washington State from Beaverton, I have to cross Beaverton and then all of Portland.

Aside: Portland International Airport is PDX, and its call letters are identical. Instead of naming the airport for someone, we call it PDX. We locals love PDX and its incredible, when you can see them, views of the mountains. The bars, food, and shops are quite nice.

I checked hotels in PDX, and only one hotel was left with rooms! Time to go. Dondrea also reported that her area in Beaverton was back to freezing, and she was getting a mix of snow and rain. Definitely time to travel. I put my stuff in Air Volvo and made a special one-night bag so I would not have to open my luggage. I put the house together the best I could. I called Corwin, who is house-sitting for me besides moving in for a while, to let him know I was leaving for PDX. On Expedia, I ordered the hotel room and got it. I signed off of work, having done timesheets, out-of-office, and other rituals for going on break. Air Volvo slid down my street and then off through Beaverton.

Flooding was apparent from the freeze and melts. Beaverton was melting still. Traffic was lighter for a Thursday but still heavy in places. The drivers were following lanes with care, executing correct turns, lane changes were done with warnings, and police were everywhere. It seems only ice and snow scare our drivers straight!

The hill, Sylvan, between Portland and Beaverton, over 500′ taller than the valley and over 1000′ above sea level, was starting to refreeze. The trees were still crystallized in ice. It was still raining when I crossed the summit, but soon, it would be snow and ice again, and I was glad to take a slow trip. Oddly, the traffic moved better than on a dry day in Portland, and again, I saw no shenanigans.

The tunnel was wet, and for a moment, I wondered if it would be icy, but it was good when Air Volvo entered. The strange new tradition of blowing the car horn to some tune is still happening. I was concentrating on not slipping and missed my chance to try to be Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (here is the song I always liked–I will have to play it loud next time with the windows down in the tunnel).

The roads got more snow as I headed closer to the Columbia River (PDX is on the river). The Radisson is not near the airport; I have used it several times and their shuttle. It has a parking area that they charge for, but you can leave your car here for $14 a day, which is cheaper than other options. Actually, the money I saved all but covered $50 for the room. I was right to leave when I did; there was a line of cars to get in. I spoke to the hotel van driver, who told me to pass everyone and park where there was room. I did.

I found a line inside, and after twenty minutes, I got my room and instructions. Air Volvo had to park in the distant parking. The lot was full of snow and ice. I found a place, and the ice was so bad I had to hold on to Air Volvo. I removed my stuff from the cargo hold and splashed through the water and ice. My Air Force Ones did not flood, but I did feel a little damp.

My room is nicer than I expected and quite comfortable. I unloaded and then headed to the bar. It was just opening. I found a table with a bright view of water and outside. I wanted more light. I ordered a beer and chips with guacamole dip. I read, surfed, and checked flights. Everything was good. My hands shook from the cold, lack of food, hauling the luggage for a thousand yards in slush, or just exhaustion. The food, the surfing, and the beer made me feel better. It was 4:45 and too early for dinner.

I returned to the room after paying Sunny, my bartender (ironic, yes), for the beer and appetizer. I putted around before just lying down and nodding off a few times. The rest helped as I have a light headache. Back to the hotel bar and food joint. I have the steak after being told that the chicken was just a “slab of chicken.” The flank steak was tough, but it was excellent when cut into small bits. The Wild Turkey and ginger ale would be better if they had ginger ale as it was more a Bourbon and soda, but still good. For a hotel joint, the food was not bad, and the prices were not stupid. I read my book while I ate. I have my Kindle app on my phone and enjoy the next book by Louise Penny. I managed to mistakenly skip book 6 in the series but will return to it.

I finished and headed back to room 212. I made tea from the supplies in the room, but I brought the Biscoff cookies–a gift from my sister. I started charging the phone and the laptop. Finally, I began the blog for today.

Thanks for reading. I am still thinking about singing in the tunnel next time!

From Room 212, Radisson PDX.