“The next few weeks” happened a little quicker than the previous post would imply as we set out for Texas less than a week later. We landed at our friend’s house in Austin seriously sleep deprived and moderately coherent. Unfortunately, our brief stay was uncomfortable for a number of reasons and doubly unfortunate, the experience came close on the heels of another disappointment from the friends category, so initially the trip wasn’t starting out so well for me.

Thankfully, lush landscapes and miles of open road can help soothe the spirit.

After navigating the special hell that is the 290, we were on our way eastward – through Elgin, Giddings, and La Grange. I was hoping La Grange would be one of the towns that would make the final cut, except for the same reason I liked it (ZZ Top song of the same name), teh hubby didn’t. Impasse = pass.

We made it as far east as Conroe (a flatter Tahoe) and as far north as Huntsville (yes, they mean THAT Ol’ Sparky). We couldn’t have been more sold on the expanse of views that greeted us with each tick of the odometer. Finally, there was room to breathe. Throughout, we kept returning through one little burg, each time coming from a different direction and seeing a different approach. With each pass, we grew to like it more, and opted to stay the night. Brenham is home of Bluebell Ice Cream (the finest in the South) and the Poor Clare Nuns (breeders of miniature horses).

The next morning, we stormed the Chamber of Commerce, and then with the assistance of my sister-in-law, hooked up with a realtor. While the properties we looked at with her ranged from “No”, to “Oh no!” to “OMFG, where’s the gasoline and a match?!” the experience did a lot to get us all using the same vocabulary. To give her credit they weren’t her listings and now we specifically know whose to avoid. After huddling in her office for another hour, it was time to head west.

Leaving Brenham at about 1:00pm on Monday, we decided we’d get as far as we could and then stop for the night. “As far as we could” turned out to be Sierra Blanca almost 11 hours later, 80 miles outside El Paso. Sierra Blanca has two motels: scary and scarier. Scarier was a ranch version that had a distinct Bates Motel vibe, and scary looked like a Tombstone knock-off – but we were tired enough to settle on scary. The innkeeper there was happily stripping the wood floors of the lobby in what I can only guess was a meth-induced spate of productivity, and G-d only knows what the innkeeper for scarier was up to. THAT lobby was lit only by the neon “Open” sign. The room was clean, the TV worked long enough to see Anderson Cooper on CNN ask about Paris Hilton, “Why do we care?” and the bed was soft-ish. We slept.

Coming further west was bittersweet. Always on previous road trips, we were coming home, our haven. Not so much this time. We were seeing the landscape through eyes that had become accustomed to a different landscape, accompanied by a different tempo. Without a doubt, we’re under a Greener Grass spell. Without a doubt, we’re in for one hell of a ride. Then again, it’s not everyday you get the option to make the choice – and have the wherewithal – to start over. And that’s where we’re at.