Really, I Remember the Alamo

Sleeping on the street in Nowhere, Texas (OK, fine. It was Ozona, Texas) by the Sonic got a bit chilly because I ran out of propane. I want to get moving, as San Antonio is a rather long way from Nowhere.

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As the astute and devoted reader will recall, the previous day I had transported two hitchhikers from another, even less desirable town to this one and had dropped them off. I presumed that they slept under a bridge or perhaps a drainage ditch (I had seen several of each that looked like pretty good places to stay). I had neglected to get their phone number, and I seemed to have no cell phone coverage in this town. (In retrospect I probably just needed to reboot my phone.)

Since I could not call them and could not receive calls, it was going to be rather difficult to make contact. I drove up and down the street where I had left them a couple of times. My computer can receive telephone calls to my Google voice number, but only when I have my computer on and online. Next I realized that I could also use my computer to change my voice mail message and did so, with something like “Hi, if you are the people I picked up yesterday and are looking for a ride, meet me at Sonic.”

I stepped away from my computer to get a napkin or something and upon my return I saw that I had missed a call from an unknown number. There was no message. Was it them? I couldn’t be sure. I finished breakfast. About ten minutes before I was going to leave them to spend eternity in this little town, I saw them headed up the street toward the Sonic.

I got them back on board and the dogs down on the floor and headed for San Antonio, a couple hundred miles. No far out of Ozona we saw a pickup truck towing another pickup truck. It seemed a bit odd, but we were in Texas. I was annoyed that I didn’t get my camera out in time. A few minutes later, we passed another.

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. . . and another . . .

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. . . and another . . .

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After an uneventful three or four hours we arrived in San Antonio and found what looked to be the best place to try to get a ride to Austin. It was on the far side of San Antonio, probably twenty minutes out of my way, but it seemed like the nice thing to do. I dropped them at a mall by I-35 and snapped a couple pictures.

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I stopped somewhere, got online, and using some online service found, a downtown hotel, The Riverwalk Plaza, for $74.52. Somehow I was convinced to call them on the phone to make and pay for the reservation. Immediately after I paid for the reservation, I called the hotel myself to see what a room cost. Forty bucks. After six months of traveling and fifteen years of using the internet I was duped out of $35. Such is life, I guess.

I walked along the river and stopped somewhere that appeared to sell food and margaritas. After that I had a nap. The guy who told me to see the birds and that Billy the Kid place implored me to go see the Alamo and read some letter a guy wrote. I had been to the Alamo some twenty or thiry years earlier, but didn’t remember the letter. He said that I had to go. I am afraid I let him down. I did read William Barret Travis’s Alamo Letters, though.

After the nap about all I could muster was the energy to walk back down the river walk for dinner and go back to sleep.

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