Texas is too damn big.
We woke up Tuesday morning in Austin, and visited Mellow Johnny's. That place is like fucking bike-geek Disneyland. Back at the shop in Williamsburg, we would get spazzed out about somebody ordering carbon wheels. There, there's a rack of five sets. There's a size run of carbon time trial bikes, six pairs of $300 shoes, a size run of $4000 Madone 5.5s, carbon Sevens, it goes on. Not just racing stuff, either-- piles of leather saddles, wool jerseys, track bars, internal hubs, fixed gears, shop T-shirts, a coffee shop in the store. Also I think they had all of Lance's Tour-winning bikes. Obviously when you've got unlimited cash to float your shop, you can have fun shit.
After that, we ate some tasty Vietnamese food at "Mekong River at 6th Street." Very nahce.
That afternoon Caitlin drove us to San Antonio, and we visited the Alamo. The Alamo is kind of a letdown, because it's packed with sweaty tourists and the gift shop is bigger than what's left of the fort. We got the enhanced tour, because two such sweaty tourists shuffled around behind us the whole time, closetalkin' and breathin' hard, fucking wouldn't shut up about "Now that there's a smoothbore, they did have rockets as early as the American Revolution," but when it comes to anything besides guns, all these fatties can produce is "I think David Crockett was from... Tennessee?" Jeezy peezy, people, stop being thirteen.
We spent the night in a KOA, which is basically to hotels like Cracker Barrel is to restaurants. We got in and met Scharlene at the desk, who spent half an hour switching us "a little closer to the bayuthrooms" and explaining how to use the "really, really nahce" bus system. When we got all set up, she radioed her husband, who was this skinny guy with a moustache and flip-up clip-on sunglasses. Radio transcript is something like : "Central Office to Mo-bayul, I need an escort to P-thutt-naaaan... I see you out there Dominick! Git over here, you!"
Totally rocking the white cowboy hat (white cowboy hats are in season down here) as he whirs over in his golf cart. Bad-ass. He is apparently one of multiple WWII vets Scharlene has married. So rad.
Today was the epic haul from San Antonio to Las Cruces, which is about 600 miles. I've seen every freaking poofball shaped tree that Texas hill country has to offer, and I'm over that shit.
Too many poofballs.
Next: Steve-O,
