Willow City Bluebonnet Loop/ These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things: Wild Flowers Day 1 in Texas -

Day 1 in Texas: Wild flowers say, “I do what I want!” And then I show up after to take a bunch of pictures. Like the orchids and sunflowers, they join the ranks of my Favorites Things… for their evocative power, their dismissal of the rules, the color they spew en masse.

Arriving in Austin and immediately heading west to the Bluebonnet Loop made for a hell of a way to acclimate to the powerful Texas sun and its 90 degree temps. The reward, miles of wild flowers oozing to and fro. Certainly a tourist draw and a top rated Texas must-do, yes yes. And on the way to the big and remote Western Texas.

With three cameras I still wasn’t able to capture their beauty accurately. Wild.

A late lunch (ok, dinner) in Fredericksburg would be my first meal of the day. I was famished by an early flight and all the hullabaloo that a “Day 1” entails. Not to mentioned the oppressive sun. I managed to get myself to Vaudeville’s Bistro right before they closed for their well-need Power Bowl. Though my shaky hands did not quite capture it in a picture, it was exactly what I need. A mound of fresh, local grown greens, warm brown rice, seared wild mushroom, seasonal vegetables with generous dollops of guacamole, Baba Ganoush, and a Cannellini bean puree. I could not have asked for a more perfect meal. My body thanked me for nutrient-density with a ton of energy for the next… and very trying… leg of Day 1.

After my meal, a roadside attraction. I was very beat and wanting my motel room, but Stonehenge was on the way in Ingram, Texas! My destination was Fort Stockton, an easy 3 hour drive to get me close enough to Big Bend tomorrow. Driving far in Texas is easier. The speed limit is high and traffic is sparse. Even with still being on New York time, I would get to my motel with enough time to relax, blog and get a good night’s sleep. If The Road allows…

You get reacquainted with The Road on its own terms. It is suspicious of you at first. It knocks you around a little bit so it can understand how much you are willing to take, until it knows how much you love it. It brings you to tears, or at least a pretty horrid “cry face.” But I was glad we got it over with.

Yes, Day 1 was a doozy of my own making. In my very economy rental car, the ripping winds shook the car almost as much as doing the speed limit of 80 mph. The first half of my tank of gas seemed to never leave me. I thought, “Oh! My gas mileage is great because this car is barely a 4-cylinder.” And Interstate 10 was perfect… littered with road trip facilities just when you needed a break from the brown growing topography. Then I stupidly passed Sonora, Texas on a quarter tank without filling up at one of its many gas stations.

Without anyone urging me to be sensible, I am often not. I had 90 miles to go, but felt confident there’d be another opportunity to fill up. Suddenly: total isolation. The rocks begin to grow taller and the pink sky told me that the sun, whom I had been following west, was finally leaving me. The wind velocity increased, stripping your gas tank much more quickly. Signs only noted the mileage to my destination, 90 miles away. Panic starts when my Low Gas indicator alarmed and a car with zero features is all of a sudden boldly flashing my remaining gas mileage, mile by mile–wait, I just lost 3 miles. I put on my hazards and lower my cruise control to slow things down a bit. Cars whizz by me; they all got the memo–west of Sonora is a dead zone on Interstate 10. Then the mileage countdown cuts out after 30 miles. Nothingness.

All kinds of horrible ideas of what getting gas to my stranded vehicle would entail. Waiting, interacting with a stranger who could easily decide to take advantage of the situation, sleeping in my car, dealing with it in the (safer) morning, losing my reservation with its big, comfortable bed. I start to tearlessly cry (my body was in crisis mode and conserving water?) as another exit has nothing–or, actually, a gas station that might have been in operation in the 1970s. “People run out of gas all the time,” I tell myself, “don’t freak out!” But I was. The next exit notes the H, for hospital. I lower the cruise control to take the exit ramp, convinced it is affording me more mileage. Nothing but darkness and looming rock formations.

I follow the road that promised a Hospital. Hope appears as lights in the distance, but it was some utility plant of sorts. The Hospital would be my only real hope. They would have their own fuel supply, I made up. They’d have people whose jobs are to help people. This was comforting to me. But there was just darkness. I thought I had made a stupid decision, getting off the interstate to run out of gas in a far more remote road. With no other passing cars. And now, ugh–tons of deer! Deer, please don’t make me brake. Acceleration is my enemy right now.

It was Easter. I pleaded to the divinities as you do in these kinds of situations. Because your faith needs another’s form to carry on sometimes, I suppose. A sign reads “Iraan 13 miles.” Ok, fine–Iraan sounds good. And I may have 13 miles? Honestly, I don’t know why my car was still driving, but I was going to ride it to the end. Beach House blasting. Finally, lights appear again. I was entering Iraan. But at 9pm on Easter Sunday, everything was closed. My hope was diminishing. Until–an illuminated gas station! Wait, two! The closer one is on my right. [Right turn from the left lane] Somehow, I didn’t run out of gas. I try to cry again, this time tears of joy, but nothing came out again. I was so happy, I took a picture of my dashboard and the gas station, wanting to document the emotional journey. The center of the speedometer had the mileage countdown. It was flashing those 4 dashes after 29 miles.