Bullshit math equations, your highs and your lows...

Kick the tires and head West into the wind. Tires of the car roll over the stuttering pavement through Indiana, clear on past Illinois, and into South Dakota. We stop for the evening, set up camp, and drift off into the cool evening air. 

Roused by the birds starting off their day in the loudest way possible, took a stroll through the settling morning fog, and then blazed a path across the highlands and hills. 

The car barreled along into the headwind doing eighty, stopping only for fuel and bladder relief. A full day of driving and we shuddered into Gillette, parked, and began the gossip. A tour, a graduation, a family dinner, and a fight over the check. Good times, good times.

Missed Mom’s flight out of Wyoming, a good hug in the morning, and off the dog and I went to the South. Not bad country to drive through. Not as remotely blissful as the desert, but not near as bad as cruising through the monotonous rolling interstate and highways of the flyovers. Tons of giant turbines line the roadways and the hills, churning along in their slow, agonizing circles, harnessing as much of the wind as possible. It's impressive to see so many of them rising above the horizon or receding in the rear view. A short fourteen hour drive to Amarillo later and we were parked and tucked into a hotel room with too much window glass in the parking lot and too much hair in the bathroom sink. But there was air conditioning and we had hit 90 degrees and rising. I found a bar and had myself a few. Slept well and plowed into Austin the next day.

Delicious pork tacos with the boyo, he demands I catch up on Game of Thrones and we do. Then it’s off into the city with earnest. Rainey Street District, getting drunk on other people’s porches, we find ourselves caught up in vodka and cheap beer. Stories and woes and triumphs and general desires for a standard of life are exchanged. This is why I keep the friends that I have. We push the limit even further as we walk down the street, the alcohol fueling our steps and hindering our speech. Once he starts spitting flow I know it’s probably time to call it a night. Ethiopian taxi driver picks us up and carts us home. What a night.

Wake up smiling, feed the dog, and try to decipher an e-mail from myself. Deer and fear and leer, I should probably remember to include some context next time. Still curious about that one. Brandon wakes up and it’s off we go. Long lines for barbeque but I’m promised it’s the best I’ll ever eat. It’s passable, but I’ve got to have him try some Fatbacks sometime. Hydrate a bit then off to the next destination out in hill country. Beautiful streams and falls and caves you don’t exactly equate with the notion of the hellhole that is the greater part of Texas. Hell of a treat. 

Spend the next few hours being assholes on the lake. What a hell of a day. Grab pizza at a bar and a few beers. At this point I figure there’s no way I’m keeping the weight off and commit to stuffing my face. Another bar, another beer. Some jackass with a trombone and a faint grasp of rhythm toots along at the back of the bar. We excuse ourselves to the patio and after almost three quarters of our libations admit that we may have done it too big the night before. Such sleep awaits.

I bust through his door in the morning, we exchange our goodbyes and promise it’s not going to be another five years. I head back home, through the torrential downpour and slide into Arkadelphia easy as can be. 

Give my hugs, promise I’ll be back the next day, and head up to Norman. Easy driving and I crash in my bed with the fury of a thousand koalas on ambien.

I spend my time wisely, cleaning, visiting, almost pulling an abdominal muscle laughing. I start to remember good things. I remember the how-do-you-dos and thank-yous so prevalent. I start to miss some things.

Another day with some catharsis, another visit and sweet good-byes and a promise to be back as soon as possible. 

I sleep. I push the car towards the North. And we are done for a few days.