The Heart Leads the Way: Big ol’ Blog Post #3
If spending countless hours heading east through the windy plains of wyoming, across the crystalline salt flats of utah and the altogether brown-ness of I-80 excites you: You should see it from the westbound lane. Unfathomable sameness.
With two Colorado shows behind us, we found ourselves sighing all the way back to Wendover. The rumor was that Gloria had been tinkered back into working order and soon we could forget this whole mess. Rumors.
The town of Wendover had, three hours since, shut down for the night when we rolled into town at around seven o’ clock. Caroline, the rental car and RV repair pimp in pajama pants, deflected our apologies about our late arrival by repeatedly telling us that she hadn’t a life to interrupt. We chuckled courteously/nervously not sure if the joke was casual or a cry for help. After the paperwork was finished and the bill was paid, she handed us the keys and we giddily transferred our belongings from the mini van over to the RV. Caroline bid us farewell and disappeared into the night. We all piled into the RV and prepared ourselves for a night of making up lost time. Dan stuck the keys in the ignition and optimistically cranked.
Click Click Click Click Click Click.
After a short phone call to caroline and her mysterious materialization without an automobile, we used the mini van to give Gloria Southwind a jump.
She sounded like a careless 19th century tuberculosis nurse. Between the sputtering and wheezing, the headlights dimmed, the blinkers blacked out and the mud flaps flapped up into the wheel well.
We spent that night in the parking lot of a casino.
The next morning, a newly acquired battery from the Mayors auto parts store put us back on the road. For a while.
THE OPEN ROAD!
Loss of power.
-jump from a stranger.
THE OPEN ROAD!
-front hood detaches and nearly cashes in our liability insurance.
Loss of power.
-jump from a stranger.
THE OPEN ROAD!
Loss of power.
Thus was the rhythm of life for 500 miles. 45 minutes out of Laramie Wyoming we final came to a dead halt, again.
45 minutes out of Laramie Wyoming is where the wind is born. All the wind – on planet earth – originates from the swirling torrent that is 45 minutes out of Laramie Wyoming. It comes barreling out of it’s windy womb at 60 mph and shoots tumbleweeds across the highway at velocities that rival Space Shuttle Endeavor entering earths atmosphere for the last time. With every gust and with every passing semi, Gloria threatened to tip over like a cow after curfew. We spent the afternoon eating cold cans of soup and racing tumble-weeds.
Mere hours later and with no genuine help from a hopelessly pathetic AAA phone call marathon, Robs uncle, Bob Dehn, came to the rescue. Bob is the sort of man who can get a genuine mechanic to drive two hours from Loveland Colorado, into the winds maternity ward, to replace the alternator in a fume filled wigwam on wheels – all with a smile on his face.
After Glorias roadside alternator transplant we went “wee wee wee wee” all the way home – to Loveland Colorado. Uncle Bob lead us right to his shop in the middle of the night, where he and a team of other Dehns went to work giving Gloria a make-over, including a custom orange grill to replace the dearly departed original.
And we’re off to Austin!
Austin, Texas is a cool town. A lovely couple of lovable comedians in love, more individuals provided by Robs past, gave us rest, showers, and overweight cats to pet before our show at the Carousel Lounge.
The Carousel Lounge is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The front of the windowless building is one big montage to everything circus. Clowns, fire breathing women in leotards, and elephants adorned with equally revealing outfits all welcome you to run away and join the circus. Instead, most people come inside and just get drunk. Such is life.
Inside, you’re welcomed by a chipping paper maché giraff behind bars. The walls are again completely covered with air brushed visions of americas favorite long lost tent based entertainment industry. The bar is padded with billowing blue plush, the main sitting room is cascaded by half illuminated strings of christmas lights, beginning at the edges of the room and all ending at one point in the middle of the ceiling. On stage with us was a poor elephant with lonely eyes and a broken tusk. Rock and roll, baby.
Opening up for us was a quality Texas gentleman who goes by the name “Mo Pair.” His music was that good ol’ down home americana that makes you thirst for moonshine and hunger for – well – corn. He performed with his new fiancé, a gal with a nice set of pipes who goes by the letter “B.” Mo Pairs day job, I value to note, is to brew small quality batches of liquor. A few bottles of which, he so graciously offered to his new friends from California.
Remember the lovable comics I mentioned before? John and Gio, college friends of Robs and emigrants to Texas, invited us to their improv competition the next night. Thanks to an awesome Texan BYOB law, some small batch bottles of liquor accompanied us to one of the funniest improv competitions in the history of history. And of coarse, John and Gio took first place as the funniest people in the room. We like to think that we brought them good luck, and at least three guaranteed votes.
They’re the cute ones on the right.
After all the laughs had faded, after all the showers had showered, and all the cats were cuddled, we gave austin a wave and headed for the big easy. Heeeellllllooooo New Orleansss…
P.s. We also went to a park while Glorias squeaky breaks got replaced. It was windy that day and we found a spongebob kite in a ditch. So that was fun.
