nature

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Dancing at The Post in Marathon, Texas

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[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPJTbjyEz84&w=560&h=315] Friday morning, Chelsea and I were told that we needed to go to The Post in Marathon to meet all of the "strapping young cowboys" by our guide director at Far Flung.

Saturday evening, late-late by my standards, Chelsea and I left Marfa and headed out toward Marathon. We hadn't eaten yet because we were waiting on the famous grilled cheese in Marfa. When we got around to checking out the Grilled Cheese Parlor, however, we found out that the wait would be around 30 minutes to get a sandwich and they only took cash or check.

So, we did what every good American would do and we went to Dairy Queen. I tell you what, the chicken fingers were hot off the fryer even five minutes before they closed. And if you get the chance, check out the S'mores Blizzard, it's the bomb.

It would have taken us around 40 minutes to get to The Post, but it turns out it's not on any published map (do as the locals do and ask). So we burned some time driving around and getting lost. Finally, we stopped by The Gage Hotel and I ran in to ask. I was surprised to find that our waitress Meghan, from a few nights before was working the bar. She gave me directions and told me that "everyone in town will be there."

Her directions were as follows: "Take a right at the railroad tracks and drive for about two miles." Um, make that 10-15 miles in the middle of nowhere with no lights. The only reason that Chelsea and I kept trucking was that we get being passed by cars going in the opposite direction. That seemed hopeful.

Finally we arrived. Chelsea and I both thought that we were going to a two-stepping bar. What we didn't realize was that we were really going to a community gathering. It wasn't a bar at all. There were grandparents and grandchildren and high schoolers. There were popular kids and misfits. It was a scene. People were sitting on lawn chairs, popping beers out of coolers. Chelsea and I found a space on a cement bench and watched.

There was a live band and a big cement block that people were dancing on. After some rag tag Texas Country, they played "Sweet Home Alabama" and I knew that these people were alright and everything was OK.

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Really? Cop edition

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Wednesday midafternoon in the office fighting off a small headache. We’re entering that time of year in Texas when it is still cool enough to do stuff outside, but hot enough to do it sporting a swimsuit.

This weekend, J, J’s friend from grad school and I piled into J’s SUV to ride down to San Marcos for the first river float of the season.

On the way up, unfortunately, J got pulled over for speeding. We were sooo close to San Marcos, going through a very small town called Martindale. We’d been following behind a slow truck towing a boat for quite a ways, so when we were finally were safe to pass J hit the accelerator and went around. Just as we were merging back into our lane, a cop comes out of nowhere and throws his lights on. It was really one of those, “are you kidding me?” moments.

The cop was a jerk. Do they make small town cops that aren’t? He asked leading and open-ended questions. He said he clocked J at a number that seems impossible. Now, I’m not saying we were not at fault. We were speeding. But there was no reason this guy had to be such a…typical small town cop. Really, dude? This is your impression of Martindale that you want to leave?

J swears that when his court date comes that he will drive up to the town and defend his case. Well, I secretly hope that he cools off by then and doesn’t. Because really, that cop doesn’t have anything better to do and will likely show up in court, guns blazing. And put yourself in a situation to be belittled by that guy again? I don’t think so. I’d rather pay the fine and take defensive driving any day.