Rolling out Part III: a long, hot mile

I had just pulled into a long line of cars somewhere east southeast of Bellville. I was 4 miles from that small town, in a long line of other cars. There was a little roadside mom n' pop store which was swamped with people looking for some sustenance at the corner I had turned in on. Traffic was inching along at a glacial pace. It was so slow that I had often been able to stop the car and shut off the engine. People would get out of their cars, and go up to the nearest house with containers in hand to ask for water, or carrying nothing to make some. Things started to get worse. People started to lose patience and go into the oncoming traffic lane in order to get ahead of others. Some people who were passing cups of cool water out to motorists (these people were saints) said that it was happening a lot. I trried to keep them from cutting, but eventually, they just would go onto the opposite shoulder, and so, in light of such futility, I gave up. I did ask one as they passed why they were doing it, and they answered with a dismissive "Don't worry about it, man." I was wondering if he would accept the same dismissive line if I had shot out a couple of his tires with my .45 amd told him "not to worry about it." I wanted to pull my pickup halfway into the other lane, roll down the window, and point my shotgun out. Would I shoot someone for being an asshole? Of course not! So, I decided not to advertise, since it was an empty threat, and it would ruin the suprise if I ever needed it.
As time went by, I found myself getting hungry (I had not eaten breakfast). I ate one of the power bars from my ready bag. Traffic still was at a virtual standstill. I got out and took a picture of my truck with the door open.

I had gotten out in order to avoid fatigue.
It was pretty hot out there. Standing outside, in the heat, I foujnd myself returning to the habits I had from my time in Cuba. I had spent a lot of time in the field, and had learned how to get by in the wild. The thing you have to remember is to not try to fight nature. You are going to lose. A lot of people seem to think that nature is some sort of idyllic pastoral scene filled with beautiful landscapes, and all of God's creatuires frolicking in a meadow.
This is a dangerous lie. Nature is a vicious and unforgiving bitch. She may be beautiful at times, but she will kill you on a whim. She will not accomodate you. She does not care about your well being. You have to adjust to your environment, not impose on it. In the heat, you need do do stuff like find some shade. You will notice that I was standing in the shade when I took that photo. Sitting in a car baking in the sun without your A/C on is going to slowly sap your strength, You must save your strength. So, get out of the car, find some shade, sit down, stretch out. Move slowly. I am serious, if you slow down your motion, then you will expend much less energy, and not get so bloody hot. This is why people who live in the south mosey. They Mosey because it's hot, and if you go on a brisk walk, you will be dehydrated in 30 minutes.
So, slow down, take it easy, relax. Do not stress out. Stress just makes things worse. You have to integrate yourself into your environment. You have to make it your home. Granted, this was not a situation which was likely to kill me from exposure, but if things went badly, it could set me up for a real hard time of it.

Anyway, minutes turned into hours. I had gone maybe 200 meters. At this current rate, I would reach Dallas sometime in the spring of 2012. I was starting to think long and hard about turning around and heading back to Houston. Other people had started to have the same ideas. I saw people turn their cars around and go back. One of the cars was flagged down on the way back ahead of me, and they talked for a minute with one of the drivers in the long line. I left the trucks windows cracked open, locked it and walked the 100 meters or so ahead. I found the guy who had toalked to the car's driver, and asked him what was going on. He told me that the rumor was that Bellville was completely snarled. There was no movement into the towm at all because it was so jammed up. I walked back to my truck, passing along the information I had gleaned from others.
I did not have a lot of options. I was simply not going to spend the next day and a half out here on the road trying to get a mere mile or two along.
I had to make a decision, and the decision was to turn around, try to find a way around Bellville, and if that failed, I was going to head back. I was not happy with leaving D6, and I was starting to think that maybe this was a sign. Then again, I could feel despair. Despair is a dangerous things, and it will often incapacitate otherwise able men, and thusly kil those who could have survived. The Marines somehow taught me that despair is an illusion, and so I pushed through it.
And a funny thing happened. As I was turning my truck around on that narrow road, a woman in a suburban drove up from the direction of Bellville. She rolled down her window pointed at me, and yelled "Hey, you!!"
I looked at her questioningly, since I did not know what she wanted.
"Turn around," she said, "when you get to the next dirt road, take a right. When you reach coushatta road, take another right, and it will take you straight into Bellville."
"Thanks!" I yelled.
She told me to just get moving. I do not know why she told me this, any more than I know why she didn't tell anyone else this. She didn't stop for anyone else, and she didn't follow me down the dirt road with no sign. What I do know is that I found myself hurtling down deserted dirt roads, and when I went around a turn onto pavement again, I was parallel to some train tracks which had a long line of stopped cars along the opposite side in a small town. I instantly knew that this must be Bellville, and that I was driving next to route 36.
Whoever that woman was in the suburban, I owe you a beer.
I was tired, hot and growing increasingly thirsty. I saw a sonic drive-in across ther road and I pulled in. It was a little after 1330 hrs. It had been over two hours, and I had gotten only a few miles before that dirt road.
I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, large diet coke, and a large ice cream Sonic Blast. I may be a refugee, but at least I could be a refugee with a full stomach enjoying some ice cream in the Texas heat. The order took a while since the pl;ace was at capacity, but I still left a decent tip.
As I sat down to my sonic burger, with at least a couple of immediate concerns (food, water) dealt with, and a slightly less stressed mind, I took a hard look at my situation.

I was back on my original route. It was also taking much longer than anticipated. I had learned the hard way that every road on a map leading out of Houston was jammed to the teeth. My plan had relied upon traffic thinning out by this time, which it had not. I looked at the intricately detailed directions I had made up so long ago, decided that it wasn't working, and used the paper as a ketchup tub.

Sometimes the best next step in a plan is to scrap it.

So, while I ate my heart attack in a foil wrapper, drank liberally from the ice-cold diet coke in a large styrofoam cup, and watched the endless snail pace procession of people in cars with their A/C turned off, I made a new plan from scratch.....

To be continued.

Respectfully Submitted,
-doc Russia