Chapter 29
01a - Introduction
01b - The Mysterious Ski Rack
01c - Wheres the Other Half of That Moose
01d - Scorpions Scorpio
01e - The Waiter Who Didnt Yall
02a - Can I Get a Diet Soda
02b - Riding Into the Sunrise
03 - Modesty at Any Price
04 - Driving Down to Houston
05a - What Does That Sign Say
05b - The State Tree
05c - They Call It the Sunbelt
05d - Just Follow Your Nose
06 - The New House
07a - Billboards
07b - Billboards Again
08 - Stereo Upgrade
09 - Local Wineries
10 - Unintentionally Left Blank
11 - CBW in TX
12 - Ice House Radio
13 - Goats and Cotton
14 - Dig We Must
15 - Dan Moody
16 - Dry Heat
17 - Dead Animals We Have Known
18a - Bookstore Culture
18b - On the Open Road
19 - Weather
20 - Sightings in Bertram and Buchanan
21 - Too Many Birds
22 - Road Hazards
23 - Sightings To And From Houston
24 - The Great Wall of Train
25 - In the Heat of the Day
26 - Bite Me
27 - Bid on This Skeleton
28 - Willie Al Fresco
29 - Rural Countryside
30 - SUV SUX!
31 - Kinky on the Texas Monthly Hour
32 - Strange Yellow Sky
33 - Football is a Serious Enterprise in Texas
34 - Remember the Alamoo!
35 - What Was That on the Radio
36 - Trip to Houston Through Small Towns
37 - Shoe Story
38 - Unintended Fireworks
39 - Flash Flood Warning
40 - Sin City
41 - Live Music in Austin But Not in Clubs
42 - Fear of Overpass
43 - The Big Sneezy
44 - New Texas
45 - Front Ended by the French Fry Mobile
46 - Dirt Farm
47 - Heard at the Texas Book Festival 2008
48 - Heard at the Texas Book Festival 2009
49 - Central Time Sucks
50 - Temple Texas
51 - Christmas in Austin
52 - Pennants in the Wind
53 - The Road Less Traveled
54 - Texas-size Thunderstorm
55 - Cool Van
56 - Your New House is That-A-Way
57 - CSI Austin
58 - New MTV Game Show
59 - Equine Technology
60 - Look at That Prairie
61 - Get Your Water Here
62 - Corporate Anniversaries
63 - College Sprawl
64 - Hire These Guys
65 - Preparing for Winter
66 - Careful What You Overhear
67 - Bonnie Raitt
68 - Perfume
69 - Questionable Skills
70 - All-American Day
71 - Read Me
72 - Weird Fog
73 - Overpackaged Food
74 - What Town Was That
75 - Texas Book Festival 2010
76 - Bulletproof Roof
77 - The Oldest Photo
78 - Cheesesteaks Part 1
79 - Cheesesteaks Part 2
80 - Sure We Got Culture
81 - A Message to Gyno-Americans
82 - The cathedral of Junk

Rural Countryside

The weight limit on some back country roads and bridges is 58,420 pounds. Strikes me as kind of an unlikely number. Not a very round number for someone to post on a road. Why not 50,000 if you're conservative? Or 60,000 if you feel like living dangerously? Is this based on some older, or just agricultural, measure of weight that we city slickers are not familiar with? Or is it a deliberate restriction intended to permit one type of vehicle on the road but exclude another?

Aside: the number is not a reasonable multiple, even, of any interesting numbers. It factors into 2*2*5*23*127. The 23 and the 127 are not even nice factors of other peculiar-looking numbers like feet per mile (5280). 26.5 metric tons? Still not a nice number. Puzzlement.

Out there in the real country, one sees western-movie fences. Real fence posts made from real pieces of real trees. Twisted, curved, gnarled, knotted. Not the cleverly-fashioned green painted steel posts that hold up the barbed wire over most of the state. Speaking of barbed wire, there are a dozen or so different types, which we Yankees also don't know about. Saw it in the state of Texas history museum, y'all. Yee ha.

When you get out just, oh, ten or fifteen miles, it is really lonely. Miles between farmhouses. Maybe you can see a barn or a silo on the horizon and maybe not. Much of the time we use the phone poles to decide which way to turn at an intersection of two unmarked rural roads. Follow the wires or not follow the wires?

One can really appreciate why the rural electrification program in the thirties-forties was such a big deal. Without government action and public money to stretch those wires to every farmhouse, it would never have happened. The consumers certainly can't afford to pay for that kind of infrastructure. So what will happen in third world countries, where this level of building is just beginning? I suspect that the utilities -- electricity, water, gas, phone, cable TV -- will be deployed on a much smaller level, say, at the village level, with linkages between villages only where necessary, e.g., wireless communications. (Yes, some of those countries have already taken a leap in choosing to go straight to wireless phone service rather than trying to wire the countryside.) But wait a second. Even village-level deployment wouldn't have worked here, because most of the houses are so isolated. They aren't arranged in villages. One house in the middle of one ranch or farm here. Another house in the middle of another over there. That's odd. I'm used to seeing it another way, a cluster of houses in one place with farms all around, then another cluster some miles away. Villages. I guess that's the pattern where I grew up, in the Northeast where there is less land to go around, but it's sometimes not the pattern here.

Then just when you've seen most of the unusual landscape that the local countryside can provide, you run across this enormous metal spider, giant alien spider from outer space standing by the roadside. Sixty feet tall, a dozen legs, huge feet for stomping. What on earth? It turns out to be a grain sorting and storage facility, essentially fifteen silos of various sizes connected by large pipes. Grain is, I'm guessing, pumped through the pipes with lots of air, from delivery vehicles into the various silos. And then back later, too, probably. Why fifteen silos? Different grains, different owners. Another guess. Eventually we find a sign that says it's the something-or-other Grain Co-op, so it's a good guess. They range from about fifteen feet tall and eight in diameter to several times that, over thirty feet tall and fat, twenty-ish feet in diameter. Corrugated aluminum, gray but not rusty. Later in the day, we saw four or five of these silo farms, and they became slightly less strange. The smallest of them had a mere five containers. Maybe these were just the baby space spiders spreading across the landscape. Too strange for city Yankees.

Copyright (C) 2001, 2002, 2003, Richard Ball Landau. All rights reserved.