When I think of Texas, I always imagine wide open prairies and oilfields. I do this even after time spent along the beaches and bayous of Texas’ Gulf Coast and the dry mountains between Alpine and Marfa. So the Piney Woods of northeast Texas, a forest filled with loblolly pine, hickory, and oak, always comes as a surprise. This was the landscape that met me as I drove west along I-20.
The morning began with a quick hop over the Red River. I had crossed it earlier in the trip, during an interval of horrible flooding and now, like then, the industrial structures of Shreveport disappointingly blocked my view of the water. As I continued on, the buildings thinned and the highway became bordered with trees and open fields. I tend to be a bit of a cynic about this, having seen many places where a thin strip of trees are used to block traffic noise in otherwise developed areas, so I was pleasantly surprised to discover during my first petrol stop (at a ‘travel station’ about a mile off-highway) that the forest continued for miles in every direction.
Today was another abbreviated driving day, just over 400 miles to an Air Force Base just outside Abilene. But as I drove (and despite my beloved 80-mph Texas speed limit), the miles seemed to drag on forever, and fatigued me in a way they had not on previous legs. By lunchtime (a Cracker Barrel along the south Dallas ring road), my leg ached, my arm ached, my butt ached, and I was spent. I checked my flight plan; I was barely halfway to Dyess. I continued on.
July was bright through my car’s windows. As mile after mile passed, my eyes began to sting with fatigue from the sun and dry air. By now the forest had given way to (familiar and expected) prairie, and the sameness of the miles added a touch of sleepiness. I stopped at rest areas to stretch my legs, and added an extra fuel stop for some caffeine and distraction. Relief washed over me as I reached the outskirts of Abilene. I clumsily navigated my way off the highway, through town towards Dyess AFB and finally, with a quick flash of my ID*, I was in. It was mid-afternoon, and once settled in my room (thankfully on the shaded north side of the building) I took some Advil, chugged some water, and lay down for some quiet time, hoping the combination would soothe my aching eyes and noggin.
During the drive from the front gate to the lodging office, I had noticed a series of static aircraft displays along the main road. My curiosity had been sparked during my explorations at the Barksdale Air Museum that morning, I chose this for the route for my evening constitutional. As the sun drew low, I headed out, hoping to snap some photos to add to my collection. A quick search of my room indicated I had left my camera in my car, so I made a quick stop to add it to my bag.
Then… I don’t know how it happened… as I lifted my camera from its designated cupholder it slipped from my hand and, after a quick bounce off the running board, hit the concrete pavement with a thwack! and skidded under my truck.
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease I whispered silently to myself as I knelt down and fished under the still-warm drivetrain for my camera.
I pushed the ON-OFF and held my breath. I heard the usual whirring, then more whirring, then even more whirring, then three short beeps. Two words flashed on the display. NoNoNoNoNo.
LENS FAIL.
*As a ‘surviving family member’, I still have base access.