Drive to Austin, Texas

THIS IS THE 300TH BLOG POST OF BOURNE'S BIG TRIP!!!!!! IT'S BEEN SUCH A GREAT AND AMAZING JOURNEY ON THESE FIRST 300! I BELIEVE THE BEST IS COMING!!!

Anyhow, I am writing this on the evening of February 28th, but by the time Mom posts it it will be not that time, probably tomorrow. So I pity anyone who is born on that day, who's birthday is four year's behind the real date. I guess it's kind of a fountain of youth, but it has it's pros and cons, like any person born on the date would know. A little history lesson for the readers: when the Roman Empire was still around and Julius C. (I can't say the full name, too hard to spell) was on the crown, he wanted to be like his predecessor, Augustus. We get August from him, the month of my birth. August had taken one day off of the 30 day month of February, and to be like him Julius took one from February and put it on his month, July. You see, the calendar was already made and there couldn't be a change in days, so they both just took days off of a month. Well, there was something wrong with the dates and it's too mathematical to explain to the average Joe, so I'll just say that every four years, they had to make it 29 again. I learned about in in my textbook. You can Google it for more information. But anyway, February 29th is a cool day in it's own respects, and is quite unique. No other month has the same number of days. But I still wouldn't want to be born on that day.

But to the blog.

In the morning, Dad said that he was doing breakfast that morning. It was on a Thursday, the second day in the month of February. We were driving to Austin, Texas, now away from the more Mexican sounding towns and into the heart of Texas, where the American's town was. But I wondered, as I showered and was ready to eat, what Dad actually had planned for breakfast. What I didn't know was that on every Thursday the KOA operated Chuck Wagon a little trailer and picnic tables under a porch a little ways away from us, provided breakfast. Dad wasn't making anything. It was just the KOA employees. The dogs walked, we walked on over in our sweat pants and stuff, the usual clothes for an easy relaxing day of moving. Me blogging and my knees against the jiggling crate, the dogs snoring and sleeping against the Texas sky and lounging around, Rebecca watching T.V., doing schoolwork, and Barbies, with Mom doing articles. The only person not relaxing would be poor old Dad. But anyway, we walked over there, and Rebecca and I had already gone over alone, going back to tell Mom the choices. She would also later come over. There was a slot and counter where a lady spoke into, and also a menu up against the trailer, with table for all the napkins, forks and spoons. We walked up.

Dad got biscuits, and Rebecca a pancake. Having had Mom's pancakes, and then before going to an iHop, I was done with pancakes for the time being. I ordered a cinnamon oatmeal, a weird change for me. We waited at a table as Mom arrived, and I thought about how big my meal was going to be. The lady had said not too big. After a while of waiting, Mom had heard bits and pieces of a conversation, an old couple talking to another old lady, saying that the San Antonio missions were great and all but paled in comparison to one in Tucson, Arizona, called San Xavier or something close. Then the food arrived, and Rebecca and I went to get it. I loved mine as I set down and got all the necessary utensils, and it was really sugary but good. Rebecca didn't like hers and wanted it to be taken home, going in the R.V., a little sick to her stomach. Mom talked to the old lady from the couple, and they talked about their kids' and grandkids' numerous eating habits like old friends. The lady was right though: the oatmeal bowl wasn't too big. I had thought of getting a burrito if I was still hungry. And then I did, ordering it. To the wispy mustache gentlemen, Mom was talking about the trip and he said he had gone across the Atlantic in a sailboat, and had stopped at the Azoree's. I said in a book I had read called A Tramp Abroad, Mark Twain did that, in another ship. So began a long and interesting conversation.

We talked about different travel and he said that if I liked that kind of stuff to check out a book called Spray by Joshua Slocum. He spelled it out for me. He also said I should read The Last Mohechan and I told him that at my dad's office (the paint store) he had a 1930's edition. He gave me his name as I gave mine, and said he was a history teacher in Maryland, but I am sorry to report that his name escapes me at the moment. He told me to finish my cold burrito, which I had left while talking to the nice man. It wasn't that good anyway, as I soon discovered. Then the couple left, and suddenly Dad and I were left, Mom gone because she needed to check on Rebecca and take a shower. Dad and I put away the trash from the breakfast, and all in all I guess it was good, but not too much. Since Dad needed to pay the night we had stayed without the KOA knowing it, which is allowed to do sometimes, we needed to go into the building. We went in through the back door, speaking about some pretty intelligent and enlighting things as we went in. It was nice, with a store and counter along the right wall, from our point of entry. Everybody in yellow. I felt not in appropriate clothing wearing black and blue, no more cowboy stuff. After paying, we came into a reception hall and I saw on a small shelf, by some computers, in another room disattached from the KOA building, a complete edition Sherlock Holmes book. Since it was free, we took it. I had misgivings about it, that I hadn't brought something in return, but Dad said it was fine. I could use it and read the stories in there I hadn't bought or read. I'm glad I've found it.

We got ready and I was then sad to find that all of the books in this edition of two books (the one I had in my hand was #1) were Sherlock Holmes I either had or had read. But, if I want to read something in a long drive and not take too many books. Maybe it'll come in handy on the way down. But anyhow, we took in all the stuff, and I blogged and did a little schoolwork as we saw the skyline of Austin, with the nice skyscrapers. It's supposed to be a really artsy city. Well, Stephen Austin took 300 settlers, most Americans, down into that colony, as they called it. Well, now it has 1,818, 740, as the city council reports. But I think that's really cool. I met he didn't know that when he died. He might have. But anyway, we followed a road called Martin Luther King Jr. Road, and some other towns have roads of the same name. We passed through the city, and saw a few stands and stuff on one street, and then some funky houses on another. I will describe both of those later. But we came into a nice big campground, called Oak Forest R.V. Park, and there were black large oaks upon the left when we entered, and a field on the right. We stopped at a brown little building with a walkway or ramp up. Dad and I got out of the R.V. and traveled in.

There was a counter at the back of the room, and silent doors on the left, where computers were if you didn't have one yourself. All around was brochures for different things to go to Austin, and to the very right of me, some lounge chairs and couches, plus a flat screen T.V. We walked up and a nice lady behind the counter took us through the whole process, showing where to park and the different things they had at the R.V. park. I drifted to the right, where a large hole was, and then I saw it. Paradise for a R.V. in book lover. It was shelves and shelves of old and new books, all free if you had one to exchange with! To the left were some computers at the back wall by another door, a restroom. To my right was an ottoman and leather chair. I looked at some of the books for a while, finding a book about George W. Bush called First Son. Dad told me to go, and then we went back into the R.V. That lady was nice, saying it was good I enjoyed books. I would be back, I vowed. And with something to exchange, a book called Mockingjay, a book I really didn't like but was very thrilling. I'm sorry that I did, Lacy, but I never wanted to see it again. It made me feel sad. But anyway, we started up the R.V., and disattached the jeep.

We parked with another oak forest in front of us, and to our right a pool, gated, with a pavilion. Then the office was a little further left, out of view. There was also a dirt pile in front of us. I found myself sitting with a Math book, Rebecca softly humming and Mom on her computer. The front window was open, not like it's usual thing where it has a beige tarp that comes down at the push of a button. We were watching an African-American kid with curls and jeans, plus a short sleeve shirt. He was by that dirt pile, waving a stick around. Now done with our schoolwork, Rebecca and I took on our jackets and shoes and went to join the kid. Dad wouldn't be back in a while; he was at the grocery store. Rebecca thought that this kid might be a girl, because the way the kid walked around. I thought it unlikely. We walked over and said hello, and he (by the way he sounded and his deep voice) and he answered. We talked about some stuff, and he said he lived here and went to school close to here, and of course we mentioned the trip. He told us his name was Rex. He was totally a boy, of course. Rebecca was ridiculous to think he was a female. I mean, really? But anyhow, we started playing tag, and Rebecca was it the first time. I then noticed that Rex was on barefeet. It was crazy he was. We ran off, in the oak forest, around all the green shrub and pot holes, the pretty oaks above us.

Rex became it, and I ran around the pavilion, away from him. I then pretended to go to the restroom, and came out through a small exercise room, and peeked under the picnic tabled pavilion. Then we went running again. Tired after all that fun, we then sat down and thought out the next game. After a long time of thinking and Rebecca saying "she" to Rex and then Rex laughing about it saying he was defintley a boy, we decided to play Survivor, and make two teams. It took a while to find out we were going to be 3 characters, and picking which teams and clarifying everything. After all that we played it, using the dirt pile in half, and it being two beaches. I was a karate expert and a scientist and a rich British schoolboy, and Rex was a hunter and ninja. Rebecca was a prissy girl. Oh and I was an Italian Chef. It was a lot of fun, stealing from each other's teams, going back and forth, being eaten by sharks. I really liked this cool fun dude, who was also a really good ninja and funny. There was some action too, and Rebecca made the dinners. I was also the host, and told the different challenges. It was the most fun part of the day. Period. It sadly ended when a sudan pulled up and some people in there told Rex he had to go. I waved goodbye to him, saying it was really fun. They drove off.

Rebecca still had a hunch that he was a girl, pretending to be a girl kind of like that dude on Dancing with the Stars, Chaz Bono. She is totally wrong. That is ridiculous.

Dad came with groceries and we put them up. We just blogged and ate and talked last night, also watching T.V. The following day would bring farmers to president, hair in my eyes to a good trim, and ill-fated families. Please read it. You'll be glad you did. Goodbye for now.

Rex a girl. The voice, the interests, the clothes, the attitude. He is totally not a girl. If he's a girl, pigs fly and I have three hammers inside of my head, with a talking apple always on my shoulder. Yeah, he's a girl. (sarcastiually.)-

The blogger.