I have now resorted to using chapstick on my raw nose. Too many tissues have left my nose in unseasonable competition with Rudolf. Being sick on the road certainly is a mixed bag.
One of the decongestants I’m taking swapped out my bladder for a Dixie cup. Despite desperately needing rest, the night is punctuated with visits to the bathroom—requiring me to get dressed and walk across a windy parking lot each time. I desperately want to spend an hour in a hot tub with a warm wet hand towel over my face. I wish to be suffused with steam. Lacking that, though, we head down to South Padre Island, hugging the remaining Texas/Mexico border along the way. We drove through the streets of Lorado with nary a cowboy in site, following the 83 to the Gulf of Mexico.
We drive past stretches of scrub brush interrupted by the occasional mobile home or camper under an oppressively cloudy sky. The heat and humidity is a welcome shift in our weather experience. This is what I imagine Florida to be like, though I’ve never been to that state. It looms large in my book of relative inexperience. All these years, all this time on the road, and I’ve never been to Florida. But I have been to the southern tip of Texas.
I may be under the weather but so is southern Texas. Meteorologists promise storms in the coming days. Between our colds, the extended holiday weekend, and the suboptimal weather, we agreed to delay our trip to South Padre Island in favor of a little break and an attempt to work at a hotel one hour inland. My first order of business is to take a long hot bath. I am certain that the pressure in my head could turn coal into diamonds. My sinuses need a break.
Sunset from the 277
