We ended up spending eight nights in Tucson, Arizona.  That was exactly twice as many nights as we spent in any one town anywhere else along our Alaska journey.  That was partially because we were having some minor repairs done on the motorhome, but also because we both like the Tucson area.  It was a little too hot this year to suit us at 104-105 degrees every afternoon.  True, it is a dry heat, but still the afternoons are just like an oven.  But the bright sun gave us a chance to tan up again after wearing jeans and long sleeves all summer in Alaska.  And because of the heat Daisy finally gave up wearing her favorite Alaska boots we bought for her and is back into flip flops, her usual Florida footwear.

At first we were so caught up in the motorhome repairs and the sight seeing around the area that we ignored the plethora of fine eating establishments in Tucson.  We both like Mexican cuisine and we finally realized what better place to taste really good Mexican food than in a town filled with illegal immigrants, and where over half of the local TV stations broadcast only in Spanish?? Just as in Alaska, where there was a coffee stand on every corner, in Tucson there seemed to be a stand selling hot dogs or tacos on every corner.  I was not expecting hot dog stands in Tucson and don’t remember them from previous visits.    But when we decided to go out for Mexican food we had a nice sit-down kind of place in mind.  So I got on the internet and found one with really good reviews and photos that made it look attractive, and so we headed out.  But when we got there it was not in a nice section of town, and it was a place where you ordered at a window, and then took your food inside to eat or stayed outside at their tables.  But most importantly I noticed that they bragged about their version of something called “Sonoran Style Hot Dogs”.  Now, I pride myself on being something of a hot dog aficionado.  I’ve had them all over West Virginia, Pennsylvania and New York.  I’m usually strictly a chili, onion and mustard kind of guy, and the chili makes the dog for me.  The only place that seems to specialize in them that I have not tried is the Cincinnati area.  But Sonoran Style Hot Dogs intrigued me and in spite of Joan’s reluctance we stayed and both ordered one.  It sports a wiener wrapped in bacon and cooked on the grill.  Pure health-food, right?  Then they add Pico de Gallo, cheese, a Mexican Mayo, and, of course, some peppers.  I’m not going to say this was the best hot dog I’ve ever had.  Or even second or third best.  Those spots all belong to places in West Virginia with Wimpy’s Pool Hall in Elkins, WV in the early 1960’s still holding the top slot. (Wimpy’s dogs were even better when I finally turned 18 and could legally eat them accompanied by an ice cold Stroh’s or Iron City!)  Nor were these Sonoran style dogs the most unusual I have had.  That distinction belongs to the “Viagra Dog” from Bob’s in Norton, West Virginia.  It is a foot long wiener served on a six inch bun with the bun placed clear at the one end of the wiener.  (Seriously!)  But the Sonoran Style dog was so good that I was ready to go back to get another one the next day.  But Joan still had her mind set on going to that nice sit-down kind of place which we did.  And it was good too, but I sure would have liked to have had another of those Sonoran Styles.

I took a ton of pretty good cactus photos around the Tucson area, but one cactus in particular caught my eye as we were driving by, and I had to stop and turn the car around and go back to photograph it.  You see, it reminds me exactly of Joan after a double martini.

After the eight days in Tucson we decided that we had had about as much fun as we can stand for one summer, and that it was time to get serious about getting back to Florida.  I’m anxious to start playing tennis again with my buddies there, and Joan is missing her music playing friends.  Therefore, our plan was to not make any more stops at parks, monuments, historical places, etc.  We knew we were going to stop for a few days in Houston to visit these new twin grand-babies, but no other stops were planned.  We left Tucson, spent a night in Van Horn, Texas and another in Junction, Texas, and then got up bright and early on Friday morning for the five hour drive to Houston.  We were really looking forward to spending a nice weekend there with our daughter’s family.

You know how when you are driving along you sometimes see birds ahead on the road cleaning up some road-kill carcass?  And you know how those birds, usually they’re buzzards of some variety, always see you coming and they fly away?  Then if you look in the rear view mirror after you pass, they just fly right back down and resume their meal.  Okay so, I’m driving the WildaBeast along on Friday morning on a country road near Johnson City, Texas (home of LBJ) heading for Houston.  I’ve got the cruise control set at about 62 mph.  I’m listening to Merle Haggard on Sirius Radio singing “Everybody’s Had the Blues Sometime”.  And I’m right there singing along with old Merle, matching him note for note, and word for word.  And sounding pretty good too, even if I do say so myself.  Just then I spot this group of 8-10 huge buzzards about a quarter of a mile ahead of me on the road.  Nothing to worry about, right?  They ALWAYS fly away.  And sure enough all but four of them immediately take off.  Now I’m about an eighth of a mile away and two more fly away.  But the other two seem to be having a disagreement over whether to leave or not.  However, one of the two decides it really is time to get going and he flies off when I am about 100 yards away.  Now I’m beginning to really bear down on that last one and I consider tapping the brake to slow down a little.  But, then I would just have to reset the cruise control again.  And besides I KNOW this last one is about to make his exit from my pathway.  And sure enough he does just at that moment.  Imagine my relief!  But then this retarded buzzard decides to fly right at the oncoming WildaBeast rather than following his buddies.  Thank goodness for safety glass, but it is shatter RESISTANT, not shatter PROOF.  WildaBeast won the battle, but did sustain some damage.  The windshield shattered and glass just blew everywhere inside the motorhome.  We finally found a place to stop and pull off of the road to clean up.  My hair, eyebrows and beard were loaded with pieces of glass.  Daisy rides on the floor between and behind our seats.  When I took her outside with me she stood there and shook herself off, and glass flew off of her like water after she swims.  We found pieces of glass clear back in the bedroom at the rear of the coach and that is almost 40 feet from the point of impact, so its amazing that none of the three of us were injured.  For now the motorhome is still in Johnson City awaiting a new windshield.  We are in Houston until the repair can be scheduled.

The unplanned night we spent in Johnson City did give us a chance to visit The LBJ National Historical Site.  I was never a huge fan of LBJ so we had never stopped in Johnson City even though we had driven through there at least twice before.  But with time to kill this time we did it.  I was a sophomore in high school when Johnson assumed the presidency after Kennedy’s assassination.  By then he was already an older man by my standards at that time.  Therefore, I always assumed that he grew those huge ears in adulthood.  But inside the LBJ visitor center some early photos of him as a small child proved me wrong.  I’ll bet he always had a terrific sense of hearing.

Speaking of the twins, I ran across this photo that I took of them on our last visit.  No wonder Andrew is bigger than Audrey. Blame Grandma!

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