My favorite wood is mesquite, next in line would either be oak or Bois D’arc. A lot of places we cook at furnish wood but their idea of the condition of wood and mine are sometimes different. Seasoned wood doesn’t nesesarliy mean what’s in season, it’s supposed to mean cured and dry.

That reminds me…do you have time for a story?

I cooked for some folks one time in Arkansas who furnished wood and they assured me  it was in the barn in the dry. It rained on me the entire drive up there and every once in awhile I thought that I might have to trade the wagon in for an ark. I was pretty sure wherever they were going to have me set up we’d need an airboat to get me there. Turns out, that wasn’t too far from the truth. And as far as wood status, it was in the barn alright, but the barn didn’t have a top on it! But you have heard me say I like a challenge and this one is one I learned from.

The next morning the sun broke through the dark and gloomy skies and it looked like is was going to be a red letter day. The folks I was cooking for drove me out to the cooking site. They pointed out in the distance to a spot of high ground where they wanted the wagon, but between me and that spot was a large flat of soggy Bermuda grass that looked like the swamplands.

Supper was to be at 6 pm and it was now 8 am, so I began to ponder what to do, how to get there and just how were they going to get them hungry folks out there to the wagon to eat. Maybe it was one of them BYOC parties, you know Bring Your Own Canoe.

Meanwhile while I was pondering on the situation another feller showed up and asked, “You the one going to cook our supper tonight? You know there is going to be about 150 of us hungry guys.” I told him I sure was, but there was one small problem of how to get across the bog and what were they going to do to get folks to me.

With every problem that arises there is a solution of some kind if you can just think of it or find it. The wind that had started to blow would help but we needed about a 100 mph breeze  to dry this loblolly out. So this fellar got on his CB and began to get folks out there. One feller who showed up was driving a Teragator which looks like a giant tricycle with 8 foot rubber tires and told me he could pull the wagon out there. At that moment that man became my new best friend. “But what about my old stove, Bertha?” I asked. “Don’t worry about her,” he said, ” we will put her on two wooden pallates and drag her out there to you.”

This looked like a bunch of rednecks at a mudbug race where the crawdads were just a little bigger. Looked good when we finally got the wagon and Bertha set up, but hold them reins…we still had wet wood and I mean wet! You could wring water out of it. Thanks to propane and a lot of it I got a fire started and began to cook an evening meal of stew, cornbread and cobbler. The stew wouldn’t be a problem but the cobblers and cornbread would take some doing ’cause wet wood doesn’t make many coals. This was the first time I ever cooked in a Dutch oven using only propane. I used the propane torch and with even circulation heated the top and bottoms of the ovens. Rotate ovens, stir stew with one hand and greet folks with the other. Something I ain’t never done is be late or serve cold food much less half cooked.

When it was time to eat, they were bringing folks out on four wheelers, gators and one fellar even road his mule out. I like foks to turn out if I’m going to go the trouble of fixing it and these folks did. All in all it was a good day, we didn’t burn anything, no one got food posioning and as far as I can recollect no one drowned. I did stay one extra day to let it dry up a little before I could load everything. I thanked them folks for all their help and told them if they ever got in a drought to holler I can really cook when it’s dry!

It was sometimes meant as, “That will get us by until we have time to do better,” or  ”It’lldo this time, and we will gather all of them the next time.” I even heard it said by a banker once (and I just mean once and once only), when we were short on a payment by thirteen dollars, “Oh it’lldo until you can get back in here.”

It’lldo sometimes got mistaken for, “I forgot,” or “I was too busy.” After an all day affair of moving cows and patching fence some old rank cow had rearranged  Dad would say, “It’lldo until we have more time.” Well more times than not we didn’t get back that way until that same old cow had beat us out that same hole again. Cows are like elephants the rank ones never forget where an escape route is located. Then Dad would say, “That it’lldo didn’t do much for her, did it Tudor?

I have been on ranches cooking and noticed all of the old hands, by old  I mean seasoned like my iron, well used and dependable, and they got by with what they had. There was nothing fancy, no bling or chrome hanging off their rigging. And when we’d be sitting around the fire after supper some of the younger generation would make a comment, “You ought to get you some of these handmade boots or these leggings with the big concho’s on them.” Now in unison, like the choir singing at church, the old hands would chime in together and say, “Oh what I got, I guess it’lldo.” That particular it’lldo just meant they didn’t need any more than what they had and it didn’t take all that  fancy stuff to make a hand.

It’lldo should never be a saying for settling for less than your best in your work, or the way you live or even for what you expect in return. It was meant by the ones I learned it from as saying “We will get back to it later and I promise to do better” or “It’s all we got for the day and tomorrow we will finish the job we started.”

I heard my mother say, as she was dusting the furniture in our house after numerous dust storms, “It’s a spit and promise and it’lldo.” What she meant was, I’ve cleaned it with all I had at the time and I promise to do better. When you do all you can do and it’s all you’ve got, don’t be ashamed to say it’lldo. You gave your best and that’s all anyone can ask.

It’lldo might not even be considered by Webster as a proper phrase or preposistion or whatever them words are I was supposed to have learned in grammar school. But be sure to not abuse it’lldo or it will run over you. There are certain times when a it’lldo won’t do at all… that’s in loving someone, caring for someone and caring for those around you. That’s when it’s a getitdone! Shannon and I can never use an it’lldo when we’re cooking for folks ’cause it has to be our very best effort every time -that’s what the folks eating it deserve.

It’lldo is a bookmark, so you remember where you left off. Just make sure to pick the book back up because you’ll never know how the story ends if you don’t.

We’ve added some new products, including our new cookbook, to the website. And for YOU we’re offering %15 off when you order $40 or more.

Enter the code: BLOG

Offer expires Feb. 3.

Thanks for reading!

Of  all the days and nights that I’ve spent with my old wagon on ranches the worst stretch of time, in terms of Mother Nature’s wrath, was in December of 2003 in the Pala Duro Canyon. I was working for old Rex Glover who had a bunch of country leased of off the J.A.’s.  I set up camp on November 29th and fed the usual crew of 12, all Panhandle boys and seasoned hands. A crew not just in it for the money, they probably would have worked for half the wage, but did it for the love of the job and the lifestyle.  Now all of the years I’d been cooking for Rex, the day we set up was always windy, cold and just plain nasty. But this particular day in November was just a prelude of things to come that long 3 weeks of fall works.

The first week the weather was decent. The mornings were cold but the afternoons and evenings would warm to the 40′s which is prime cow-hunting weather. It also is pretty nice to build a fire in. But we soon found out that the peace wasn’t going to last. Sort of like doing dental work on a snapping turtle… eventually he’s going to bite.

Seven days  in and 21 meals fed, we broke camp and moved about 1o miles to the Mallard Trap. It was a great day to set up camp, not a breath of air or cloud in the sky. After the wagon was set, fly up and all teepees in their new home, Rex decided to be generous enough to allow all the fellers to go home, do some laundry and be back for supper the next day. Sounded good to us!

Well this was a bit of a dilema for me. Of the 23 years cooking off the wagon, I have never ran off and left her and old Bertha unattended.  But Rex assured me, “The wind ain’t going to blow that hard…them weather man lie about their predictions all the time.” Anxious for a soft place to land and a hot shower I stayed at Rex’s house that evening.

At about 3 a.m. that old blue norther came a callin’ and she wasn’t just knocking she was breaking down the door! Rex’s little double-wide was rocking back and forth like a ship at sea. I later found out the wind gusts were peaking at 67 mph, that doesn’t like much from being a Category 1 Hurricane!  But instead of rain it was dirt.

After a morning of feeding and sorting cows, Rex and I headed to camp to assess the damage. We pulled into camp and found several teepees down, and more with holes in them.  When I turned to look at the wagon, my heart sank.  The fly had ripped plum in two. There it stood with just two halves flapping. The only thing I could think to do was pull the whole thing down before the tears got worse.

Without that fly, I couldn’t attached the walls which kept the cold wind and dust out. It sure is hard to have a house with no walls and at this point  I sure didn’t know if I could do it. Could I sew up that fly while still feeding cowboys 3 meals a day? Sewing up a 14′ x 26′ canvas fly is no easy feat to tackle… even in good weather and with a machine.  All I had was a harness needle, some waxed nylon and a good 35 mph gentle breeze.

Three days later, I finally got the fly stitched up. And if I can say without bragging, to sew up a gash like that would make any heart surgeon blush and run backwards. During those days I was sewing, it was sure cold but the good news was there wasn’t much wind. I remembered old Chris Morton saying we would have to pay for these nice days. I just grimaced and hoped he was wrong.

I keep an old battery operated radio in camp to keep up with the outside world but mostly for the weather and occasional Bob Wills tune. That morning at about 4:15 a.m., the weather man came on and said, “Chances are a cold north wind will come in and some snow flurries with possible wind gusts to 60 mph.” What did he mean by chances are? Was someone going to hold up a winshield before it got down here in the canyon? It would have been more accurate if he would have said, “Tie things down and bring the chickens in the house it’s fixin’ to blow!” Well the day this was all supposed to take place was exacly one week after the first big storm. Somebody needs to shut that door up there and keep this breeze out of my kitchen!

After knocking the stakes of the wagon tent one more notch I headed to bed…surely it can’t blow no worse than it did a week ago.

We woke up December 15th, to a breeze of 25 mph… and it was just getting started. After breakfast before the boys rode out, I told them all to put a rock in their pockets and not to use the stampede string on their hats ’cause if their hat blows off it will either choke ‘em to death or beat ‘em like a red-headed step child!

By noon, when them fellers came by to partake in the feast I had layed out, the dirt was darkening the sky like a slow moving solar eclipse.  As they road out into the red rain, I remember telling them that if I didn’t get blowed away or get a better offer I’d see them for supper.

Dust Bowl

Now, I didn’t live through the dust bowl but my dad did and I heard him tell stories about it. The sky would get so dark by mid-afternoon that them old chickens would go to roost and the dirt would drift in like snow. Well for the first time,  I lit a lantern at 3 in the afternoon. I put all four walls of the tent up to keep out the elements, but anytime I had to leave to get wood or water I felt like I was being sandblasted. I could see about 50 yards ahead of me, but beyond that was just a thick curtain of red dirt. A heard of buffalo could have stampeded camp before I could have ever seen them coming. If I had it bad, I knew them hands on horseback had it a whole lot worse.

Dust Bowl House

As an old-timer once said to me, “Ain’t no romance left in this story.”

There was a  dirty, hazy, choking dust all in my kitchen. I poured the leftover dishwater out of them wreck on to the floor just to try and keep the dirt down but there wasn’t enough water in Armstrong County to get that done. Them hands came back at about 4:30 and old Cody Lewis said,  ”Good thing you had a lantern lit, Cookie we might have missed camp!”  I told them fellers supper would be a little late, I wanted to wait for the breeze to subside a tad before we started it. I don’t like dirt in my food, and them boys sure weren’t going to grind their teeth trying to sift out the good from the bad.

It was the first time in my career that we ate a meal late, but it was hot and good and their bellies needed it.  Ole Chris and Cody did the supper dishes for me and and we all discussed and cussed the days events, the wind being the main topic. In the meantime, we had all gotten so busy and wrapped up in one of Bobby Crosslan’s yarns that we didn’t even hear it happen.

About 9:15 p.m. (which is an hour and half past curfew in my kitchen), old Chis stepped out  from under the fly and said, “Ya’ll be quite and listen!” I eased out and stood by the water barrel that’s strapped to the side of the wagon. “Do you here it?” Chris asked. “Loud and clear,” I said. It was the sound of calm and quiet. The sky had cleared up and the moon and stars were shining so bright I didn’t need a lantern to gather wood that night.

With no tarps flapping, we slept pretty good. We had survived that three weeks deep in the Palo Duro Canyon and had a better understanding of what it takes to pull through.

Teddy Roosevelt once said, “When you find yourself at the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.” Well folks, if we hadn’t double knotted ours, we would have been blown down to Houston by now.

If the chances are the wind is going to blow, then hang on. And chances are that a bunch of good cowboys and a cook quite possibly survived the second coming of the Dust Bowl that winter of ’03.

I have had some big footsteps to follow and some so tiny I could barely see them. I tried to follow in my dads footsteps, and man oh man those have been big boots to fill. I’ve stepped out and been stepped on. Some steps came easy and some were hard.

Do you remember thatt old game, Mother May I? Mother may I please take one giant step? Well I’ve found out some of those steps were humongous.

I have tried to step over some things and step around others. I missed a lot of cow pies and rattlesnakes by using the old adage look before you leap. And sometimes I have been so confused on what step to take next I felt like I was in a game of twister with two left feet.

Why can’t there be directions to follow- you know like when you’re trying to put that what-you-ma-call-it  together and it always says Please follow step 1 before going to step 10. Now I know everyone likes a shortcut and sometimes they save time and sweat, but often times they lead to a do over, heartache and embarrassment. There are a lot of steps on a ladder but miss a couple and see what happens.

So where are the directions when we face adversity and hardship and don’t know which step to take next?

Don’t step in that!  Well sometimes it’s too late and you’re knee-deep in it before you realized that you had slid in there in the first place. But since you’re now in the cow pile, whether it be real manure or just the everyday cowpile of life, ask yourself this question, Was this accidental, were you pushed or did it sneak up on you?

I try to avoid some steps because I’m scared of where they might lead or I haven’t been down that path before.  As an old rancher told me once, There are a lot of cow trails out there and the ones that are easiest to follow sometimes just go in circles.

With each step we take we should feel more at ease at taking the next and then the next just like when we’re learning to walk. Often the steps are shaky and not only do they hurt your feet but also your heart. I have learned that it is best to follow in the tracks of those left before, use them as a map or guideline, and when you’re faced with uncertain steps, go for it- that is if it fits. You can walk a lot farther in boots that aren’t too tight. Be comfortable in the steps you take and the journey you’re on. Life is full of obstacles and hardships that you have to step in or step over.  Like my dad said when he found out he had cancer for the second time, This aint no step for a stepper.

Step up in that saddle and take a hold of the reins, he might buck a little but the hardest part was just getting on in the first time.

Most of the steps I have taken were in the right direction, but believe me I got off the trail and made some bad steps too. But you pay a little better attention the next time and take it slower like a sure-footed ole mule on slick rock.

I have found out via my little sweet wife, it’s easier to walk beside someone than walking ahead of or behind them. My steps are lighter and most of the time smoother, as I continue to step along this path of life and its many trails. Sometimes it’s not the steps we take but who we take them with.

They happen twice every day, a sunrise and a sunset. Two pictures that are simalar,  but totaly different in ways. A sight so spectacular that it would make Rembrant’s work look like it was a paint by number.

I have stood in awe and watched with my mouth open and my heart pounding. It never fails, they take your breath away when you’re in the right place at the right time. The colors can be so vivid they shout out at you saying,  Just slow down and take the time to see this miraculous sight!

The canvas is usually a sky that has been darked by the approaching event or a glimmer of hope at dawn’s early light. The colors that follow are not made by a brush stroke but with whispy clouds blown by the winds before them. The slightest hint of light makes a broad spectrum of so many vibrant shades.

This art gallery is open every day and there is no admission, no long lines and you don’t even have to buy a ticket. Just take the time to wait for that short instance a passing moment in time, that moment when the camera of life has the shutter speed slowed down for us all to see. There’s a fresh start for all of us at the begining of a new morning.

I have waited on these moments with more anticipation than a kid waiting on Santa on Christmas Eve.

I’m so glad that I peeked out from the fly of the wagon and took these sights in. Those cowboys I was feeding didn’t mind the wait, they’re in awe by the sight too. I look forward to the morning so we can start this art show all over again.

So next time try to put life on pause for a moment to see Mother Nature’s light. It’s her way of reminding us that each day is fresh, each day is unique and to be thankful that it is another day.

I saw an old cow launch him into space one evening and he did go into orbit.  But upon re-entry, Jake taught that old horned hussie a lesson in proper cow handling!

Now I’m sure he had those days when he ached and hurt, but you never saw it. Everyday Jake would crawl out of his bed, stagger to the door of his teepee and peek out.

“My gosh it looks like it might rain, and I sure don’t have a slicker. I’ve only got one coat and it’s dirty. Surely they don’t expect me to work outside in these conditions. But I sure can’t let me down, they’d be disappointed… heck, some might even be mad. It looks cold out there and it’s barely light. Couldn’t we let it warm up just a little and wait for that old sun to get higher? Well now wait a minute, you hired on to do a job and fellers you’re working with would miss you and your capabilities. Remember yesterday when some of them cows we were driving to the pens and decided they would try to sneak off, running like a bunch of grade school kids at recess? Why if it weren’t for me them fellers would still be trying to find them old cows in the cedar breaks. So let’s look at the pro’s and con’s of this outfit: they start too early, I have to sleep on the cold ground and some of them fellers are a real grouchy. But it does have its bright spots: the food ain’t too bad, I really enjoy being outside (most of the time) and folks say it’s in my blood. Ah, what the heck! Let’s get started and show them bovines that we mean business.  I do hope old Cookie ain’t burnt the bread, nothing I hate worse than a hard burnt biscuit.”

Jake

Now Jessie Ziegler, Jake’s owner, had a dear friend in Jake. Jessie told me once that Jake  was always on time and never let him down. Not many dogs were allowed under the fly of my wagon, but Jake was an exception. He would lay there under Jessie’s chair and never make a sound. He never mooched or tried to steal a bite off someone’s plate and that’s more than I can say for some of the hands I’ve fed.

You could tell by the look in Jake’s eyes he loved two things more than anything in the whole world: working cattle and his owner. You can learn a lot from the way a man treats his dog and the way that dog respects him. There was a great bond between Jake and Jessie, they were family. And I think old Jake might have been the better looking of the two!

But you know the more I think about it, Jake was the only one that never complained about my food or at what time we ate it. Of all the working dogs that I’ve been around there was probably none any better mannered, hard-working and dependable than old Jake.  We could all learn from him. He did his job, never asked for anymore pay and loved to please those around him. Like my dad said, “Find a job you like to do and do it well.” Old Jake sure found him one.

* Jake passed away not long ago, he will be missed not only by Jessie but by all he knew him.

This particular trip to that pasture I was cooking for a branding. I noticed he was leaning and weatherd a might more than usual. I asked one of the old hands on that outfit, “Why hasn’t someone ever straightened that up or even replaced it?” “Well,” he said, “after supper when you get them dishes done, I will catch you up on some history.”

When them supper dishes were all out of the wreck pans, I poured me a cup of coffee old Bertha had been warming all day and sat down with this fellar to hear his story. “Now tell me about that one old post that has stood there by that gate,” I asked.  ”It’s not even in the fence line, it just sits all alone.”

He took a draw off the pipe he was smoking and said these words:

“We just call him the Sentry. That old bodark post was there when I was hired on to this place and that was 53 years ago. It has stood there through blowing and drifting snow, flash floods and heat waves, not to mention the migratory flight of tumbleweeds every fall. I heard that post was put in over a hundred years ago and we all figured if it had stood there that long, we would just leave it be. It has served as night watchman, messenger and hitching post. I myself have left a kerchief tied on there to tell others which pasture I would be in. I knew a fellar who once tied a slick yearling to it while he went and got his trailer. So you see that old lone post has earned a spot and we sometimes even tip our hats to that old cuss, or tell him adios on our way out. I have heard folks call him the Keeper Of the Gate, or the Guardian.”

After everyone had retired to their teepees, I laid there in my bedroll, looking up at the wagon fly that had covered me and many a hand for over 20 years. It too was weatherd and so thin in spots you could almost count the stars. I pondered that ol’ post and the words that fellar had told me. I have great respect for things that have served and maintianed their spot in history. Now this bodark may not be in any fancy book but it has great meaning to those who have known it or learned from it. A lesson I learned from that post is that no matter what things look like at first glance, most of the time there is a deeper meaning- a greater significance. And not everything we see that’s a little bent, standing alone or even a little used is used up. I had a greater respect for that post when I left the bottom pasture than when I went in.

When I got home I visited that old post pile behind the barn looking for some guards to stand at our gate. It sure feels good to have an old friend to visit everyday.

My mother made sure at meal time we all gathered around the table and we had better remember our manners. There is just something special about a family gathered around the table to break bread. We didn’t have a lot, but I can’t ever remember going hungry. My mother was a good cook and when feeding a family of five, you better dig in quick cause if you were late you might not get any.

I remember those times around that table, more than I remember what we had to eat. We didn’t just get nourishment from the food but from the shared stories, the laughter, the tears and sometimes the lessons.

When it was meal time Mom would say, “Let’s gather at the table and we will eat.” My sister, Cindy, who has cerebral palsy was the last guest at the table especially in her younger years before the motorized wheelchair came into her life. Most times either Dale, Randy or I might push her into the kitchen. Dad would sit, and the meal would commence.

It never failed that someone would spill a glass of iced tea… and usually it was Randy. Then came a familiar speech by Mom about how she wished we could get through one meal without someone making a mess. It was also not uncommon for someone, and that being me or Dale, to slip something under that ol’ table to our dependable plate cleaner- the dalmatian dog, old Trey. We were all supposed to clean our plates before leaving the table, which was often difficult when Mom put something green on our plates. But we had figured out, through the help of our older brother, Randy, you could wrap anything green in a piece of bread and ol’ Trey would swallow it in one gulp. He was just proud to be getting something and he didn’t taste anything green, I promise you. but I’ll admit this caused him to have some really bad gas! You know it’s the same for dogs, broccoli will give you gas if eaten too fast.

All the times I sat around the table in my house bring back many fond memories and also some that weren’t so fond. It was at the kitchen table that my dad got a call and we found out his cancer had come back, and it was bad. He just looked at my mother and said these words that I still hear when I think the world has given me more than I can cope with, “It ain’t no step for a stepper.” We all just sat there in silence. For the first time in my life that table served up something that had a bad taste.

Time passed as did my father, and the table that we sat around after his funeral is still in our family today. If only it could talk and tell of the good times it provided, the bond, and the blend of people who had sat at it. Many a good recipe was served off of that old table, and the ones I remember most were made with love and understanding.

A family needs a good table and I had one of the best. It not only held plates but held lives and a family together- better than any glue that was ever used to repair it. So when you sit down for Thanksgiving remember to be thankful, not just for the food but for the folks around the table. You just might come to the realization that it’s not only the legs that hold it up but also the family around it.

These are the questions we often get when starting out on one of those road trips. The never-ending ribbon of asphalt that seems to go on and on. Soon the road that was straight becomes nothing but curves and hills. And just as you near the no passing zone, you’re stuck behind “Hilda” a joy-riding gal, barely peaking over the steering wheel of  her 1970 Crown Victory, cruising at a strong 35 mph.  I had turtles passing me and waving.

On this trip, like all my others,I tell myself I’m not going to stop until we get fuel. But my bladder and the fuel tank are not the same size, so I stop and refuel and get something else to drink and eat.  The added consumption of foot long hot dogs with chili and onions will be sure to give enough indigestion to stay awake. But if your luck runs the same way mine does, that indigestion can turn into severe cramps followed by- oh you guessed it – a surprise attack! Is that a gas pain or something else?  And I  just passed a sign that said road construction next 11 miles!

I broke into a cold sweat. Traffic has now come to a snail’s pace.  I begin to strategize. How far is it to that grove of trees- and can I make it back before traffic starts moving again?

My sweet wife Shannon says, ” You have got be kidding! You’re not really thinking aobut doing that!  Panic has set in and I’m having labor pains.Traffic is now like  a stampede of rushing shoppers on black Friday at Wal-Mart at 5 AM. Scratch that idea. It’s too late, I have to think of a better idea and quick before something happens.  I rolled down the window to get a fresh breeze and put on some loud music to dull the pain.

There in the distance I saw a sign, maybe it is a rest area, an island in this sea of confusion of traffic and paving equipment. I have now reached a cruising speed of 55 mph- not fast enough! I need warp speed, you know that kind Captain Kirk would holler at Scotty when he was in a bind. Speaking of a bind, maybe those cheese and crackers would help. Cheese and peanut butter are supposed to hold the world together.

“Shannon, pass me them crackers and be quick about it!” She says in her little sweet voice, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Biting my lip now, ” Get me that peanut butter, my gosh and be quick about it!”

Now it’s  just a quarter of a mile to the sign that I hope says Rest Area Next Exit. Funny how in the midst of confusion what looks like Rest Area from a distance, is actually No Facilities.  Are you kidding?! This isn’t fair. By now, those labor pains have turned into contractions and there coming quick!

“Hold on,” she says trying to encourage me, “Think of something relaxing. You know, like sitting on the beach watching the waves come in.” You have got be out of your mind! There is only one thing I want to sit on and it’s not a beach.

But wait- there in the distance I see it. A glimmer of hope. A truck stop,!  Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Clause! That old Ford of mine comes in on two wheels and the wagon I’m hauling is trying to pass us before we get stopped. I break and run like school children at recess. “Out my way,” I shout, “This is an emergency!”

Can you tell me why they put those bathrooms at the most farthest point from any entrance door in the building? I ran over a display rack of Slim Jims and Beef jerky but I did dodge the lady with the stroller.

Through the door that said Bulls and there it was- the handicap stall.  The Cadillac of all porcelain Gods.

Well let’s pick up this story some short 10 minutes later. I came out of the truck stop, weaker and with trophies: a GPS, a 44 ounce root beer and that display rack of Slim Jims and Beef Jerky. It wasn’t my fault, the store manager said if you break it you buy it. The look I got from Shannon was that of confusion and disbelief, “You have got be kidding me.” I told her me and that old Ford both have to be refueled after that kind of trip. And as for the GPS I bought, well worth it. I had the clerk in the store program all the rest stops for the next 500 miles.