After deciding to stay on in Wichita Falls another day, I took time to look over the trip log. Sorry, my books will not be accurate due to that rainstorm in Georgia. Too many of the records got wet, but I do know that at $223.40 in gasoline, I’m already $13 over what was allocated for the entire trip to Denver. And I’m still 635 miles away. I need some convenient way to carry papers on the motorbike that is waterproof. The sidecar is not leak-proof, and the pockets provided are much too small.
I took the electric bike up and down every central street in Wichita Falls this morning. I could not find a coffee shop. Every second building is nailed shut and the surviving businesses have a lean and hungry look. There are old buildings, but all taken over by non-industrial concerns (like law offices) and service industries (payday loans). Shown here is a million-dollar factory, now abandoned. I then drove south to the new corridor along the highway that goes through town (221 I think). Even that was sparse looking, about a third was vacant lots.Next, I toured the streets of the older areas of town. My impression is that the world has moved on and Wichita Falls has not. From when I was last here, there was not a single familiar person or sight that remains. While there is something to be said for staying put, I’m kind of glad that didn’t happen with me and Wichita Falls. This stopover was not part of the trip plan, but since I may live here a few months in the upcoming years, I wanted to see for myself.
This picture, I think, shows Wichita Falls accurately. These rusting rails show that at some point, there must have been enough bustle for seven lines to run through town. Now there is a small train museum, conveniently on the side spurs where the steam locomotive and passenger cars were mothballed. Other than ranch supply, the economy here seems based on selling each other hamburgers and used cars.It was 102 degrees out there, a Texas dog day. Call me after siesta. My neck and arms are looking like old leather, remind me to moisturize. I’m sporting a Texas bandana and one of those head thingees you tie from behind. The one the cool guys wear. I’ve learned to wear it under my cycle helmet when I noticed I was getting a tan the same pattern as the ventilation slots. This heat led to a ferocious afternoon rainstorm, right about the time I wanted to scout the town for a Karaoke club. (I like to know where I’m heading when I go back after dark.)
Here’s a photo of the big hotel downtown. At ground level it looks like a bunch of expensive boutiques and art galleries, so I didn’t stop. It’s another indication that there was a time when this town must have been some place. From what I saw, there were not enough people downtown to fill all seven floors.Now, the population of Wichita Falls is listed as 104,553 (2010 Wiki) and declining somewhat rapidly. That still means, on average there are something like 250 pubs and taverns. Since these cluster in certain areas, the average resident would see dozens of them per week in course of commuting. Pubs are usually distinct with trucks and motorcycles in front and neon beer signs in the window. Yet if you ask for directions, the locals try to impress you by pretending they don’t know. (Don’t you love the ones who say, “I don’t drink.” There’s distinct odds such people don’t get laid either, but that’s not what you asked them.)
This evokes the old wife’s tale that men don’t ask for directions. In a sense, it is true, because old wife’s have never learned how futile it is. Stop a local on the street and you are more likely to get opinion than facts. (Personally, I think it is funny to watch most women ask for directions. The stranger pretends to know and the woman pretends to get it. I’ve seen it get hilarious.) In a given situation, after getting a second set of bad directions, it is more efficient to drive around until you find it by chance than to keep asking. But that’s one of me against how many of them?
In the end, I picked an old main road and followed it until I found anything that looked like Karaoke. I was right, just not on a Tuesday. I visited the (local places called) “PromisedLand” and “Odds”and dashed home before a terrific thunderstorm. I’m tempted to stay another day. Yes, I called Fred, JP, the bakery, and Colorado. Why not stay? That’s a tricky call, so I did what any reasonable person would do; I went home and made popcorn. The kind where all the flavoring sticks to the package, but it’s artificial enough that you still can taste it. Movietime, that’s the one, and millions to the guy who solves the problem of getting the flavor on the corn instead of the paper.
Mysterious events. This morning I missed a call because the phone was on the charger. I glanced at the number and it jogged my memory from the 1970’s. I called back and sure enough, it is a phone in the back office of the “International Department” at the University of Calgary. The guy said yes, the phone has been there since he started, more than 26 years ago. But nobody uses it. I described the office and he confirmed that’s where the phone was located, and that he was alone and had to unlock the back room when he heard it ringing. That call remains unexplained.
Later. Something unusual is going on with the phone. I'm getting calls from places I used to live or recently passed through. The people say they are returning my call, which appears on their missed call directory. This morning I got a call from Tuscaloosa, which I passed by 100 miles away three days ago. The guy says I called his number this morning at a time I was sound asleep. It gets curiouser and curiouser.
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