I used to be a night person.  But when you make a living as a musician you usually see the sun rise after a late show and an even later party.
     We left town on Monday the 2nd of July.  We were cruising down I35 trying to figure out how to bypass rush hour traffic in Dallas but our trusty GPS told us to get off at 290 and cut through east Texas towards Texarkana.  If you aren't from Texas or the Austin area you probably don't know the loath that we have for the wonderful design of I35.  Other then the brilliant leaps in civil engineering it illustrates, if you are driving on I35 there is a chance you are going to Dallas or San Antonio.  I need not say more about that. 
        Our hearts where already drumming with excitement at the adventure that lies ahead of us. But the opportunity to be leaving I35 in the furthest corner at the back of our subconscious was too much.  The small east Texas highways presented some of the most pleasant scenery we've seen thus far, yet we could not wait to be out of the obtuse and excessive state that Texas is.
       I was sitting shotgun while Christina kept us at a steady cruising speed.  We talked most of the time on this first leg of the trip.  With so much work to be done before we left home it felt like the first time in a while that we could just talk as two people.  As two best friends.  The art of being free.  The open road.
   We stopped around sunset to fuel up and feed Roadie and ourselves.  The sky shown a hue of red with deep purple in it.  The same as the red clay that covers the landscape around Tyler, Texas.  It was as calm as I have ever felt in the parking lot a Shell station.  A stray dog even paid us a visit.
     When we hit the road again it was Christina's favorite time of night.  The time of night when the sun leaves the horizon but leaves behind a little light.  The last streaks of blue left in the sky.  The dark and tired blue.  When we crossed the Arkansas line there was a collective sigh of relief from all of us.  Me, her, and Roadie.  But we still had some miles to cover before we made it to Lake Catherine State Park outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas.  We wound our way through the woods with the windows rolled down until we made it to the very dark campground.  We decided to pitch a tent and keep the food locked up safe from bears we said, but really from racoons.  The heat was extreme.  Somewhere in the 80's with more hydrogen than oxygen in the air it felt.  I'm a very light sleeper so between the heat and Roadie's panting I got very little sleep.
      Day two started very early for me.  I woke up startled by the fact that I had fallen asleep at all.  The tree frogs had quit their arguing and Roadie was fast asleep.  The sun had not risen yet but my mind had.  I kept hearing noises outside the tent I thought but they could have been in my head as well.  By the time the sun did start peaking in the distance we were all rustling around and anticipating today's drive.  We ate some frosted shredded wheat cereal, packed up the van and headed in west towards Hot Springs to pick up a national parks pass.
      Hot Springs needless to say was a strange experience.  Almost every shop on the main road, including the visitors center where we were supposed to get our parks pass was closed.  But there were still plenty of people walking around the street.  Most of which seemed to be wearing clothes they maybe had never washed since the day they picked them up from the Walmart.  God bless America.  The town reminded me of Corpus Christi.  There was once a day where towns like that were thriving with tourists living out the fantasy of the American road trip.  Hot dogs. Hamburgers. Beaches. Bath houses?  Don't get me wrong I love a good bath house, but when I think of a national park I don't think of a place where the buildings resemble headstones of the resort town that once was there.
    So one failed mission lead to the next.  It was simple.  I wanted some coffee not from a gas station.  I searched on my phone for a Starbucks because that sounded like the safest option.  We drove to the spot where there was supposed to be one but instead it was a Java Primo.  I was actually excited because I didn't have to step foot into a Starbucks.  But believe it or not, I would much prefer the atmosphere of Starbucks over this place.  Strange names for drinks that already existed.  Automatic espresso machines.  The employees where all wearing headsets.  It was pseudo Starbucks.  Why would you do that?  And the product was awful.  My iced coffee tasted like bitter cough syrup that lingered far too long.
    So we loaded up again and on we went.  The western part of Arkansas was very pretty.  Old trees overlooked creeks and swamps.  We passed by exits for roads with names like, Shady Grove, Dangerfield, Big Sandy, Monroe, and other fiddle tunes.  Each time we would pass them I would grab my mandolin and play the tune. If I didn't know it I would try and figure it out.  I called Pickles in California and woke him up to hum the second part of Monroe's Hornpipe for me.  This continued for some time but wore off as we neared Missouri.  The landscape was becoming less entertaining by the mile.  But the billboards made up for it.  My favorite one displayed the words, "Jesus, is he in you"? 
    We made up for the dull scenery by playing a little drinking game.  Don't worry, we weren't drinking during the drive but instead played for the rights to the first taste of the delicious small batch bottle of bourbon our friend Elliott gifted us with.  The game was who could score the most points from an outdated box of trivial pursuit cards.  Unfortunately for me Christina's refined nose and pallet for whiskey brought her to victory.  This game went on for a very long time.
     By the time we crossed the mighty Mississippi into Illinois we were trying to find anyway to keep our minds occupied.  I read to her for a little while but the combination of my reading and the rain was not motivating enough.  We would turn on the radio for a while, turn it off and talk, and go back to the game of trivial pursuit until finally we reached the Indiana border.
     There wasn't more than an hour of sunlight left at this point but thank god for the last hour we had.  The scenery was night and day crossing into Indiana.  Vibrant with numerous shades of green.  Old and quaint farm towns.  Rolling hills.  It was wonderful.  The sun sank and the small towns lacked street lights leaving us feeling like kids sneaking through the house in the middle of the night.  Until finally we were there.  Into the comfort and welcoming arms of family.  The warm glow of that beautiful house on the corner in Logansport, Indiana.  We hugged and shared stories until the all too inviting beds called our names.