Southbound To Corpus - Into The Fog

I spent a good amount of time crafting the introduction to my last post, in which I proceeded to launch into a tirade against myself that focused on better note taking and my pursuit of reducing the time between an event occurring and its respective story being published. Whelp, considering this particular entry is being uploaded less than a month after my previous post, I can, at least in my own mind, claim victory. Albeit a small one, as overall, I am still over a year late actually writing this all down.

However, in the spirit of transparency, I will also reluctantly admit that the notes from this trip are rather limited. That is, unless you count a receipt from Discount Tire as some form of note taking.

This journey started off with a bang, quite literally. The day before, as I was on my way home from the office, I hit something on the road and heard a rather loud thunk. That thunk was followed almost immediately by a few expletives and a series of alarms lighting up my dash, confirming what I already suspected: I was losing air from my right rear tire, and fast.

Thankfully, I was able to pull over safely, assess the damage, and formulate a game plan. While looking at the sizeable metal object that had decided to embed itself in my tire—and not wanting to change the wheel without level ground—I called my wife. I was parked less than ten minutes from the house, and although the tire was still losing pressure, I figured I could make it home, or at least to a better spot, if I was able to add some air.

While on the phone with Sarah, I asked if she could grab the smaller air compressor from the garage and meet me. A little while later, she parked. After a brief conversation, I grabbed the compressor from the back of her Explorer, plugged it into my truck (thank you, F-150 PowerBoost), and inflated the damaged tire enough to limp home and get to level ground.

I managed to change everything out, though not without saying a four-letter word that starts with “F,” along with just about every variation of it, including those ending in “-ing.” That frustration stemmed from discovering that the floor jack I own simply wasn’t capable of lifting the truck high enough off the ground. This meant removing the children’s car seats from the back seat of my truck, which is far more difficult than it should be (what the heck, Graco), and suffering through the experience of using the OEM-supplied jack. Even reflecting back on this moment is enough to get me a little peeved and probably spike my blood pressure.

Once the spare was on, I moved the truck into the garage and started mentally working through plans for the next day. Well, scratch that. I actually paused the brainstorming session briefly because I was extremely hungry and made the decision that any planning could wait until after dinner and a full stomach.

Despite my lack of note taking, I remember that meal clearly because it was on point and incredibly comforting. Sarah made a fantastic grilled cheese—sourdough bread, multiple cheeses—the very definition of chef’s kiss.

After my much-needed food coma and once the kids were tucked in, my mind kicked into overdrive. I was not about to drive down to the coast on a spare, even if it was a full-size one. I’m bothered by odd things, which probably comes as no surprise if you personally know me or have followed my randomness for a while. Just the thought of the cosmetic mismatch between the spare and the rest of the wheels made me cringe. Uniformity matters to me. I’m not sure if that’s the creative side of my brain, some mild OCD, or just me being weird.

In this case, though, it also came down to professionalism, or rather the perception of professionalism. The meetings scheduled for the following day were important and arguably high-level. Because of that, showing up in a vehicle that looked a little on the rough side would not have set the right tone. As unrealistic and unfortunate as it may sound, even in the fleet world, vehicles are judged. If they weren’t, I would probably be rocking a much older Ford truck.

After somehow getting a good night’s sleep, and following a cup of coffee, a shower, and then more coffee, a finalized plan took shape. All of this happened around 6:00 a.m. Discount Tire didn’t open until 8:00 a.m., so I had some time to kill. After a few phone calls, everything that needed adjusting was, thankfully, sorted out.

I went to Discount Tire right when they opened, had the tire issue resolved, and somehow walked out with new wiper blades as well. Initially, I balked at the suggestion to buy wipers there, even giving the rep a questionable look, but quickly agreed once I learned they were cheaper than what I could purchase them at through my own place of employment. Make that make sense.

I left Discount Tire far earlier than expected—roughly fifteen minutes or so after they opened—and hit the road down to Corpus. Apparently, not many people are dealing with tire problems two days after Christmas, and I am by no means complaining about that. It worked out in my favor, as I was in and out faster than I ever have been. (I’ve had visits there last for hours.)

The drive itself was uneventful, at least at first. Much like my previous trip down 37 the month prior, traffic was incredibly light. However, by the time I reached Whitsett, the weather began to shift, and I soon found myself in some of the thickest fog I had ever driven through. In certain areas, visibility dropped to maybe ten or fifteen feet at best. I was forced to slow way down, which obviously added time to the drive. The fog itself was an issue, though it was made worse by the sun reflecting off it and flattening everything even further.

I still managed to get into town with about a ten-minute cushion, which is a little too close for comfort, in my opinion. (Being early is being on time, and being on time is late.)

The work-related portions of the trip went well and wrapped up without issue. I had enough time afterward to grab lunch at Brewster Street with a friend and co-worker. I hadn’t been there in well over a decade, the last time being for a Jack Ingram concert that I was there to document at a time when I was generating a portion of my income from photography.

As we ate, the fog—which had briefly settled—began to roll back in with a vengeance. It was eerie and carried an almost dystopian, post-apocalyptic vibe. Colors flattened, visibility dropped again, and the outside world started to resemble something straight out of The Walking Dead. That feeling ended up influencing the way I designed the artwork overlay for this post and gave me some inspiration as I was composing photographs.

After lunch, I stuck around the downtown area near Shoreline and went on another brief walking and photo trek. I covered many of the same spots from my last trip, along with a few new ones, and had an absolute blast doing it. The weather and time of year kept most people elsewhere, which meant I could move freely and quietly through the area.

I could have stayed much longer, as I was thoroughly enjoying the calm and isolation. However, between the uncertainty of how long the fog would last and the long drive home ahead of me, I knew it was time to leave. So, I packed up, reluctantly, put the truck in drive, and started the journey back home.

Enjoy!
—Tyler