Getting S*@% on in San Antonio

After breakfast in a Tucson BBQ joint, we stuff the kitties into the crate and leave the sweltering heat of Arizona for the steamy heat of Texas. We notice that the trailer is dangerously close to the ground, but I watch Michael drive and it doesn't seem to scrape the ground at all, so we deem it safe for the day of driving ahead of us.  Still not learning our lesson about how long it took to get to Tucson from San Diego, we head out around noon, figuring that since Google tells us it will take 11 hours, we'll probably get there around 1 or 2 in the morning.

The drive itself is fairly uneventful. Just boring and long. One of my former coworkers suggested we get books on tape, and she is a fricking genius.  We got 3 David Baldacci books along with Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea and they have been life savers. It really makes the drive go by faster and more bearably.  

We are still driving at midnight and realize we forgot to factor in a crucial aspect of this leg of the trip.  From Tucson to San Antonio, we will be driving through not one but two time zones. By the time we finally pull into town, it is 5 o'clock in the morning local time. Then we discover another crucial thing we did not factor in when booking hotels.  We are towing a vehicle behind our truck.  And when I booked the hotels, I did so based on proximity to the local attractions we wanted to visit.  Well, our San Antonio hotel is smack in the middle of downtown, right by the River Walk, which is convenient, but with a parking garage that will not fit our trailer. After checking in, Michael returns to where I am sitting in our illegally parked car, and we make a mad dash with our belongings upstairs, and he drives around looking for a spot. Finally, at 6:45 he lets me know he was able to park in a valet lot at another hotel, and now he's walking the mile back to our room.  

At this point, we have hit our second wind and decide to go explore.  We get breakfast at Starbucks and enjoy the River Walk while it is still early, thus less hot, muggy, and crowded. While enjoying our leisurely walk, I feel something hit my shoulder and look down. It's bird poop. After the hellacious daylong drive, dealing with our catatonic kitty, and Chucky, I get effing s*@% on. Fabulous. A nearby busboy setting up his tables lent me his towel, and I cleaned up and had a laugh. I mean really. What else could go wrong?

I'm so glad you asked. We stayed two nights (not including the first night, which we didn't actually spend in the hotel, but in the car. And the upside is we didn't have to pay for that night since we checked in at 5 am! Yippee!!) and made sure to visit the luxury outlets in San Marcos where we managed a little retail therapy. When it was time to go, we trekked back to where the cars were waiting, and noticed the driveway we'd have to go out had a bit of a dip, which could prove problematic for our low-hanging hitch. I stood outside to watch and make sure everything was okay, and I watched as what we feared became reality.  As he slowly drove the truck out the driveway, I frantically waved that it was scraping the ground. But really, what could he do? We had to drive it out somehow. So he keeps going, slowly, and as the back tires clear the bump of the driveway, the hitch, which was scraping the ground the whole way, detaches from the truck and Chucky slides under the truck, stopping just short of crashing.

After completely blocking a street for a few minutes, Michael is finally able to reattach Chucky, and we wearily get on our way, glancing behind us constantly to make sure Chucky and Wilma (my car) are still there.  Next stop: New Orleans.