One last adventure, or two, before coming home

Day 4

We're up before the sun, which means we only had, oh, nine hours sleep. Don't know how we'll survive.

We break camp, pack the car and head to the campground store to buy souvenirs and pay way too much for enough gas to take us to a place where the price will be more reasonable. I notice that my low tire light is on, but don't think much about it because it seems a bit cooler this morning, and sometimes that will cause one or more tires to be low.

I put some gas in the tank, find the offending tire and air it up, and we head out. We plan to stop at the fossil bone exhibit, which isn't as exciting as it sounds, and take the auto trail to Dagger Flats, where giant yuccas live, or so we've read.

Along the way we stop at an "interpretive exhibit" that turns out to be the grave site of a woman who had settled in a small oasis area with her husband, who taught at the school for the Dugout Wells community.

We climb around a bit at the fossil bone exhibit, read the signs and look at the fossil replicas, then head for the auto trail. On the way I ask Sharon if she wants to have some real excitement on the way home. I suggest that we run the Border Patrol station outside of Marathon and see if they give chase. She laughs but doesn't think it'd be a good idea. Imagine.

The auto trail is a gravel road with a bunch of markers linked to a guide that explains the plant life in the area. It's a bit rough but nothing the cube can't handle, until we arrive at a wash that crosses the road. Some black sand covers the road along with some kind of rubber grating the park has put down.

We cross that easily enough and then come to another part of the road covered with black sand. I don't think much about it since we crossed the last patch without incident and proceed. The road falls off a bit to the sandy area, where we promptly become stuck. I try the techniques for snow and only manage to dig myself in deeper. The sand comes up to the bottom of the bumpers.

I think that maybe I can push while Sharon drives and get us going, but that doesn't work. Sharon checks her cell phone and finds that she has a signal, so we agree it'd be best to call 911. I'm still trying to figure out a solution. There's less behind us than in front of us, so I decide that's the direction to go.

Almost out. Notice the dug out area in the right front corner.

We have nothing really suited to digging with, so I drop to my hands an knees and start digging with my hands. I dig down behind each wheel until I hit hard packed ground, get in the car and try backing up. The wheels bite and push the car back a few feet till the sand stops it.

Repeat the digging. Back up a few more feet. Repeat. Eventually we gain enough traction to put us back on the gravel portion of the road, where we turn around and head back for the main road. Sharon calls 911 back to report we're out of trouble. I've no idea how long this has taken, but I have a feeling no one had been dispatched to help us.

By the time we return to the main road, I notice my low tire light is on again.I pump it back up and think that perhaps being stuck aggravated what I had hoped was a slow leak, and we wouldn't have a problem. I really shouldn't think. We make a stop at the Persimmon Gap visitor center to look at the souvenir offerings there, and by the time we return to the car, the tire is low again. I pump it up again.

Off we go, but we have to stop before we get to the Border Patrol station to air up the tire again. I don't want to have to unload the car to put the spare on, and as long as we're driving, the leak doesn't seem be as bad somehow.

I behave at the Border Patrol station, where they ask if we've been at the park and whether we're American citizens. We're not asked for any identification. The agents peer through the windows and seem satisfied we're not a threat to national security and let us go.

In Marathon we stop for a soda and check out the possibilities for tire repair. The Shell station appears to do some mechanical work, but I decide I'd rather keep pumping up the tire and take my chances in Fort Stockton. I only have to stop once before we make it to town.

Sharon has checked TomTom, which tells her that Fort Stockton has a Firestone, which is good because I bought the tires there and have road hazard. But when we try to follow its directions, it doesn't take us to a deal, it takes us to Firestone Road, which is not in the town.

We go back to town, stop at the Ford dealership and ask about the Firestone. Turns out it's just down the road, not far past the intersection where the GPS sent us left instead of right, which would have brought us to our destination.

The tire was repaired in due course, but it turns out the tire shop is just an authorized seller, not a dealer, so I have to pay for the repair. We find a place to grab some grub because it's been a long time since breakfast, about 8 hours, and a soda and pretzels were all we'd had.

The adrenaline subsides while we munch away, and we agree we've had enough adventure for one trip.  We're ready for a normal rest of the trip home. Ask, and you shall receive.

The day of wonder

Day 4 

The sun is fully risen by the time we are. Yessir, I'm a-likin' this sleeping-in thing. Last night we had lots of wind early in the night and then rain. Not a heavy downpour, but sufficient to make us zip up the windows.

After the rain we visit the nearby washroom, but while walking through the grass we can't tell that it has rained in the slightest -- our shoes are dry on our return to the tent. Sometime after we dozed off, the rain started up again, falling for about as long as the first rain lasted. 

The only way you can tell in the morning that it has rained is by the tiniest of puddles on the improved road in the campground. The ground still looks cracked and dry where it's bare, and only the barest drops of moisture cling to a few blades of grass.

We return to the Rio Grande Village nature trail, properly equipped with walking sticks and water. 

The route takes you through the wetlands and along the river. Across the river lies the town of Boquillas, a small village you can't visit since 9-11. You can also see a large sand dune. 

 I take the trail to the top of the overlook hill; Sharon elects to stay on the main trail. At the top I pose for pics. Such a ham. The trail is most interesting for the contrasts. You go from a wetlands area to the edge of the river to desert to hills. Not bad for a walk of less than a mile.

 We've decided to check out Dugout Wells and the Window View trail starting in the late afternoon. The choice will be the most spectacular of an already over the top trip. 

Dugout Wells is the site of a spring that created an oasis around which a small community developed for a short time a hundred or so years ago. Great cottonwoods grow there, in the midst of which the park has built a picnic area. 

 We made the short jaunt around an interpretive trail that described much of the flora visible in the desert. Back at the picnic area, Sharon walks up into the cottonwoods. 

I follow along in a few seconds, thinking there's nothing to see but another picnic table. 

Monarchs everywhere

Just as she comes into view, I hear her say, "Oh!" Monarch butterflies are swarming just overhead, dozens of them. As we looked closer, we see that the trees are full of butterflies, hundreds of them. The annual migration is on, and we'd seen quite a few at the campsite, but this is a riot of flashing orange joy on the wing. 

While I'm busy trying to take the perfect photo of the fluttering horde, I hear "Oh" again. When I look over at Sharon, she is standing one leg so I think she's having a foot cramp. She says there's a whole pack of Javalinas up under the trees. This starts an effort o bot our parts to take a picture without disturbing the dozing beasts to the extent they'll be sufficiently aroused to express their displeasure with us. 

Javelina napping

From here we head up into the Chisos mountains. It's a long, uphill drive made longer by the stunning views and the number of conveniently placed pull-off areas along the route that fairly beg you to stop and shoot too many pictures. 

We finally arrive at the lodge area in the basin, check out the merchandise in the camp store, shoot some more pictures of interesting rock formations then wander down the Window view trail. The short walk on a paved surface brings you to an overlook area. You can see the area called the Window with the outline of more mountains in the distance. I shoot way too many pictures at a variety of exposures and zoom lengths. And for a while we just sit and look.

Into the mountains

We intend to attend a ranger-led program while we're in the basin, but it's about an hour until it starts. We've brought food and have supper in a picnic area. As we're finishing cleaning up, a fox strolls through the picnic area we've just left and across the road to one of the lodging areas, stopping nicely in front of one room. The residents are, of course, delighted. 

The program is pretty interesting. The ranger shows pictures of what the park looks like each month of the year. The variety is amazing, especially the pictures from the "rainy season." The desert areas come alive with plants and color.

End of the day at the Window view

After the program we make our way safely down the mountain and head for out campsite, spotting at least a half-dozen jackrabbits along the way. We'll go to bed late this night, a little after 10. It's been a good day.

Into the wild, sorta

Day 3
We begin again as the day begins to dawn. I'm beginning to like this long sleep thing.

After breakfast Sharon finds a place near the site that seems to lead to the Rio Grande. The park literature indicates that a nature trail that begins in the campground, so we wonder if she's found it. If so, it will be a disappointment because the ground at the bank has fallen away -- the trail leads nowhere.

But I don't think she's gone down far enough, so I go exploring a bit later. I discover the trailhead we're looking for farther down the road. On the way back to our campsite, I see a tree covered with large birds. Turns out they're turkey buzzards. The site is creepy, like something out of a B horror movie. They seem to be waiting for something, and I hope it's not us. 

Congregation of the creepy

The nature trail starts at a wetlands area that's the result of  beaver dams, but we don't see any beaver. We don't see much besides reeds and the pontoon bridge that crosses the water.

The trail leads up a hill from the bridge, but we're not sure about it, and we haven't adequately prepared for a real hike, so we turn back. We'll be back on the morrow.

The plan then is to do the Boquillas Canyon trail, which is supposed to be an easy trail. For us, it's a bit more strenuous. The trail immediately goes up -- it's like climbing the stairs at the office.


On the trail we encounter an older couple who hail from Massachusetts but live in Florida now. They won't make the entire hike -- in part because she's wearing dressy slides.

We also meet a couple from Bavaria -- he's all duded out in boots, jeans and a big, black cowboy hat. They're both very nice and chat in very good English. At the high point of the trail is a small promontory that makes a good place to take pictures, so we all swap cameras and take each other's pics. When I tell the Bavarian dude he looks like a Texan, he seems pleased. 

He probably shouldn't be doing this.

We separate, the older couple turning back, the Bavarians working their way down to the river. We take the trail to the left toward the canyon entrance.

In a few minutes the Bavarians come up to us and say he's taken a picture of a man on a burro crossing the river with a bunch of trinkets for sale. These souvenirs -- walking sticks and a variety of bead animals -- show up on every trail near the river, and you are not supposed to buy them. While we're talking, I notice a man riding across the river on a horse and take his picture.

As we draw near the mouth of the canyon, we hear a man singing, the sound echoing off the canyon walls. He knows three songs -- "Cielito Lindo," "De Colores," and one I've not heard before.

We hang back, figuring he'll want a tip, so of course, he trundles up to us, wanting to sell us walking sticks. We politely demure. I address him in Spanish, and the Bavarians look surprised. I guess I don't look Hispanic. 

El Cantador

Getting to canyon entrance didn't seem so bad. After all we were relatively fresh, but the return trip up the hill takes its toll on Sharon. We took a couples of liters of water each, but it's just not enough for the dry climate. I buzz ahead and bring another couple of liters more for her, and we make it back to the car. The rest of the day is spent reading and relaxing at the campsite.


We still have most of the campground to ourselves. An RV with an older couple will roll in later in the afternoon, but they pick a spot on the other side. We marvel at the difference between this place and home. You almost always hear the sounds of traffic at home. Here you hear insects, the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind, woodpeckers banging away in the trees.


On Monday we saw what we later decide was a vermillion flycatcher, a small bird with a red head and breast. Today we see Monarch butterflies and the woodpeckers and spend time chasing them around the trees trying to shoot pictures. I get a good shot of a Monarch; Sharon may have caught a woodpecker.

The vultures soar in the late afternoon, and I take a shot I think will be one of my favorites -- a vulture soaring with the half moon nearby. They may be vultures, but while soaring high in the sky they are an impressive sight.


The nights are incredible as well. The park has worked to eliminate light pollution, and the night skies produce stunning views. Without binoculars or a telescope you can easily identify clusters and nebulae. When Orion rises, it looks huge, not because of its proximity to the horizon but because the starlight is unobscured in the clear, dark sky. 


As with other nights, bedtime will come just a couple of hours after sundown. I look forward to what the new day will bring in this wonderland.

Big Bend, here we come

Day 1

The idea was to leave right after Sunday school, but like many ideas it was ill-conceived. Leaving before noon became the more realistic goal, and in fact we hit the road sooner, about 11:15 or so.

Our route was set to take us to San Angelo, and mostly the route was problem free. But at one point, between two of the small towns, neither of which can I remember, traffic came to a complete standstill.

Some people opened their car doors and stood on the door sill, trying to see what was happening, while others drove onto the shoulder, either because they thought they could see better, or because they were trying to gain an advantage.

We were stopped at an intersection of roads, and several drivers turned right. We decided they might have local knowledge and decided to follow. A mile an half or two later, we emerged beyond the blockage and continued on our merry way.TomTom led us astray in San Angelo.

The state park's HQ is one place, and the two actual entrances are elsewhere. TomTom took us to HQ, which was, of course, the wrong place and was closed. At least they put a sign up telling visitors where to go.

Our San Angelo site

After following posted directions to the right place, we were helped by a friendly park ranger who tried to be nice and set us up closer to  where we were at the time, instead of where we had reserved a spot. Unfortunately that meant setting us up in an area not really intended for tent camping.  

The ground was full of rocks and, as we were to discover, stickers aka grass burrs or goatheads. The plastic tent stakes weren't going to work, but we had brought some metal ones and a hammer. Turned out plenty of rocks lurked below the surface. I managed to pound most of the stakes in far enough to ensure the tent wouldn't blow away.

Our lack of recent experience resulted in a poor initial choice of a spot for the tent, soon rectified.  After supper, we read til dark, then Sharon found a spot to do some star-gazing.  The view was much better than back home, but not near as spectacular as what we would soon encounter.

Eventually we decided to retire for the evening -- about 9:30. I never go to bed that early, but it felt good and would prove to be a good choice. 

Day 2

The morning was brisk, meaning cold. We slept until the sky began to lighten, about 20 minutes or so before sunrise. That's a lot of sleep for us.

After packing, we buzzed into town to pick up a few things we needed, find a wi-fi hotspot to check in, and then asked TomTom to take us to Marathon, the nearest spot to the park in its database. Bad idea.

The "pyramid" mountain

TomTom decides to shoot us straight down to I-10, which may compute to a faster travel time, but it's a longer trip. Still, we travel through Eldorado, home of the Yearning For Zion RCLDS compound, and we will see a mountain formation that looks like a pyramid from a distance.

The trip seems to take forever, but we arrive in good stead during the late afternoon. The drive through the park to the campground is enough to make my whole trip worthwhile. The views are spectacular, especially the Sierra del Carmen range just over the border in Mexico. Much like the trip to the Grand Canyon, these are views that put the awe in awesome, and I know we will encounter other wonders before we leave.


Our campsite is within a stone's throw of the river. We set up, grab some grub, and settle in. You couldn't ask for a greater contrast to last night's site. Because we near the river, the park service regularly irrigates the campground, so the sites are plush with grass and situated under big trees. The 

Rio Grande Village site

plastic tent stakes require a little coaxing with the hammer, but I don't strike a single rock.

Another early turn-in time. We're the only ones in the campground, so we are treated to the sounds of insects,  the leaves rustling in the trees, and a variety of animal noises. Coyotes howl, something makes a noise like a child screeching -- bobcat maybe? -- and something else makes a kind of honking noise. We decide later it's probably a donkey, but we'll have to ask someone. Early in the morning we hear sounds like a puppy yipping.

Oh, I almost forgot. On the road to the campground we see huge yellow caterpillars crawling en masse across the road. And they move quickly. Something else we need to ask about. (I ask a ranger a couple of days later, and she confirms the donkey sound and the probability that we heard a bobcat. The caterpillars turn into yellow butterflies that are common in the park, but she has no idea why they're crossing the road except to get to the other side.

Tomorrow we begin the adventure in earnest. 

A little less heat, a little more light, please

Christianity Today reported recently on the controversy surrounding the latest version of the NIV Bible.

Seems the Southern Baptist Convention passed a resolution against the 2011 version, which is slated to replace the now venerable version from 1984. Too much gender neutral language, apparently, the same complaint that was lodged against the Today's NIV, which had a stated goal of producing a more language inclusive translation.

The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood joins the SBC in its contempt for the new version, which they believe is an inaccurate translation because of the gender neutral issue.

I should point out that no version of the NIV uses gender neutral language for God -- in any aspect of the Trinity. God is still father, Jesus is the Son, and the Holy Spirit is a he. But the CBMW believes that  some of the NIV's neutral translations should have been translated using male terms because they would be more accurate.

More particularly they object to the translation of I Timothy 2:12, where Paul says he doesn't allow women to have authority over men. The NIV uses the word "assume" instead of "have." They detect an egalitarian bias in this translation.

For the uninitiated, there are two kinds of conservative Christians -- those who believe men and women are equal before God but have different, God-ordained roles in the church, and those who believe men and women are equal. Period. The former are complementarians, the latter egalitarians.

The CBMW cares not that the committee that produced the translation stoutly denies any bias, pointing to members who hold a complementarian view that were OK with the translation. Nope, the bias is there, the naysayers insist.

I spent some time with the old NIV and the newest NIV and applied the little bit of Greek training from seminary that is still useful and found some translations I thought were better in each edition. The worst part for me was the use of the execrable singular "they." You know: Anyone who believes they are better than someone else is a fool. Ick.

Now, I spent 12 years of my life studying five languages other than English. And I've spent a good deal of time studying English and how to communicate in it. With that background, I'll say this.

All English translations are by their nature a compromise. Translators have to figure out how to translate the context of words from another language and time into English that is understandable to a modern reader.

Context determines whether the use of a word is slang or whether a phrase is an idiom without an exact equivalent in English. The historical and cultural context imbues words with meaning as well. Go back and read a King James Bible to see how this works.

The most "literal" translation keeps these concepts in mind. Find a good interlinear Greek-English Bible, and you will see the translators sticking in English words that aren't in the Greek or Hebrew text because they are implied by the word being translated, and it's the only way to make a sentence intelligible in English.

I never recommend one specific Bible translation because of this. I also don't dog on translations. The translators are doing their best, given their training and available tools to produce a translation that will speak to readers.

What we should do is have a variety of translations at our disposal, a feat that's relatively simple now through the Internet. We should read the same passage in two or three -- or more -- versions, noting the differences and ask ourselves what insight we can gain from those differences. Done prayerfully, the exercise could lead us to a deeper appreciation for the message of the passage.

And really, isn't that the point of reading Scripture?

On The Texas Independence Trail -- San Antonio Missions

We spent Sunday at Sea World. The morning passed fairly comfortably, but the wind died in the afternoon, and even though it only reached 100, the afternoon was pretty hot.

We enjoyed the shows -- especially the clown act at Azul, and of course, Shamu. At one point in the afternoon, we returned to the car, where we'd left a cooler full of drinks and fruit. We sat in the car with the air

conditioner running and recovered, which enabled us to spend pretty much an entire day at the park.

Not much more to say about the park. If you've never been, you should go and have a good time.

Monday marked our return to the quest for Texas history and stamps for our passport.

Beginning in 1718 the Spanish established five missions along the San Antonio river to evangelize the native population. According to a film the National Park Service shows at the main mission, San Jose, their work would fuse two cultures, resulting in a new culture.

Mission San Jose is the oldest and largest of the missions. The walls were fortified to protect against attacks, so you'll see gun turrets and gunports for defense. The outer wall are also where the Indian barracks were located. Each family had two rooms, one with a fireplace.

In the courtyard each barracks was fronted by a water well and community ovens, one for every three or four families. In a lot of ways it reminded us of an apartment complex with community barbecue pits.

The worship area is being restored so we couldn't go inside, but a functioning congregation still meets in the building, as is true of the three other missions open to the public.

The mission houses a large granary and a grist mill. The mill was used to grind wheat and was powered by water diverted from the river. After powering the mill, the water returns to acequias, ditches essentially, that carry it to the fields for irrigation

We stop back in at the main office and ask how to get to the next mission, and the park ranger ac

ts like we're idiots. We have a brochure with a map of locations that also has a bunch of colored lines with no legend that explains what they are. Turns out the dotted line is the one you're supposed to follow. Then she tells us to just follow the brown signs.

Big mistake.

We take off, following the brown signs as instructed and soon come to a turn off to go to the southernmost mission, Espada. My plan is to go to Mission San Juan, then go back to Espada and finish at Mission Conception, the turn-off for which we passed on our way to Mission San Jose.

The only problem is that we became so focused on following the brown signs, we're not paying real close attention to what they say. It's remarkable how similar San Juan and San Jose are. In case that line didn't tip you off, we wound up back where we started. Grr.

We start off following the signs again, only this time we take the turn off to Espada. Espada is the least well preserved of the missions, but the grounds surrounding the chapel are nicely maintained by the friars who run the parish, with some gorgeous flowers. Espada is one of the two missions near the labores, or farms that provided the grain.

We follow the brown signs again, paying close attention to their content and arrive safely at Mission San Juan. The park service provides a hiking trail at this mission to take you to the river, more like a small stream at this point. When you return to the mission, you face what was the main entrance.

This mission is also small compared with Mission San Jose but is better restored or was maintained better than Espada.

Next on our tour was Mission Concepcion, closer to downtown than the other missions. We

follow the brown signs again, and everything seems to be going swimmingly until one of the signs directs us to go a particular direction, and then we run out of brown signs. Soon we find ourselves on the edge of downtown, having completely missed Concepcion.

Using the park map, we start to head back to San Jose and wind up right next to Concepcion. Not too bad.

The church and convent sections of Concepcion are the best preserved of any of the buildings, with some of the original stucco still in existence. You become accustomed to seeing these buildings without the covering they had, in which frescoes had been painted.

If you've ever seen buildings in Mexico with bright, vivid external colors and patterns painted on them, then you have an idea of how these buildings probably looked long ago, not the drab, brown and gray stone structures you see now.

One of the park rangers is talking to a couple as I walk by, but he grabs my arm and tells me how to take a shot of the mission that he thinks it particularly striking. I go line up the way he's instructed and

wind up agreeing that it's a nice shot. You can see sky in all the window of the towers.

After our visit to Concepcion, we eat lunch and head for Gonzales. We are determined to obtain the passport stamp we missed the last time we were there. We roll into town and find the chamber of commerce, located in the old jail, which is also a tourist attraction.

After obtaining the stamp, we walk through the jail building, looking at the cells, which no one in his right mind would want to spend any time in, and viewing the reconstructed gallows. You can walk up on the gallows platform if you want, and I suppose you could even stick your head in the noose, but that seems a bit too creepy for me, and we skip that highlight.

Afterward, we jump in the cube and head for home, sweet home. Someday soon we'll plan a visit to the final sites on the 175th anniversary tour: San Felipe de Austin and the San Jacinto battleground.

On the Texas Independence Trail -- The Adventure Continues

The time came, after too much overtime for Sharon, with more in the future, for a road trip. Take a weekday off, combine it with a weekend, and go in search of fun.

We're still trying to collect all the stamps in our 175th Anniversary passport, so we decide to head for San Antonio, where we can pick up the one for the Alamo and where we can visit the missions again. We'd been to them a couple of decades ago and always wanted to go back.

We'd top the trip off with a run to Gonzales, which we'd visited over the July 4 weekend. We didn't get a stamp there because you have to go to the Chamber of Commerce, which was closed, and we couldn't find anyway.

The summer decided to be freakishly hot, but we were encouraged to hear that a tropical storm was bearing down on Texas, and its path would take it close enough to San Antone to dump some rain and make it cooler during our stay.

Then TS Don came on shore and the Texas heat sucked the life out of it. Still, Internet weather prognosticators said we'd have clouds and somewhat cooler temps, and for the most part, they were correct. They neglected to mention the winds would be light, dying off in the afternoons and evenings, with enough humidity to suck the life out of us.

I determined we should hit the road by 10 a.m. Saturday. We woke too early and ended up leaving a bit after 9. But given my track record for getting lost and having to drive in at least one circle despite owning and using a GPS, I figured we wouldn't actually arrive any earlier.

We didn't wind up making a circle, but we did have to contend with I-35 traffic, which can come to a standstill for no apparent reason and usually does. We arrived at the hotel precisely, or nearly so, at check-in time. After stowing our stuff, we headed for the Alamo.

We parked in a nearby parking garage associated with the River Center mall, thinking it would be easy to return to.

At the Alamo, I forget to take my hat off when we enter the main building. A volunteer catches my eye and quite sternly says, "Sir. Your hat." From his tone you would think I committed some unspeakable act. Then I see the sign that reminds me this is a "shrine" and "hallowed ground."

I know the story, what happened there 175 years ago. Depending on your perspective, the battle was either an amazing sacrifice for freedom, or a preventable waste of good lives. Given my Texas birth, I know which side I'm supposed to be on, but honestly this shrine and holy ground stuff is a bit much.

Only the one area qualifies. The rest of the grounds and buildings can be wandered at will -- with a hat on -- and no one minds, even though Texians and Tejanos died everywhere. Later, in a video, we're told the state Lege passed a law declaring the site to be a shrine. Oh, well. If it's a law.

I behave for the rest of our stay, and then we head for the Riverwalk. We'll spend a couple of hours walking about, grabbing some Mexican food and then head for the car. Now we're in trouble.

We return to street level in the wrong place and don't recognize the surroundings. We have a map and head the direction we think we're supposed to be going, but nothing is familiar. We try a different tack but that's not helpful either.

We stop and sit on a concrete pylon to try to puzzle out from the map where we are, and small, quite inebriated Hispanic woman comes up to us, wanting to know what we're doing. Sharon tells her we're trying how to figure out how to get to the River Center garage, so she calls over her equally inebriated husband, who has prosthetics on both legs and is wheelchair bound.

He gives us directions that almost make sense and asks for money for food. I know he's not going to use the money for food, but I give him a couple of bucks just so the couple will quit bothering us. They shout directions at us as we move off in the indicated direction, but decide not to cut through another parking garage as they've urged us.

Downtown San Antonio is awash with people moving from who knows where to somewhere else. Eventually we spot a gang of bicycle cops hanging out on a corner, chatting or just staring. I walk up to one of the starers and ask how to get to the garage we're looking for.

He tells me to keep going the direction we're headed, and it'll be on our left. Sure enough, we spot the sign in a couple of blocks. Relieved that we've finally arrived and needing to sit and recover from the now oppressive heat and humidity, we head for the tier our car is located on.

Only it's not there.

In fact, the parking spot is not there. We quickly discover there are two parking garages with the same name, and we're in the wrong one. Back to the street.

Once we figure out where the Alamo is, we're in good shape and find the garage. Our first few minutes are spent just sitting, enjoying the air conditioner. The next challenge will be finding the hotel. The GPS has lost its signal, and we don't have a good map. We'll have to exit the garage and drive around a bit until the GPS reacquires.

When it does, it leads us down a busted-up road through an industrial section of town but finally delivers us to a recognizable highway and back to the hotel. Our first adventure is over. We're exhausted and will sleep very well, but we've had a good day.

In Part Two, we'll visit Sea World and the Missions, where we'll have another travel adventure.