It was right about San Antonio that Sue, while driving, felt something crawling up her leg. Scorpion perhaps, or possibly tarantula? But no. No. Nothing but a gecko. A gecko who eluded capture at a truck stop, and seemed ready to travel, like Jack Kerouac or one of those free range chickens. Several hours later, near Sweetwater (no sign of water, btw), as we were switching drivers, Sue found the little liz under her pillow. A quick pull-off onto a side-road, some Texas rodeo style herding, and our peripatetic pal was off for greener (actually brown) pastures.

A very long diagonal across a seemingly endless and mostly esthetically challenged slice of Texas.

At Drury Inn in Amarillo, where we have every chain know to man to choose from for dinner.

And parked next to two cars from Ontario. Why would anyone from Ontario be in Amarillo? Why would anyone be in Amarillo? Perhaps these folks are heading home from Albuquerque... — And parked next to two cars from Ontario. Why would anyone from Ontario be in Amarillo? Why would anyone be in Amarillo? Perhaps these folks are heading home from Albuquerque...