Houston, TX

On my way from El Paso to San Antonio I spent one night in the town of Alpine, just east of Marfa. There I met a couchsurfing couple, John and Katie, who not only let me stay in front of their house but also fed me supper. Katie, whose family background is Czech, told me about the different towns in Texas that have large Czech populations and where kolache are sold. It seems Texas has the largest population of Czech people outside of the Czech Republic.

I wanted to stop by one of these towns and get some Czech pastries. One of these towns is Praha, named after the Czech capital, and it was on my way from Austin to Houston.

When I arrived there, however, I learned that it isn’t in fact a town but merely a community, with no businesses except a church (a church is a business after all, isn’t it?), and no kolache were to be had there. I spoke to some people who were coming out of church and they sent me to the town of Schulenburg, where a local bakery made German and Czech sweets.  I raced there (as well as one can race in Dharma, that is) as I was told the bakery closed at 3:30 and it was already 3:00. I arrived in Schulenburg fifteen minutes later and found that that bakery was open until 5. I bought a boxful of pastries and devoured three of them right away. They were tasty but perhaps not worth a detour or a high-speed drive in a camper van.

I arrived in Houston a few hours later and connected with Roberto, a friend of Amy’s from San Antonio, whom I had in fact met there briefly before my misadventure in Elmendorf. Roberto invited me to hang out at his place and when I got there we went for supper at his friend’s restaurant. We got to know each other over a delicious pizza and beers.

Amy, who was then on her way back from Dallas by bus, arrived a few hours later and we talked for a bit before retiring.

The next day, Saturday, I did some laundry and waited for Amy and Rob to get up. That evening we went out to explore and I experienced my first Uber ride. Before the night was over I had at least three more. Uber, for those unfamiliar with the name, is an app-based service that connects private drivers with passengers in a way that eliminates the need for taxi dispatchers, where no money is exchanged directly, and which cost quite a bit less than a regular taxi and is in fact much more efficient. This company is now attempting to enter the Edmonton market, which I hope will be successful.

Sunday was to be my last day in Texas, the last day of my journey, in fact. I spent a few hours packing my things and managed to stuff everything into four bags. I had my camping backpack, a large duffel bag, and two smaller backpacks. I had to leave a few things behind, but I didn’t mind too much. I gave Amy a tour of the van as I had decided to gift the vehicle to her. Then the three of us piled in and drove to Houston Intercontinental Airport, now sadly known as George Bush Intercontinental Airport. I said goodbye to Dharma, Amy, and Roberto, and headed inside to begin a new adventure.

Edmonton, a place I’m happy to call home, beckoned, and sadly, so did the Canadian winter.

Austin, TX

Coming to Austin was a great relief to me for a number of reasons. For one, I felt like I was escaping from San Antonio and the unpleasant experience I’d had there and at the same time it felt like I had finally arrived at my destination, or the end of the first leg of my journey. 

When I set out from Edmonton six months before, my idea was that I would drive as far east as I could before the weather got too cold for me to continue comfortably, considering that I wasn’t equipped for freezing temperatures, and then I would head straight south, to the warmth of the southern US.

I knew that I would probably not get much further east than Saskatchewan, possibly Winnipeg at the most. This would still allow me to end up in Texas.

My friend Tyson lives in Austin, and I’d had a few things sent to him. Whatever I needed to have mailed somewhere, it either went to him or to Edmonton, depending on how soon I wanted to get my hands on it. At that point I had a month’s supply of Soylent waiting for me in Austin, as well as a mosquito-repellent wristband. Both had been projects I’d supported on Kickstarter. I was also waiting to get a pair of shorts mailed there from Santa Fe, but as far as I know these haven’t arrived yet.

I got to Austin on Saturday evening and found a Target close to downtown where I parked. I didn’t have anything to do and it occurred to me that I hadn’t been to a movie theater in a while, so I found one not too far and biked there. The selection of movies playing in Austin at that time wasn’t necessarily to my liking (not that this would necessarily be different elsewhere or at a different time, as I’m quite picky about what I watch) but I was going more for the experience of sitting in a cinema than anything else, and I was craving good popcorn. The movie Wild was playing and I thought I might enjoy that as it was about a backpacker. When I arrived at the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, Wild was sold out, as was Birdman. I considered the half-hour bike ride to another theater but finally settled on watching The Babaduk. 

The Alamo had a somewhat trendy and hipster (is that a contradiction?) feel to it, and as I found out when I entered the auditorium, it is a very unique venue. The feel of the auditoriums is spacious in terms of seating space, and this gives it a cozy ambiance as each seat feels personalized. The food experience is different from other cinemas because rather than ordering outside and bringing snacks and drinks inside, the venue offers restaurant-style service right at one’s seat. There is an extensive menu which ranges from popcorn and drink to full meals, hot beverages, even alcohol. There are servers, each of which caters to a section of the theatre, and as there is a no-speaking policy once the screening begins, they use a simple system of notepaper which is inserted into a rail in front of one’s seat, making it visible to the serving staff, and alerting them whenever a customer wishes to order or get a drink refill.

I thoroughly enjoyed both the film, an Australian horror feature, as well as the entire experience. The service was friendly, and the popcorn delicious.

Sunday was somewhat gloomy and looked like it might bring rain. Despite Austin’s reputation for diversity and weirdness, there were only a few things that I knew of which I was interested in seeing. One of these was the Cathedral of Junk, an unintentional art installation made up of random items of junk which had been built up over many years by a local man in his backyard. I arranged an appointment in the afternoon and made my way there on my bike. The installation was great and I took a number of photos before heading back to my van.

The other two things I’d wanted to explore in Austin were a tiny house project being built for homeless people on the northwest end of the city, and a food project named Food Is Free. I didn’t get to see either, however. Food Is Free has now moved to Kansas, where they have recently obtained a large piece of land, and the tiny house project, Loaves and Fishes (yes, it is Christian), had limited space for volunteers and I never did get through to anyone to arrange a time for me to visit.

My friend Tyson had invited me to come stay at his property just outside of the city in a town called Garfield. I drove out there in the evening, and by the time I settled in, it was getting dark. Tyson had originally said he would swing by there on his way home (he currently resides in Austin proper) but his plans changed and I ended up spending a few hours talking to his friend Eric, who lives there along with another friend, Cary.

The next day, Monday, I tried to set up my slackline in the yard but the ground was thorny and unpleasant so I decided to bike back to Austin, a 1.5-hour journey down the highway. Though somewhat uncomfortable for the high traffic I was exposed to, I made it to the city, had some lunch, and found a Starbucks to relax at. Afterward I made my way to a nearby park and slacklined for an hour or so before grabbing some groceries and heading back.

Unfortunately I had not picked the best time to do this as it was rush hour by then and the sun was on its way down.

Making my way back out of the city was much more challenging and perilous than it had been the other way, and I was glad when I finally made it back to the van close to two hours later.

I spent that evening on my own, reading.

On Tuesday morning I finally got to see Tyson. He came by with some provisions and we got to chat again after a long time. I had only met Tyson once before, during Z-Day Vancouver in 2013, and since then we had only communicated over facebook. He’d gained my trust shortly after when I bought an item on Ebay and needed a US-based address to have it mailed to. He was the first of my American friends to offer me help and he came through, which is why I’d asked to use his address as a mailing base. As I mentioned in my previous blog post though, he surprised me in a much bigger way and demonstrated his kindness and generosity to me when I was in San Antonio. At the time I had mentioned to him my straitened financial circumstances, and he immediately offered to wire me a sum of money which would tide me over until my return to Canada. The sum was considerable in my circumstances, and the offer caught me by surprise. Until then I had experienced the closeness with which American people (and Canadians too, I suppose) guard their money despite their otherwise generous natures, and this gesture seemed completely out of character. Not for Tyson, however, and I believe that our mutual interest and support for the vision of a moneyless society contributes to this.

Tyson couldn’t stay for long, however, so we agreed to meet for brunch in the city the next day. I spent the rest of the morning puttering around and cleaning up Dharma, then headed back to Austin in the afternoon after parting with Eric and Cary.

On Wednesday I biked to Casa de Luz, a New Age center that offers various courses, childcare, as well as a vegan cafeteria. This is where Tyson and I had lunch. We chatted for about an hour, then Tyson drove me to the South Austin Popular Culture Center. Along the way I mentioned that I intended to sell my bicycle, which Tyson offered to buy from me.

At the SAPCC I met Henry, former roadie for the country band Asleep at the Wheel and currently curator of this small museum of Austin’s pop culture. He gave me a tour and talked to me for a long time about his adventures both with the band and with various tourists who have visited the center. He gave me a poster of a jazz musician as a parting gift. Before heading back I stopped at a small coffee shop named Picnik, situated inside a refurbished shipping container. This establishment specializes in the now-mostly disproved Paleo diet, and one of the items they are known for is their butter coffee, which is a generic version of Bulletproof Coffee. I had read a bunch of stuff about this meal replacement and though at this point this has also been shown to be more hype than substance, I wanted to try it to see how it tasted when prepared properly. I had tried mixing butter into my coffee before and quite liked it, but had less luck with coconut oil as I didn’t blend it, so it was disgusting.

I didn’t enjoy the butter coffee very much, but at least I could say I gave it a try.

On Thursday I had planned to visit Tyson at his place, pick up my mail, and drop off the bicycle, but instead I ended up having to get Dharma towed to a garage. Her starter wasn’t working and after a “diagnostic” (a tap on the starter with a hammer), which cost me $70, I was told that I should replace it soon, though in the meantime it was still operational. I drove Dharma back to Target and biked downtown, a part of Austin which I hadn’t seen yet. The day was gloomy and somewhat chilly so my motivation to explore was low and instead I went to the library. 

Later I met Manue, a friend of a friend from couchsurfing, with whom I had food and drinks at a local watering hole called the Spider Cafe. She invited me to join her and her friends at the Austin Trail of Lights that evening, to which I acquiesced.

We met at Zilker Park in the evening and walked around for an hour or so, enjoying the light installations. 

Friday was to be my last day in Austin, and after breakfast I made my way to the Hope Outdoor Gallery, a graffiti park which Manue had insisted I must see before leaving the city. It was a worthwhile stop and I took a bunch of photos. 

I stopped by Tyson’s place afterward, though he wasn’t home. I picked up my mail, four large boxes of Soylent, and said goodbye to my bicycle. I wouldn’t need it on this trip anymore. I was on my way to Houston, my last stop in Texas.

San Antonio, TX

My first day in San Antonio began very pleasantly and I had a good vibe about the city. I drove downtown and found a place to park close to the River Walk, which was the first thing I wanted to experience.
The San Antonio River Walk is a set of pedestrian and bicycle trails that run along the San Antonio River. One section of it, in the heart of downtown, is lined with restaurants and cafes and plied with river boats intended for tourists, driven by a boatmaster who doubles as a tour guide.
I spent between one and two hours on the walk, taking photos of birds and insects as well as other interesting spots, and chatting with a dog whisperer I met along the way. It was a very pleasant and calming experience and it helped me realize that some of the most wonderful things about my journey are the incidental occurrences and sights, the ones which I don't expect but which put a smile on my face and sometimes even make me feel awed.

Afterward I had some food and rode my bike in search of a spot to set up my slackline. In the evening I met up with my friend Amy, we got some beer and went back to her place, where I made us some noodles. I parked Dharma in front of Amy's house for a few days while I figured out my work situation.

The next day I went to see the Japanese Tea Garden, which, though rather small and currently under maintenance, so the ponds have been drained, was a nice place to sit and think. I was already feeling like I'd seen all there was to see in San Antonio and I wanted to move on, but I still hadn't found work. This has been a recurring issue on my journey, and one of the main reasons I haven't been enjoying myself as much as I would like to.

That evening I set up my slackline at Olmos Park and made friends with some people who were LARPing. LARP stands for Live Action Role Play. If you can imagine a game of Dungeons & Dragons in real life, then that is basically what LARPing is. This activity, unbeknownst to me, has its origins in El Paso, TX, but by now has spread around the world and I even know people in Edmonton who engage in it.

My third day in San Antonio was a crucial one as that was the day I found a job with Southern Mobile Home Transport. The week-long experience I had with this company is documented in my previous post, The Nightmare on Oliver Street, so I won't go into it again. I will just mention that when I came out of there, I was slightly dazed and disoriented, so the first thing I did when I got back to the city was to go for a walk and indulge myself with a coffee at Starbucks.

Before getting back to the city, however, I had to deal with Dharma. As I had mentioned in the other post, the cooling fan was broken, and I had to get a replacement. I stopped at Southside Auto Parts to get what I needed. They had a fan for me, but I still needed a shroud, which had to be obtained from a junkyard. While I waited for the mechanic to pick this up, I chatted with the owners of the business, Larry and Ed, and their friend Richard. Larry and Ed have run the shop for about thirty years, if I'm not mistaken, and according to my estimates are both somewhere in their sixties. They are originally from Flint, Michigan, which is the same town Michael Moore, the movie director, hails from. We talked about the impending collapse of the economic system, and I found out that Ed is very familiar with the tenets of the Zeitgeist Movement. It's always refreshing to meet someone who knows about concepts which are dear to me, and to whom I don't have to explain them from scratch.
I eventually got both the fan and shroud, and headed into town, holding two grapefruits, gifts from Ed, Larry, and Richard.

After my coffee and some much-needed grocery shopping, I went to the house of Jana Laven, who was to be my couchsurfing host for the next few days. When I arrived, she, her husband Andreas, and their daughter Rachel were sitting on the porch talking, and they welcomed me in. They offered me to stay in one of the bedrooms of their house, which I gladly accepted. I felt like I needed a break from Dharma after being cooped up inside for an entire week.

Over the next few days I tried, unsuccessfully, to find work in San Antonio. I had thought that due to its size, my options for work would be promising, but in this I was mistaken. While I was at The Lavens (this family, together with their son Niko, are in fact a musical band and they play at The Cove on Fridays), looking for work and relaxing, another situation developed, which was to determine my upcoming change of direction.

My good friend Jonathan back in Edmonton, who for the past two years has been working on opening a halotherapy (salt therapy) clinic, is also on trial for spurious charges (something I've written about on my other blog, Rambles & Musings), and the end of this was approaching fast. In fact, that very week, on Friday, he had a hearing where he could either plead guilty or not guilty. This was a hearing Jonathan had no intention of attending as he was afraid of getting arrested and losing his freedom. Jonathan had decided to take his life instead. I won't go into much more detail on this here, but the point is that this development, in conjunction with the unpleasant experience I'd recently gone through and the fact that I needed to change my mode of travel, made me decide to abort my journey for the foreseeable future and return to Edmonton to take charge of Jonathan's clinic.

I discussed this with him over the phone and he was agreeable to it, as it had been something he had offered me in the past. We began to make plans for my return, but with the knowledge that when I did, Jonathan would already be gone. It was Wednesday night.
Today I'm extremely relieved to say that Friday has come and gone, and Jonathan is still here. He attempted to kill himself, failed (he blames me for this, ha!), went to court, and pleaded guilty. No arrest took place. I will be flying back to Edmonton from Houston next Sunday (a week from now), on December 21st, 2014.

On Friday I was in a cheerful mood and I had an excellent slacklining session. In the evening I met up with another couchsurfing host, Rohn, who invited me to a Latin American art show, which was wonderful. I enjoyed Rohn's company very much, and later stopped by The Cove to see The Lavens play.

Saturday morning I packed up, said goodbye to Andreas (the rest of the family was still asleep), and went to meet Simms, a couchsurfer, for brunch. We chatted for a couple of hours over coffee and pastries, then I started to head north. I was on my way to Austin, the final destination of this, the first leg of my North American journey, but first I had one more couchsurfer to meet.

Michael is an older man with a large white beard, and appropriately enough, he dresses up as Santa Claus at Christmas and gets paid to pose for pictures with children. We met at a Taco Cabana on the northwest side of San Antonio.  This man had a completely different vibe than the previous two couchsurfers I'd met. He was conservative, unaware, not very open-minded. As he described himself, he was a simple man. The topic of our conversation very quickly turned to god, at which point I decided I was no longer interested in talking. I parted with Michael, got in my van, and headed north to Austin to explore this strange city whose motto is "Keep Austin Weird" (to which is often appended "and San Antonio lame") and to meet my Zeitgeist friend Tyson, who, as I will detail later, had changed my situation drastically and relieved me of much stress.

The nightmare on Oliver Street (San Antonio)

It all began with an innocuous-looking ad on Craigslist. This is what it read:

MANUFACTURED HOME INDTALL HELP WANT TO WORK (EMAIL OR TEXT ONLY PLEASE)

**TEXT OR EMAIL ONLY PLEASE We are looking for 2 people to work with one of our mobile home set up / tare down crews. Valid regular drivers license required for 1 position not for the second. Experience necessary. Looking for someone hard working and dependable. txt anytime 210,,,,463....5555 or email me for more info call today start tomorrow if your not a slacker slackers will be sent home on the spot

Yes, it was full of typos and other horrendous grammatical mistakes but whatever, it's Craigslist, right? I texted the number and was told that the hiring manager would contact me. I got a call a while later from a guy named Ezekiel. This guy sounded like he was either drunk or stoned, or maybe both. He had a heavy drawl and I wasn't sure if he was white or black, not that it matters. He told me the job involved moving mobile homes and that no experience was required. The pay was $75/day but it could be higher depending on how well I performed. I mentioned that I was Canadian and had no Social Security and he told me that would be no problem, I could just use a friend's SSN. I thought this was a great plan, though in hindsight I suppose this should have been my first (or tenth?) red flag.

I said ok, let's do it.

He told me I could start that day, whenever I was ready. All I had to do was to go pick him up so we could get a work truck and load up some cinderblocks. I drove about half an hour south of San Antonio to the town of Elmendorf to pick Zeke up. When I saw him, my suspicions of his redneck background were confirmed. He had several neck (read: prison) tattoos and a multitude on his arms. He was dressed in construction garb, looked like a roughneck, but overall seemed like a nice, quiet guy. 

Here's where my trouble began. As we were driving down the highway to pick up the work truck, what felt like a large rock or piece of metal smashed into the front (or underside) of my van, I rolled over it, and the whole van began to vibrate as I drove. I pulled over and looked under the vehicle, but nothing seemed wrong with it. There had been nothing on the road for me to hit, so I was puzzled, and very worried. I continued driving, though much slower, not knowing what was wrong or what I was in for.

When we arrived at the "shop", it turned out to be a residence, what we would call an acreage in Canadian English. There were a couple of trailer homes (aka mobile homes) on it, and a bunch of different vehicles in various states of disrepair. The whole place looked rather run down and was somewhat reminiscent of your typical slasher flick à la Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or perhaps what you might expect the Pickton farm to look like, minus the livestock (was there livestock on the Pickton farm)?

We hooked up a trailer to one of the pickup trucks (I did the driving as Zeke, E, or Evil, as he liked to be called, had a suspended license) and drove out to the job site. The rest of that day (this was Monday) played out fairly smoothly, Zeke and I got along fine, we picked up the materials from a site where a mobile home had sat, and drove back to the shop. I didn't want to drive the van in its condition so I asked to spend the night on the property. I met the company owner, Michael, that evening, and he agreed to it, promising to help me fix the problem the next day. For that day's work, which had only been four hours, I was told by Zeke (the hiring manager) that I would get a half day's pay, though it seems they didn't normally do that. Alarm bells started going off in my head, but I silenced them.

Work was to start at 7am the next day, so I was up by 5. We loaded materials on the truck and trailer, joined by another worker named JR. Yes, like JR on Dallas, except in San Antonio. As we were heading out of the yard, the next-door neighbour stopped by and exchanged hugs with Zeke. Not the kind of hugs that I give, of course. Man hugs. Bro hugs. Congratulations for getting out of jail hugs. Something passed between their hands as they threw furtive glances in my direction. I could only guess that it wasn't cannabis. 

The job we worked on that day was a double-wide trailer that they had pulled onto a new property. The two halves still sat on their wheels so we had to jack them up, remove the axles, and put blocks underneath them. This took us the entire morning and part of the afternoon but we were still far from done. At some point Michael told me to come with him to another job.

Michael is a young man, I'm guessing in his mid-twenties, with lazy, unfocused eyes and latent anger and violence coursing through his body. He looks like someone who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in your head while sipping a beer or three. He drank one of these as he drove, and his driving started to deteriorate. I finally convinced him to pull over as I was terrified of an impending disaster, and I took over the wheel. He didn't quite know where we were going and promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat. I was forced to call his father and obtain the address of the job, where Michael was supposed to weld the tongue (hitch) onto a mobile home trailer.

I eventually found the trailer and roused Michael. To my surprise, he was able to get his act together and start welding. We were there until dark and the home owner brought us beers (because we needed more booze in us, you see). The ride back was uneventful. At this point I was feeling like I had established a feeling of camaraderie with Michael, until he told me to go pick up Zeke and JR, who were still working on the original job site. I told him I'd prefer if he went as I wouldn't know how to find the property. He indirectly suggested that I could go find a different job if I didn't comply. His wife, Samantha, wrote down some instructions, and off I went. When I got there, the two men were more or less shit-faced, the site was a mess, and the temperature was uncomfortably cold. We packed up the tools and headed back to the shop. Zeke and JR smoked crystal meth in the truck.

The next day we began at 7 again. Together with Wade, another company employee who drove the big truck and also lived on the property, I went back to the job site from the previous day, with no sign of Zeke or JR. We had to pull the utility van out of the sand behind the house, where it had got stuck after we parked it the night before. Unfortunately in order to do this, Wade had to drive back to the shop to get a machine called a Trans Lift, which is used to raise mobile homes. I waited at the site on my own for an hour for him to come back. We pulled the trailer to the front, then Wade drove the Trans Lift back to the shop. Another hour of waiting for me before he got back, hooked up the utility trailer, then we went to the shop once more. We got pizza on the way. By this point I had $7 dollars to my name so Wade paid for my food.  As you may also suspect, at this point in time I was not at all impressed with Southern Mobile Home Transport. This was a disorganized, unprofessional, and mismanaged company which appeared on the verge of falling apart.

After we got back, I was told to hop in the truck with Michael again. We were on another mission, it seemed. We drove to a mobile home distributor and picked up two hitches. The plan was to go weld them onto trailers, but when we arrived on the site, they were transferred to another truck and Michael and I went to Home Depot instead. A shopping spree was in order, using someone else's money. We spent the next two hours browsing the shelves of Home Depot and picking up random things that Michael thought we needed. We also bought four pallets stacked with cinder blocks.

We got back after dark, of course, and thus ended my second (or third?) day of being stranded. By this point I had been offered help with the van by two people, Michael and Wade, but I still wasn't rolling. 

On day three I was sent to pick up JR in the morning and he and I went back to work on the original mobile home. Zeke had had a court date the day before but it seems he didn't go so he was either in prison or on the lam. Nobody seemed to care much. He showed up on the site after about two hours and we finished raising, or "blocking" the house. Then we did some minor work inside and headed back. The promise of getting paid that day hung in the air, and we were all expectant, not least myself. By that point I had been told I was getting $75 per day, per setup, and since we had done a double-wide, I was thinking it would be...well $150 for each of the three days, plus $40 for my first half day, and something for the welding work. Boy was I wrong. We didn't get paid that day, but the money was in the account...

Friday morning rolled around and I was told that I couldn't go on the next job with the rest of the crew but I could clean up the yard instead. I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. I spent close to eight hours that day cleaning the property up until it was unrecognizable. During this time I was approached by the dodgy neighbour, Steve (think Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys, minus the crossed eyes and underbite), who not only told me I was doing an excellent job, but also offered to help me with the van. Number three. He later also invited me to eat with his family, which I declined, mainly because I had just finished eating but also because I didn't think barbecued rat was optional for a vegetarian. Ok, I exaggerate there, but I think you know where I'm coming from.

Friday evening I went to sleep without having gotten paid and with a damaged vehicle.

Saturday was similar to Friday. I was told I could clean up the shop at the back of the property and that I would be paid in the evening. I spent half the day doing this, then lost my motivation and quit. Michael told me he would pay me once he got back in the evening, but as it turned out, he and his wife were planning to drive to Corpus Christi that night for their anniversary and they would be gone all of Sunday. Fooled again.

Sunday I approached Steve for help, but he deferred me to his son, also Steve. Steve and Michael were not on friendly terms so he was not eager to cross the fence, but he did drive me to a parts place in the city (while chugging two full cans of beer) where I picked up a fan clutch for my van. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that Wade had diagnosed the problem, figured out that my fan was broken, and that I needed a new one. He also lent me $100. I liked Wade. He made me coffee and bought me food. 

I had a fan clutch, but I still needed a fan and a shroud. Steve Jr. promised to help me that evening after he picked up his wife from work, but I didn't see him again that day. 

Monday morning I knocked on Michael's door and demanded to get paid. Zeke gave me the money, $100. I was still owed $70 according to their calculations, and I wasn't going to argue it. $270 was better than getting gang-raped by a bunch of former convicts who might as well have been plucked up from the set of Deliverance. The rest of my day was spent trying to find a fan from various junkyards and parts stores (over the phone), and relaxing. I had been told that I had to be out of the yard that night, but it didn't happen. I found a parts place on the south side of San Antonio that had a fan for me, I just didn't have any means of picking it up.

Tuesday morning Wade told me he thought my van was safe to drive so I took my chance. I topped the radiator up with coolant and added some Stop Leak into it. Then I got the hell out of there. After eight days, I was free again. The nightmare was over.