Lubbock Downshift
We went looking for a fix and found a little more of ourselves instead.
April 18, 2025
Morning is a noisy affair. We camped next to the dealership in downtown Lubbock. Opposite us was a private security firm. Guards were coming and going all night long. But the real problem was my anxiety that sleeping in an urban area with an open window next to my head.
It was needless concern. The night was cool and uneventful.
The service advisor at the dealership is excited to help us. Unfortunately, there is no loaner available, so we make way to Avis to rent a Kia Sol. A darling little sedan-sort-of-van. Tiny. But lots of pep when you tap on the gas. I don't drive my own vehicles with any energy, but this thing, I'm happy to drive like I stole it.
Woolfinia's in poor mood today. Lack of sleep, I think. We scurry away to a grassy abandoned alley to freshen up and pack our bags to leave the van with the technicians. Excited, I step off the rear deck wrong and feel my back tweak. If I am not careful, I'll be barely be able to stand in a day or two. We'll go later to get organic massage oil from Whole Foods. It helps reduce the swelling and minimize pain. Shortening my recovery.
Dropping Van is a simple matter. Our service advisor, Brittany is a pro and does the intake with a minimum of fuss and lots of reassurance that they’ll solve the issue at hand: intermittent power loss.
While Woolfinia books a rental, I make friends with an older couple hanging out in the waiting room. When he hears me comment to My SO about the fuel filter, he asks buoyantly, “where vehicle ya drivin’?”
The conversation that ensues is enlightening. He and his wife run a small national shipping company. Their fleet? Sprinters.He explains that fuel filters for the diesel van isn’t like for gasoline. They are a consumable replaced every 10,000 miles. A gasoline engine is more like 50k. Still, it is a little disconcerting because I'm about to install my fifth filter in only 20,000. Regardless, Mister Shipper tells me that he has owned my year and make of Sprinter and that he drove it to 800,000 miles. Mine, at 200k is only just getting broken in.
Good news!
Woolfinia doesn’t like the chatty couple. She’s suspicious of everyone these days — a baseline trait turned all the way up since her father died. I diagnose it is related to trust issues and just try to be patient and understanding. Though it is at times frustrating. When it comes to booking the rental, she urges me to gather my things and we retreat to the bathroom together. 'I don't want anyone snooping on my drivers license!' She tells me in the small echoey space. More patience.
Car booked, we exit the single stall restroom and bid farewell to the waiting room compatriots and tell Brittany we are headed out. When she offered to give us a ride, we explain it's only a two block walk and that the weather is fantastic for a stroll but that we'll be back to collect our things from CamperVan Beethoven.
Our rental is a little toy of a car: a shiny new Kia Sol. Sort of a hatchback, or tiny van that is really just a small sedan. It is the perfect size for my diminutive wife and she drives it like a go-cart. The lane assist I think would be a good feature for her. The tendency to fixate on interesting sights left and right and behind causes me no end of stress.
Breakfast is a great little place called Chicken Run. I pick it because I have always loved Aardman's Chicken Run (2000). A stop-motion animation film about chickens escaping the farm. It is patterned after the great escape. The restaurant only shares the name, but I am pleased nonetheless. The food is simply delicious! All variations on bacon and eggs, but mine is a poached affair with a huge green salad drenched in a tangy vinaigrette. Mmmmmmm.
Taste tells us what our GI will confirm later, they use a commercial oil. Every restaurant does, but we always hope we'll stumble on some small independent place that leans on olive or other less saturated as their oil of choice. It is ours.
Early, but we retire to a hotel for a few hours. The missus isn't feeling 100% and needs some down time. She is grouchy and out of sorts. It is best to just let the storm pass. You cannot stop the rain, only try to stay dry. The room is nice. Palatial after a few days in CamperVan B. It is a good time to do a load of laundry, but even that gets nixed by my diminutive despot. I can only sit and read in silence. Not a terrible fate by any means.
I can tell my back IS going to be a problem. So I take half an hour and do some stretches and strength exercises that I've missed since being in van. That's not a thing I've solved when we are in van: regular exercise. Some days, there's plenty. Like the Caprock hike. But others, like today, not so much. After a full regimen, a hot shower is in order. Renewal!
At two o'clock we head out for the Buddy Holly Center. It is a city-funded museum-memorial in a converted train depot. The architecture is intriguing and the tracks that backed the cars into the courtyard can still be seen. I know little of the artist beyond that he was a musician and kind of a big deal. But the center here in Lubbock is very nice. A tremendous amount of research has been done chronicling his early influences (blues and jazz) and the impact he's had on music (inspiring most of the grandfathers of modern music). We see some of his original guitars and outfits (there should be more—I think of Elvis’ Graceland kit), Waylon’s Jenning’s original Ariel motorcycle—he and Holly bought matching bike’s. I can only assume his lack of ephemera is because he died at 22. How much stuff can a young man acquire in only a few years?
Sufficiently doused on Buddy Holly history and musical connections, we decide to retire and refresh before meeting a couple of old friends for dinner But those plans are waylaid when we call and they tell us our reservations at a very swanky steak house are for 5pm. That gives us twenty minutes to change and arrive. I wish now that I hadn't detoured to a visit of the windmill museum.
Since we've left our nice suits back at the dealership, we have to think fast and find some pants at the Goodwill across the street from our hotel. For only $7, neither the fancy waitstaff nor our friends will ever know we only had shorts and t-shirts with us.
Our arrival is warm and welcoming. Two old friends (Miles Blackwell and his wife, Jess) we haven't seen in almost half a decade. We worked together on a volunteer construction project when we met and became fast friends. He's big and boisterous. You would know he was from Texas no matter where in the world you met him. We are the same age, but our lives have followed VERY different paths. They are grandparents now and retired. I'm still getting started in life. Funny that that after all these decades doing what people do, we find one another. I wonder what would have been different if we'd met thirty-five years ago?
We meet two new people as well, Harlan and Sylvie Knox. Well, not entirely new. We've met before but we all have only the slightest recollection of our former moments. Harlan and Sylvie are full time volunteers working to build places of worship. They have driven from the west, and we from the east. Crossing hearts here with our Miles and Jess as the nexus.
These people are simply wonderful. It is an incredible delight to be able to walk in on a conversation with someone you haven't seen in 5 years and just keep going like you were only in the other room.
Quality.
Dinner at Double Nickel is stunning (and the bill reflects that). I don't know what is better: the twenty-five year old Macallan, the ribeye or my wife's sea-bass. Ultimately, it’s the company that outshines even the rare wine and buttery sea-bass. We all have stories to tell. A two-hour dinner passes in a blink—guffaws ricocheting off whispered griefs. The wine deepens every shade of memory.
It passes too quickly and we say or farewells while there is still sunlight. A surprise coming from the eloquent darkness of Double Nickel.
Driving back to the hotel feels too soon. Either the alcohol or missing friends will give me fitfull dreams so lucid that I think I am awake. I only learn I am not when my bedfellow disturbs me while watching a movie on her phone at 3am.
And WHAT dreams they were. Old friends, new places. New highs... all very vivid. Imagined experiences that I wished were real.
The day bleeds moments—I pray for a tourniquet...
#memoir #travel #essay #100DaysToOffload #Writing #poetry
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