Day 13: Austin, Texas

Do you remember when i wrote that this trip was the turning point for me, the time for me to write about our travels and new experiences. For me, the trip was a chance for me to find confidence in this new state of mind. I told myself that during the trip I would get away from the injury. That plan sure went to shit.

Instead, I sit in a small coffee shop in North Austin, waiting for mechanics 4-hours away in Ozona to install a new engine in a car that they have only seen once. I have some breakdowns and am more indecisive, more unsure, and have no words, no way to express it all. I feel trapped in this town and in this head. A sudden rush of emotions causes my eyes to blur and then it disappears.

To top it all off, yesterday I dropped Aimee off at the airport. She had to get back to shoot two weddings this weekend. It killed me to see her go. It's going to kill me if I don't go soon.

Bent a Rod in Texas...

That would be a great song title: I Bent a Rod in Texas. Unfortunately, the phrase defines our last four days. Yeah, my shit luck has struck again.

It was a great night camping. We found a small campsite in Sonora, Texas called the Caverns at Sonora. We only had four hours remaining on the road before reaching Austin. We woke up in the morning, took Artie for a walk and threw the ball for him, packed up and hit the road, or, I mean the road hit us.

Leaving the campsite, we climbed a steep hill and a I started to hear a knocking sound from the back engine compartment. I tried my best to think nothing of it. We descended the hill. I stepped on the gas pedal, nothing.

We pulled over, and long story short, the engine was shot.

A tow truck came and rolled the van onto the flatbed truck. Rigo, the tow truck operator, drove up 35 miles to Ozona, Texas.

We pulled into a small repair shop. It had a small office and a large dirt lot where dozens of dead trucks and autos sat, parts missing, hoods open. The mechanic, Mark, wore a black cowboy hat, tight jeans and had a wad of dip lodged behind his bottom lip.

"I've seen one of these before," he said.

Hours later, Mark tells us we need a new engine; the rod was bent.

That night we stayed in small motel with little to say but a whole lot of stress. We awoke, rent a uhaul--Ozona has no rental car companies-- and drove to Austin.

Now, we wait for a new engine to arrive from California. We expect it to get to Ozona on Monday or Tuesday. It is then when the real stress will hit.

I am now convinced that my string of bad luck is not a coincidence but is my fate. I hate thinking all that I've put Aimee through. At least she's still here. I love her.

New Mexico...The Journey

Yesterday, we awoke ready to embark for a trip to Carlsbad Caverns. We had been staying with our friends in Tucson, pampered in a nice house and air conditioning. But, we thought, a seven-hour leg through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and back into New Mexico would be a nice, easy jaunt, not too taxing. Well, we underestimated the work that a typical seven-hour journey is for anyone not driving in a 1982 Volkswagon Westfalia. For us, seven-hours was was more like ten hours. The winds on the plains blew the van around and slowed our already slow progress.

And while the van hung in there and made every mountain climb, I didn't fare so well. I couldn't supress the stress. At times during the drive, I caught myself with a huge smile on my face, other times I found myself hunching over the wheel, staring at the odometer, counting the miles. I didn't eat. I barely drank.

Aimee handled my stress well. She knew when to leave me be and when to make me smile.

I want this trip to be a time when I can enjoy life and appreciate all that I have. I want this trip to be the beginning of our new life.

Today, we will take a tour of Carlsbad Caverns. Tomorrow we head for the Frio River in Texas, to camp, float down the river, and laugh.

Destination: Tejas

The morning got off to a rough start: I had to fish through piss-water for an attachment to my razor that had fallen into the toilet bowl. But now we are finally ready for two-weeks touring through the southwest. Our first stop: Tucson. I just hope the van can make it over the mountains.

More to come...

Road Trippin!

My first entry in this blog was just hours before I fell.

The blog was started to write about traveling in our new 1982 Volkswagen Westfalia that we had bought two days prior. It was supposed to be an outlet for me to write something other than local news stories.

My first entry, on September 2009, was supposed to be an introduction of what was to come. I guess it's funny how things can change and instead of writing about road trips, and about our adventures on the open road, I ended up writing about traumatic brain injuries, my traumatic brain injury.

Next Wednesday that will change. That day we will pack up the van, and Artie, and take off for a two-week excursion through the southwest.

I'm excited about the trip, about seeing old friends in Austin, but most of all I am excited to leave this life behind for a while, to write about our adventures, to experience "the great outdoors," and to find my voice.

Speech!

I am invited to speak about my injury and recovery to a college class at San Diego State University.

I was there last year, same professor but different students. And I will appear with the same group of speakers; myself, and two men with spinal cord injuries.

Last year, my story had just been printed and the professor had assigned students to read my story for extra credit. It was before I was prescribed any medication, and only six months after waking up, so I was just learning my condition.

I didn't feel right then appearing alongside two men that have lived the last ten or more years in wheelchairs unable to lift their arms above their shoulders. This year, I'm not sure if I can find the strength to do the same.

I don't want to appear with the story of a hidden injury, the story of frustration, depression, and uncontrollable thoughts and emotions. I'm sure they have much of the same, though they can't hide it.

Maybe this is a sign of recovery, or maybe I am wanting to keep the injury hidden. I'm unsure.

Judgement Day

It doesn't take long for the anger and frustration to subside, regardless of what triggered it. I typically lash out, let out a guttural scream, and then it's over. It's the scary thing about a head injury, that the problem is hidden and the injury lurks inside. It doesn't stop. It doesn't change. It's there.

I don't want to allow this, these tirades, to define me. I don't want my children, when the time comes, to live in fear of me. I don't want to see them cower behind big bulging eyes, like my dog does when he hears my scream.

A friend suggested that when I have these thoughts, these outbursts that I try not to judge them. Instead, he says, I should just observe that they are there. With that observation, there will be no definition, and they can no longer remind me of my injury.

I've been trying to become the observer. But the thoughts that make it past the filter are troubling. The visions are ones that I will never speak of. They scare me, not that I would ever act on them, but that they live inside of me. It's hard not to judge things, thoughts, that are wrong.