July 24th. New Boston to Vernon via Dallas.

After what was euphemistically described as a ‘Continental’ Breakfast – a bowl of rice crispies and a coffee, we set off for Dallas. As we were making good time we decided to stop off somewhere and look around as well as liberate some cash. Things are working out OK on the financial and timetable fronts though we might have a day or two of ‘DIY’ catering, or maybe not. Anyway we stopped in a place called Greenville which was just a long wide street intersecting the highway. It had a clutter of fast food places and a few non-descript shopping ‘malls’. I got the impression that it was some kind of accident that grew on the side of the road. Willy however, found a great discount store and added to his collection of shirts – He doesn’t want to be allowed to go shopping alone anymore. I got a ‘John Deere’ hat, one of those things that I just don’t know how I got by without for so long. Betty brought us straight to Dealey Plaza, the scene of JFK’s assassination in 1963. This was one of my dreams come true, to stand on the grassy knoll where Zapruder shot his famous film of the assassination, to stand by the picket fence where the alleged second bullet came from and to look up at the window from where Lee Harvey Oswald fired on President Kennedy. I was only six at the time but I do remember going to see him pass through the streets of Dublin in September ’63. We made our own American flags in school under the supervision of Mrs Doyle, my mother cut up an old pillow case for the flag. I wander. Up on the Sixth floor there is an amazing exhibition which chronicles the events and the various protagonists. The window area has been reconstructed, minus gun and spent shells but you can stand right beside the window and look down Elm Street and see the ‘x’s painted on the street where the bullets hit. Quite an experience. Unfortunately you are not allowed take photographs or film anything. Willy found a machine to make more flattened pennies to add to his, growing collection. I have decided to collect pencils, pins and iron-on patches. We then went for lunch up the road or ‘blocks’ as they call them here, but not before getting more t-shirts – ‘Don’t mess with Texas’ and my Texas Ranger badge, to a place called ‘Sonny Bryan’s on Market Street (302) where the charming Tammy looked after us with excellent onion rings and barbeque sauce followed by various meats and salads – just the job before a four hour drive. We set off with our objective being Vernon a town within a hundred or so miles of Amarillo, our next big stop and where we rejoin Route 66, I’m missing it already. I start reading ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ in Amarillo. We hit rush hour coming out of Dallas and I’m glad to say that no matter how big you (or the Texans) can make things, when everyone wants to go home at the same time, there is nothing you can do about it. The drive takes us Northwest and the landscape is beginning to change albeit very slowly. We were treated to a couple of wonderful sights which I wasn’t able to photograph as I was; a) On the Interstate and b) Driving but hopefully I can get some of them tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. One was the ‘mules’ I think there called, the curious bobbing machines which pump up oil from small wells all around the States. A strange sight, watching acres of these almost animal-like machines nodding at the ground like robotic grazing cows. The other was a very long train. Very long is a bit of an understatement, this train, two containers high, stretched away into the distance. I shall try and find out just how long they are. Finally and most picturesque was the sunset. It was a bit hectic driving into it, but as it sunk lower and the colours got more vibrant, it reminded me of what this trip is about – heading west. We checked into the ‘Super 8’ motel in Vernon but not before driving up it’s main street but the lights were out, shutters were down and nobody was home. Roy Orbison was born here, Willy reckons that moving to Memphis was the best thing he did. We went across the road (walking, though the guy in the next room drove) to the petrol station/deli and picked up some eats but the case of 12 cans of Busch lite cost $8 that’s just over 5€, are we being ripped off in Spain/ Ireland or what?