Walls of goddamned noise and sound.

I-35 N. © Ryan Schierling

I looked at the black rubber marks on the Jersey barriers. I looked at them for miles, and wondered how many drivers' days had been ruined by a drift off, a drift over, a hard jolt and the high-pitched squeal of horizontally-moving rubber and metal grinding across stationary-vertical concrete, and then you're on your side with your eyes wide and drifting, searching. It's the over-correction that gets you every time.

You take off, on the road, on your own. There's always a reason for flight. 

Flyovers. © Ryan Schierling

I stopped in West, Texas for a couple kolaches and a Dr Pepper, and took a vanity photo of my MPG reading on the display. 259,173 miles on the odometer, and the old Saab still gets nearly 40 miles-per-gallon on the highway. It's the only proud moment I've had in a while, and why I scrub my fingernails at the end of most days. Most people don't own cars anymore. Banks own cars, and the people that drive them only know how to put fuel in them and curse at them when they're not doing what they're supposed to do. I believe in taking care of the things that take care of you, and my dad still has that old blue Pontiac Ventura, so I imagine I got a little of that from him.

259,173 miles. 37.9 mpg. © Ryan Schierling

It was 100-degrees when I left. After West, the temperature dropped 20 degrees in 20 miles, and I knew there was some shit blowing in.

I was driving north to visit my parents, to visit my father who was diagnosed with aggressive lymphoma and undergoing radiation therapy and chemotherapy, in the year after he had retired.

You're not supposed to go through this, after working your entire life and doing the right things, making the right decisions.

It's a three hour drive, and I have time to think about all the different kinds of cancer. The random, abnormal cells our body kills off every day without incident or circumstance, and the ones that just happen to stick somewhere, take up residence and open storefronts. I'm going 100 mph. 

Incoming. © Ryan Schierling

It's getting dark. There is lightening on three sides of me, and the rain is beating down on the windshield. I slow the car, and I turn up the stereo to drown everything out.

Everyone has those times when the night’s so long /

The dead-end life just drags you down /
You lean back under the microphone /
and turn your demons into walls of goddamned noise and sound

On the road - New Braunfels, Texas.

All of my favorite food groups are brown and white. Union Street Station. © Ryan Schierling

On the road - Marietta, Oklahoma.

All of my favorite food groups are brown and white.

McGehee's Catfish Restaurant and Airport (FAA Identifier: T40). © Ryan Schierling

Five miles of country roads off the beaten path of I-35, in southern Oklahoma, there is a small restaurant overlooking the Red River. While McGehee's Catfish Restaurant (and Airport) is open all day on weekends, they are only open for a few hours each weekday evening, and we were lucky enough to make that window on our drive from Emporia, Kansas back to Austin.

We sat down at a table that had a view of the river valley, and the waitress approached our table.

"What can I get you to drink?"

"Iced tea, please," we both replied.

Long pause.

"...And catfish?" she asked.

J and I slowly looked at each other and said "Uhm...yes, please?"

We were offered no menus, didn't know if there were menus, didn't even know what this catfish would set us back or what it came with. We were at the mercy of McGehee's to be kind and generous with their seemingly singular expertise – we were ordering Oklahoma omakase.

We were given iced tea 30 seconds later. Not a minute passed after the drinks had arrived, when cole slaw, bread-and-butter-pickled green tomatoes and the most transcendent hush puppies I've ever eaten came to the table. Two minutes after that, a platter piled high with cornmeal-crusted catfish and fresh-cut french fries was placed in front of us.

It was the most glorious divinity that bottom-feeding fresh farm-raised fish could ever hope to attain.

38 years, 2 months, 10 days.

Jennifer Lynn Schierling. May 10, 1972 - May 11, 1972. Emporia, Kansas. 07/20/10. © Ryan Schierling

We were born way too early. One of us made it, one of us didn't. I still don't know how to process that, but I'm working on it.

All I can say is, I wish you were around.

On the road - Manor, Texas.

All of my favorite food groups are brown and white. © Ryan Schierling

On the road - Comfort, Texas.

Comfort, TX. Polaroid. © Ryan Schierling

There are days in life when you will vehemently search for truth and meaning in your personal landscape, and you will find yourself disappointed. Sometimes, you will settle for facsimile, and discover it still can bring a smile to your face.

On the road - Dripping Springs, Texas.

American Way. © Ryan Schierling

On the road - Lorena, Texas.

City boys not allowed. © Ryan Schierling

On the road - Driftwood, Texas.

All of my favorite food groups are brown and white. © Ryan Schierling

On the road - Lockhart, Texas.

Post oak, Smitty's Market. Lockhart, Texas. © Ryan Schierling

Now, I really don't want to get into the habit of posting photographs of what I ate for lunch, because for the most part, it's only visually interesting to me. And, I tend not to do food photography in the 'proper' sense, because it seems to be just overly fussy and styled within an inch of its life.

I'm not sure there really is a pretty way to shoot barbecue. And if there is, I don't think I'd want to do it anyway. It's usually a glorious mess.

Ribs, brisket and hot guts. © Ryan Schierling

Since we're in Austin now, it was only a matter of time before I made the inaugural pilgrimage to The Barbecue Capitol of Texas. It is a proper and sanctioned place (which is why I capitalized the "T," the "B" and the "C") only a half-hour's drive south from here. The Texas Legislature, both House and Senate, have passed a resolution that decrees the town of Lockhart to be The Barbecue Capital of Texas, and there was no way I was going to miss out on something that officially tasty, not when it comes to brisket and pork ribs.

I mean, c'mon. It's like, not voting or something.

On the road - Vega, Texas.

My chariot (w/ corn dog air freshener). Vega, Texas. © Ryan Schierling

We had to pull over for a quick pick-me-up cup of coffee in Vega, Texas. But, somehow, I always end up with the same thing at every convenience store when we're traveling... beef jerky and strawberry milk.

On the road - Moab, Utah.

Exploring America's wide open (parking) spaces. Arches National Park, Utah. © Ryan Schierling

I'm sure Arches National Park has been in National Geographic a bit. Maybe you've seen postcards of it. Certainly you've seen images of the incredible red sandstone cliffs and towering arches (probably with a mountain biker in silhouette) on an office wall motivational poster pushing you toward what must be inevitable success.

It is an incredible, beautiful, nearly alien landscape.

No mid-afternoon photograph I could take after nearly three days on the road can do it justice. All I want is a hot shower, a cold beer, and to never drive all of our belongings (with my car attached to them) halfway across the country ever again.

Austin is still two days away.

On the road - Rock Springs, Wyoming.

Outlaw Inn (attached to drive-in liquor store). Rock Springs, Wyoming. © Ryan Schierling

Our intended route was to drive across Wyoming, drop down into Colorado through Cheyenne, skirt Denver and head east through Kansas.

Four feet of snow in eastern Wyoming changed that pretty quickly. We learned when we stopped for gas at Point of Rock, that I-80 had been shut down from Rawlins to Cheyenne – roughly 150 miles of highway – with no detour routes available. We thought about waiting out the storm until a stranded trucker told us about the thousands of semi trucks lining the highway, 20+ miles deep, patiently queued up for the interstate to reopen. To make matters worse, the highway from the Wyoming border to Denver was closed, and so was I-70 heading west from the Kansas border into Colorado. Forward progress was impossible.

We turned around and stopped for the night in Rock Springs.

On the road - Twin Falls, Idaho.

Motel, night one/day two. Twin Falls, Idaho. © Ryan Schierling

There's nothing like sneaking four yowling, wary, road-weary, freaked-out cats into a motel room after driving for a kazillion hours. I've got to hand it to J for establishing protocol early in the trip and keeping the kids on the down low.

98109 > 78745

So long, Seattle. Thanks for the memories. © Ryan Schierling, via iPhone.

To live.

Chehalis, Washington. © Ryan Schierling

Backyard.

Eric. Denver. © Ryan Schierling

The Colorado River.

River. Denver. © Ryan Schierling

13 Seconds Under Water.

Gary. Austin, Texas. © Ryan Schierling

My favorite food groups are brown and white.

(L) Brisket, sausage, slaw and potato salad at Uncle Billy's barbecue. (R) ATM outside Stubb's barbecue. Austin, Texas. © Ryan Schierling