The day for the move from Edinburg to Rockport dawned cloudy and muggy, but hot. We arranged all the accouterments of peripatetic living into their travel-slots and hit the road.
However, since it had been two years since we saw Port Isabel, BBBH wanted to go over to that lovely venue. I told her I had seen on the TV only the night before the crush of traffic trying to get across the causeway, but somehow the message I hoped to deliver did not penetrate her consciousness, at least at the same level as I had received it.
So, shun piking (not literally in the old-fashioned sense, but my term for avoiding the expressways) we traveled several Texas Routes and FMs (Texas talk for "farm to market roads.") It was a very pleasant drive through cane fields and flat lands, probably at no point mounting a rise more than thirty feet above sea level. But when we turned from Laguna Vista onto Texas 100, the import of what I was trying to tell her impinged itself upon Beautiful's consciousness, for sure, because the traffic for the causeway was backed up all the way through Port Isabel and into Laguna Vista. She was the first to say, "Let's turn around and go to Rockport." Which we did. We arrived in Rockport safely after a pleasant drive north on US 77. No seriously frightening incidents, but I did conclude that there are two kinds of drivers on the highways these days that make for an interesting and riveting time behind the wheel. 1) The young, fearless, impatient idiotic drivers, and 2) the old, timidly dangerous idiotic drivers.