Here’s a surprisingly noisy little bird at one of the occasional designated picnic areas scattered about the Texas desert. Adding to the post-apocalyptic feeling of any scrubby desert was a gas station sign limiting purchases of water bottle cases to two per person. Otherwise, I haven’t seen much evidence of the Corona virus, though having no frame of reference I suppose every place I saw may have been 50% less crowded than usual. The outlet mall I stopped in to use the wi-fi in Tucson was certainly packed. Despite pouring rain, just like in San Diego, people were wandering around in t-shirts, some of them looking askance at this archaic contraption I carry called an umbrella.
I overheard one guy in a Mexican restaurant in Sonora, Texas speculating I had a sword hidden in the umbrella. A very young white man was my waiter. He was excited to see me reading Robert Louis Stevenson whom he said he reads at the library.
Some of you may wonder why I’m travelling now, at this worst of times, why didn’t I stay at home? Well, I haven’t got one, for one thing. I’m certainly not alone in that—having been in L.A. recently I’ve seen the tent cities on the sidewalks are even bigger than the ones in San Diego. Funny how easily the media so often overlooks such things.
I’m lucky enough to be able to stay in motels on my way. Travelling has sure gotten easy thanks to google maps and travel sites where I can find decent motels for 50 or 60 dollars a night, often identical, blocky buildings with tiny rooms and weak water pressure. But they have free wi-fi which is all it takes to make them seem like paradise to me.