FREE COFFEE!!!

Hey, gang!!

How's this for cool?! FREE COFFEE! In case you were not aware of it, my middle name is FREE. Yep. It's Randy FREE Minnick. It has kind of a nice ring to it, eh? Anyway...I managed to rustle up some freebie coffee and wanted to share it will everyone. Just click on the hyperlink and Dunkin' Donuts will send you a free sample of their coffee.

Now ...repeat after me....."Freeeeeee is gooooood". Right on.

More later.

Out in the West Texas Town of El Paso

There’s an old saying in Texas: “No matter where you are coming from, when you reach the Texas border, you are halfway there”. Connie and I found out that the old saying works in the converse. It’s a long way out of Texas. There’s a whole lot of nothing to look at too.

With the Camry loaded to the gunwales, we headed west on Interstate 10. Had we been driving a 1921 Oldsmobile flatbed truck, we could easily been mistaken for part of the Clampett family. We lacked only a few items and a rocking chair on the roof.

It was nightfall when we finally reached El Paso. It didn’t take long to round up a Motel 6 and call it a day. We unloaded a few essential things and “un-laxed” before retiring.

We were tired but not as tired as the night on our trip back west to San Antonio from Memphis. It was a tad later than we had desired by the time we called it quits one night. So, when we finally found a motel that didn’t charge an arm and a leg and your collection of fine china, we dragged out carcasses and our essentials into the motel room. When we ready to depart the next morning, we were quite shocked to find that I had left one of the doors to the Camry wide open with some very important stuff left to dry out. Talk about goofy tired! And, talk about blessed! We weren’t missing so much as a matchstick or a mud pie!

When we greeted the new day in El Paso, and after I had sucked down an adequate amount of Motel 6’s nasty version of hot black java, we decided to go exploring. Why not; El Paso is just across the Rio Grande River from Juarez, Mexico (you know; that place where all of our landscapers and farm workers come from). Plus...it was our day off.

Actually, we weren’t going into a foreign country on the blind. I had been to Juarez before and am familiar with an orphanage located ten miles to the southwest. So, it seemed like a good idea to just mosey on over there and say “Howdy” to the director, John (whose last name has escaped me for the moment).

However, “moseying” in Mexico can be an interesting proposition. There were no problems getting across the border. The Federales motioned us through like we were Gonzalez’s. But, I hadn’t been to Juarez in 7 years. I took what I thought was the correct road that led to the orphanage. However, I was just a couple of blocks south of the one that I needed to be on. In America, that’s no big deal. You can usually just hop on over a few blocks and get on down the road. That’s not the case in Juarez, Mexico. That minor oversight led to what could have been a “real adventure” in Mexico.

The route began in downtown Juarez and headed west. That seemed easy enough. But, things got really complicated and goofy really quickly. To make a long story longer; we took the “scenic rout” out of Juarez to the orphanage. We found ourselves in some “very interesting” neighborhoods all too soon. The unpaved roads were deeply rutted and even dangerous. We’re not talking a few potholes here. We’re talking major unimproved territory where horses almost fear to tread. Had we not been paying attention or been motivated by fear and haste, we could have easily broken an axel or tire. That would not have been a good thing.

At first it appeared that we couldn't get there from here. The roads simply stopped at the edge of a hill. Eventually, we found a real road that hadn’t been built when I had last been there. We jumped on what seemed like the only pavement on the west side of Juarez and zipped right on over to Anapra, the small suburb near the orphanage.

Well….somewhat near. Things are not all that easy in Mexico. I remembered most of the waypoints up to the bluff where the orphanage sat above the town. In not too long a time meandering about in the unpaved harsh desert environment, we happened upon a guarded gate. Huh…a fence and a guarded gate in the middle of the desert? That definitely wasn’t there 7 years ago! “Habla English?” I asked in my best Spanish. How did I know the answer to that dumb question? It wasn’t like I was at Wal-Mart. Of course, the two armed men didn’t speak English. They didn’t have to speak any language for that matter. They were too far out in the desert where humans were optional.

After mentioning the orphanage, the two armed almost-banditos politely ushered us through the barrier and pointed off into the distance. Thankfully, they must have been drawing a steady paycheck or our back seat and trunk full of goodies would have supplemented their annual income.

At first I didn’t recognize the orphanage. I knew about where it was but the topography had changed somewhat. Finally, we drove down the long road to the place and found that it was right where they had left it.

There were major improvements including the completion of their big church building and a few new buildings on the property. It looked great! They even had electricity (electricity is good!)! They had their own generator until recently and only had light at night for a couple of hours or so.

It was good to see John again. He looked at lot less stressed than the last time I saw him. At one time he and the orphanage has been under the auspice of “Arbol De Vida” (“Tree of Life”) ministries in El Paso. He was now an independent operation with much help from some of the churches and such in El Paso.

He was quite pleased to know that he had been remembered and that we cared enough to visit. He simply doesn’t get many visitors due to the logistics. When we asked about the new gate, John explained that there had been some sort of territorial dispute between a notorious but wealthy land lord and the Mexican state. The matter ended up in court where the land loon (sic) lost the case. However, due to his influence in local politics and his wealth, he was able to simply cordon off a vast chunk of land and oust the legal residents and property owners off “his property”. The orphanage had been spared (sounds like God to me). We visited for a short while then had to head back to civilization. He invited us to stop in any time. We can do that.

On the trip back to Juarez, I noticed where I had made the error in navigation and made due note. What a differnce a block makes. We then entered the massive queue of vehicles trying to cross the border. It could have been a long day but, for some reason, the traffic was moving steadily along and we soon were back in the good Ol' US of A. Of course, the Mexicans hijacked the touristas at the border with a 2.95 toll to cross the bridge. It’s not unlike inviting the citizen’s of the town to a free opera. Then, when they find out that they are listening to the world’s worst soprano, get charged to leave the building.

The “Border Patrol” took one look at Jed and Aunt Pearl and their load of stuff and began to ask questions. It was a good thing that they noted that we had only been in Mexico a couple of hours. That was probably a key point. Otherwise, they were going to be tied up for days taking inventory of stale cookies, chips, Diet Pepsi, gifts, travel maps, and a ton of miscellaneous items that make for a comfortable road trip. Actually, I think it was entirely Connie’s innocent face as to why they let us go so soon. She simply doesn’t look like a “bad guy”. They waved us through.

In just a short while, we were on I-10 and headed for an aircraft museum not far away in Santa Teresa, N.M. Now were talking!

Mr. Baker

The rain could put an end to a great day but it surely couldn’t put a wet blanket (I know, I know. I can’t help myself sometimes) on our appetites and desire to make merry. After hangin’ around the aerodrome for awhile and getting a few ducks together, it was time to go to Mr. Baker’s. I had seen his ranch from the OTW so knew where it was (that and Roger gave us directions).

Roger had already clued us in to his great friend and neighbor. He advised that he just happened to be an original Texan who had also been a private pilot. He told us that his business involved the oil and salvage industry and that he was a collector of a number of things. He had traveled all around the world and had no end of stories to share.

By about dark thirty we all moseyed over about a quarter of a mile to Mr. Leslie Baker’s ranch. It was still raining pretty hard so everyone was sopping wet. Anyone who hasn’t lived through a west Texas “frog strangler” rainstorm is really missing out on getting themselves entirely wrecked. There’s no way that anyone can end up anything but “casual” by the time you get inside of out the deluge. But, that’s just Texas. I heard tell that newcomers to that area do two things right away; build a storm shelter and an ark.

I had met a “real Texan” many years earlier. My mother’s second husband was one of those. He was rough, gruff, and wore his Huggies full of stuff. He must have been a neighbor or even relative of Ol’ Mr. Baker because Mr. Baker was exactly like him. He was constructed entirely out of “rough edges”. If anyone had attempted at some time to use sandpaper to smooth him out, I’d have to say it was “Double Ought” grit at best.

What was most refreshing to find was that, for all the rough exterior, Mr. Baker was a true friend. When it came to Roger and his friends, his credo was “Mi casa, su casa” and it was without reservation. He had opened his home to Steve (Roger’s brother) and his party for the duration and had invited the entire Freeman and friends clan over for dinner and a good time.

Because of a misunderstanding on our part, Connie and I had already eaten dinner so only sampled the Texas stew that Mr. Baker had brewed up. I’m not sure why I suspected that Armadillo would be an ingredient but I did (silly me). It was just good ol’ Texas beef with a bunch of other identifiable stuff tossed in. Good stuff in any language.

Mr. Baker asked me to say grace. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock to me, but it was. How cool that the he had such a consideration! I can say grace at the drop of a hat and even give you the hat. I prayed and we dug in.

The entire party couldn’t have been tickled more than at the good natured bantering between Mr. Baker and Margarette (his lady friend). He would make a raucous marriage proposal or, in his booming Texas voice, relate some of their past mutual experiences with the crowd. She would always keep him in check with an appropriate countering remark of some kind. It was almost like a well-rehearsed Vaudeville show. We all got a kick out of it. I think they did it on purpose just to give us all a grin. We surely did grin.

After awhile it was determined that John and I were guitar players and could howl with the coon dogs if needs be that a song were in order. Both John and I were amenable. However, there was only my 1987 Special Edition D-16M Martin on hand. Out of the clear blue, Mr. Baker produced a beautiful black and white fiddle that he had purchased in Alaska some years ago. Come to find out, John Goble plays the fiddle! Now, two of us could team up and make noise that someone could consider music!

We sang a few country “old standards” and some good old gospel songs and wound up doing “Ashoken Farewell”. It couldn’t have been a better time. John and I are looking forward to the next opportunity to fly and to play music together.

After a lot of food and fellowship, it was time to get some rest. It had been a long long day and we were spent. After thanking Mr. Baker profusely for such a great evening and hugging everyone’s neck (we do a lot of that if we like folks), we were off to Luling to lull and lie down. We knew that we were going to have a great morning because a big breakfast bash had been scheduled at Mr. Bakers. I started liking Texas a lot more than I already had.

The dawn broke to a nice day. I sucked up a bit of hot black coffee then Connie and I made our way out to the Camry in clear rainless weather. In a little while, we pulled up to Mr. Baker’s ranch. On the menu for breakfast was Mr. Baker’s own home recipe. It was crushed Fritos and scrambled eggs. OK….I can do that as long as there’s a fork within reasonable reach.

We were all sipping coffee, gabbing, and watching Mr. Baker (an octogenarian - who insisted on cooking for us!) crack eggs and stir stuff. I smelled biscuits cooking too so I knew it was going to be a good day.

Breakfast was soon served, grace was tendered, and forks were deftly employed. We all ate our fill and dilly dallied for awhile. But, then we all had to depart the Baker ranch. We all heaped profuse thanks upon Mr. Baker for his awesome hospitality before saddling up and moving on down the prairie. It’s easy to see why Roger considers Mr. Baker a dear dear friend. There are few people like him, to be sure.

Back at the Aerodrome, we all continued with the fly-in that had been interrupted the day before. It had been scheduled for Saturday and Sunday so we found no reason not to be there have fun on Sunday too. Though not like Saturday, Sunday morning was super.

When “things” settled down, Roger brought out the OTW again. That’s when Connie got the opportunity to break free from the Texas sod. Roger took her out for great time of sight seeing in the rare and sweet biplane. Connie loves open cockpit low and slow flying proving, once again, that there are no flies on her pies. They flew around for awhile and mashed a few bugs then headed back to the aerodrome.

Not long afterwards, Steve and his buddy and fellow FedX pilot, Mark Warren, had to call it a day and get back to Memphis. So, they loaded up Mark’s gorgeous 1963 Beechcraft Debonair and departed the fly-in.

A tradition for departing aircraft at the “Old Kingsbury Aerodrome” is to make a fly-by prior to departing the airspace. Sure enough, shortly after departure, Mark and Steve came around and honored that tradition. Ol’ Ran was able to get a couple of nice pictures of that cool fly by as the “Debby” came in hot and low. Connie and I then watched as the Debonair winged her way into the drab Texas sky.

After a short time of visiting and such, Connie and I had to depart. We really didn’t want to go. But, we knew that we would be sorely missed by our other loved ones and that the world in California would probably just stop spinning if we didn’t return in an expedient manner.

Once again it was neck hugging time in Texas (we’ll do the roundup thing later). It is difficult to express the depth of our sincerest of thanks to Mr. Baker, Roger, Steve, and all who made our stay in Texas a monumental memory. Both Connie and I will forever be thankful for our time there and for the new friends (who are family for all intents and purposes) who made our time in their part of Texas a great joy.

To say that Roger is our hero is an understatement. He was the “pivot man” around whom all things worked to make for a great time in Texas. . Connie and I are looking forward to another trip to Texas to be sure.

I was almost sad to have to point the Toyota westward. But, we did just that. There was a lot of territory to cover and that would just be to get to the Texas border.

Stay tuned because, next time, we are not only going to leave Texas, we are going to leave the country!