The Secret I-Love-Jesus Gang Signal

Jump: Chandler, Texas --> Palmer, Texas – High School Grounds: 90 miles
RIGHT out of the lot... LEFT onto HWY 31 WEST
Follow LOOP 317 around Athens back to HWY 31 WEST
I-45 NORTH to EXIT #25 for Palmer... arrows to the lot
Shows at 2pm/4:30pm

Circus pitched its tent in the tiny East Texas town of Chandler. Something called the Chandler Powwow was going on at the same time.

Nothing to do with Native Americans though.

There was a parade. I love parades! High school marching bands, cheer leaders, the 4-H Club (and their pigs), mayor who only ran for office ‘cause GM was threatening to close down his car lot, fire trucks and first response teams – what’s not to love about a small town parade?

By the time the Jon-Benet Ramsay Memorial Float lurched by, the tent was up. “Look at that,” said the woman next to me. “A circus.”

“Can we go, Ma?” asked one of her boys.

“I should say not. They steal kids on the circus, don’t you know that? Put you to work biting the heads off chickens. Do you want to bite the heads off chickens?”

“No,” said the other boy.

“Yes,” said the first one.

“I want you to stay right near to me, do you hear? Don’t you go nowhere close to that tent –“

“Ma’am,” I interrupted. “I’m with the circus. I’d like to correct a misconception. We don’t take kids. We give them away.”

“Huh?”

“Take this one, for example,” I said, elbowing Robin. Robin crossed his eyes, hunched one shoulder, did his best Boo Radley imitation. Even worked up a little drool! “I’m willing to give this one away absolutely free of charge if you can guarantee me he’s going to a Christian home.”

“No, thank you,” said the woman.

“Do you have any livestock, ma’am? He’s very good at entertaining livestock. Of course his methods are a bit unorthodox –“

“Get over here, Justin. Now!” said the woman to the boy who wanted to bite the head off chickens.

“But Ma,” said the boy. “I want him –“

Scowling, the woman marched her sons off in the direction of the Faith Tabernacle Church of Deliverance caravan.

“Lock your car!” I called out after her. “You’re never safe! Not even in Chandler!”

###

Circuses don’t usually do well when they appear in conjunction with some other event. No one is going to buy overpriced peanuts, popcorn, cotton candy or soft drinks when they’re already offered at fair booths, and the concession stand is where a circus makes its real bank, ticket sales are the loss leader. Of course, nobody is going to go to the circus when there’s other entertainment to be had for free. I think maybe 60 people showed up for the show. Another looser day. There’ve been a bunch of them recently. Really, I don’t get why Prendergass & Fellini is still on the road.

###

Anyway, I decided to drive to Tyler. In honor of cake_o_rama! Tyler wasn’t bad. True, the historic downtown looks as though someone has dropped a smart bomb on it. The city’s real life takes place on Route 323, the great commercial loop of superstores that circle the dead kernel of the city’s heart like the rings of Saturn. Still there’s a very nice municipal rose garden. An Historic Azalea District. Some stately mansions that look like churches. Some churches that look like stately mansions. Much of the city is paved in brick though, alas, not yellow brick. Really I quite liked it.

In fact I found myself quite liking East Texas. The countryside is all pine scrub and gently rolling hills – very pretty. Sure, the politics are stoneage; people talk about God like He was their dentist or maybe the medic who just oversaw their colonoscopy. But apart from that, they’re upbeat, independent, no bullshit folk. Most of them are even friendly – even the grizzled old sheriff who harrassed us yesterday in the early morning just outside Pilot Point ended up giving us directions and waving us goodbye.

Storm the radio had been warning us about for 36 hours had finally hit. Visibility was less than ten feet. Ben missed an arrow, tried to make a U-turn in what he thought was a parking lot. Now arrows are the way all the trucks, trailers and wagons that carry circus equipment and performers know how to get from Lot A to Lot B. The twenty-four hour man papers road signs and telephone poles with them the night before, and it’s quite possible in the course of your own wanderings, you’ve passed a few without knowing exactly what they are or why they were important. Maybe you thought they were hobo signs (cue Mad Men theme music.)



They're hard to spot in the dark.

The RV sputtered to a stop, spinning its tires on the plush green lawn in front of Dennards Western Wear.

Ben climbed out of looking disgusted. “I couldn’t see. I’m stuck.”

Then the sheriff drove up in his truck, rolled down the window. “This is private property. Now what makes you think you can drive up on to grass on private property?”

“It was a mistake, sir,” Ben explained. “We’re with the circus that’s been in town –“

“Circus? What circus?”

“Prendergass & Fellini,” I said.

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“We missed the turn-off,” Ben continued. “I thought this was a concrete driveway.”

“Never heard of someone so stupid they thought grass was a concrete driveway,” said the sheriff. “How do you reckon to get yourself out of here?”

“I just called the show mechanic –“

“Well, if he ain’t here in five minutes, I’m gonna call the wrecker. And he can’t park here. This is private property.” And he rolled his window back up.

Thirty seconds later, Scott showed up. He and Ben crouched as they conferred as though that would somehow protect them from the rain, which was starting to come down hard again. Sheriff was still watching. So I decided to cross myself. Maybe he was a religious man, right? Probably he was a religious man though it was highly unlikely he was a Roman Catholic. Do Methodists cross themselves? Do Baptists? Wouldn’t he at least recognize the gesture as a signifier? Secret I-love-Jesus gang signal? Assuming he doesn’t hate all Roman Catholics for being so soft on evolution?

By the time Scott and Ben managed to hitch the RV and drag it off, Dennards Western Ware’s lawn was under two inches of water. The RV’s tires had left big ruts.

“We’ll pay for the damage,” I told the sheriff.

“Reckon you will,” he said. But he had softened, definitely. He gave us directions. “Route 21 what you’re looking for? It’s the second turn on the left. Good luck to you.”

And with that we set back out on the road.

(no subject)

JUMP: Palmer, TX --> Alvarado, TX – Diamond W Arena: 40 miles
RIGHT out of the lot... arrows and signs to HWY 287 NORTH to Midlothian
LEFT onto HWY 67 SOUTH to Alvarado
Arrows to the lot before you get to town
Shows at 5pm/7:30pm

I hate rain, West Texas and teenagers (not necessarily in that order.)

We’ve been making a big clockwise circle around Dallas for the past four days. Around twenty after the hour the landscape changes – welcome to West Texas. Now git the fuck out.

Gladly, sir. Gladly. Put down the gun.

On second thought... Go ahead. Shoot me. You’d be doing me a favor.

###

Rained steadily for the past four days. Rained hard for the past four days. When it’s sunny out, I can view my life – even now – as a kind of adventure. But when it’s raining like this all I can think is how badly I’ve fucked it all up, how alone I feel without any sort of tribe to sustain me, no one who really sees me. I’m a ghost with a beating heart.

All I really can do is write. And what good is that?

So... a bad case of cabin fever. An ugly cabin. Next time I go on a five month trip in a 16 by 10 foot RV with 2 dogs, a cat and 2 other humans, I’m definitely bringing board games.