It's strange to be able to pinpoint the day I felt able to be active and athletic: August 4th, 2020, exactly one month ago. Last night starting around 11PM I walked what would amount to 20 miles through some pretty intense rain, from one end of Austin to the other. After stepping in the first puddle, I knew I'd be getting wet.
It's a good friend's birthday today and exacerbating his apprehension about the forward march of time—he's nearly 40—is the recent death of one of his close friends. On the walk I passed where I'd given him his birthday present last year, a now-closed sushi place with a notoriously rowdy karaoke night.
After crossing Lady Bird Lake I made my first water stop: mile 13, a 7-11 just across Lamar from Alamo Drafthouse. There aren't quite as many 24-hour places compared to last year, but it's getting better, I think. It put me far enough south that I concluded to visit my friend. I picked up a gallon jug of water for two bucks and started heading further south. Almost immediately I regretted not asking the cashier for a plastic bag. What can I say? I was thirsty and the jug had a handle.
Without the plastic shopping bag, I had to keep my cell phone dry during the most intense downpours by sheltering it in my pants pocket, with my untucked overshirt acting as a sort of umbrella. This wasn't enough, though. My trousers eventually got soaked enough that I had to keep one hand in my pocket to distance my phone from the fabric. Every so often I'd swap pockets so that I could swap which hand was carrying the water jug and which one was sheltering the world in my pocket.
Mom was up late and I snapped pictures what pictures I could as I went south. On several instances it took being under a bus shelter to be able to type, and sometimes even then it was difficult with wet pruney hands that I couldn't wipe on myself anyplace because all of my clothes were so completely soaked through.
I told mom about my idea to surprise my friend with breakfast tacos for his birthday and it was nice to have someone rooting for me. He lives with his wife in a house they just bought this year; it's just barely in the city limits, at the southernmost end of town. Until lately, he'd been working relentlessly on various improvement projects to the house; the recent halt is largely what prompted my resolve to reach out.
Walking south on Manchaca towards Slaugter Ln is far more pleasant and far safer than Congress. I expected to get there around six in the morning I also expected that I would be able to find tacos close by. Thankfully I was correct about both. I arrived to the intersection shortly before six, finishing my remaining water to free up hands for my errand. I crossed Slaughter to check a convenience store for a styrofoam cooler to keep the food warm and dry in the weather, to no avail.
Empty-handed, I became the first customer in a pharmacy when they opened up. I was glad that my six-sharp arrival coincided with an employee, as her knocking brought someone inside to the front of the store to open up. I got a pretty dirty look from the guy, whose morning work routine I was clearly interrupting by being there, but he was nice enough to show me to where I could find what I needed. A new lunch box was ten bucks and it'll be handy later for the bike tours.
With the lunch box I headed to Taco Cabana, a small strip of retail shops away; they also open at six. There I was the second walk-in customer. On my approach, I saw the banner (in their gaudy pink livery) about curbside pickup and dreaded having to futz with an app or website. I appreciate being able to walk into places.
Twenty five bucks gets 15 tacos: 3 each of bacon & egg, potato & egg, chorizo & egg, steak (fajita meat) & egg, and bean & cheese. I wasn't sure what my friend's favorites were and whatever didn't get eaten would serve a purpose as thermal mass keeping the others warm in the lunch box until they became leftovers.
The storm intensified as the sidewalk along Manchaca ended. I'd have had to sprint some distance to arrive at my friend's place before 7. Not wanting to chance it, I summoned a driver via a ride-sharing service and waited a few wet minutes as lightning strikes grew closer and closer.
I was picked up on the roadside by a toothless woman with a country music station on the sedan's radio. I was immediately rewarded for my decision: rain started coming down in sheets and she was a brave, excellent, and affable driver for the quick two-mile ten-dollar ride. Crossing through torrents and muddied construction sites would have been a nightmare.
What's more: my friend was home, answered the door, and had time enough to share breakfast. Nobody tell him about those last two miles.
