Focus, The Battalion Q
Friday, April 2, 1982 7
To the south ...
J
Ire
Everybody knows what's to
the south.
The infamous massage par
lors and mini-movie houses are
the first things passed after leav
ing the semi-civilized area of
College Station. One establish
ment even promises a hot tub
room.
They're not doing business to
day, in the rain. Across the road
is Texas World Speedway, a
mysterious world of race cars
and mechanics. It too is quiet
today, awaiting the arrival of the
racers.
Quarter horses are every
where. A swamp runs along one
side of the road; on the opposite
side there's people barbecuing
in the rain.
Bluebonnets and Indian Paint
Brush blanket the medians and
roadsides, more in this direction
than to the north.
At Navasota we take Business
6 to tour downtown Navasota.
Three cents buys 36 minutes
Stairway to heaven? Downtown Navasota isn't noted for
its architectural beauty.
of . parking from a meter,
although the place looks like it
can't afford to hire policemen to
give tickets to offenders.
They have a Western Union
here, the only sign of contact
with the outside world.
The sign outside an insurance
agency says "If we can't help
you, nobody can." Unfortunate
ly, they're closed.
The tour is short; one penny
in the parking meter would have
sufficed.
Place names
Places in small towns are al
ways named after people.
Navasota has W.A.'s and
Carroll's; Hempstead has
Fred's; in Calvert there is a
store that is called Pat's on the
storefront and Harold's on a
sign.
It's probably part of the
good old boy mystique —
"Gonna go on down to old
Bill's place to pick up a loaf of
bread and some pickles" —
etc.
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Highway to Hell
Someone is growing chickens
in a field? No, wait, they moved.
They're pecking around. This
farmer mustn't be an Aggie.
A historical marker (maybe
you know them as hysterical
markers?) tells the story of Pri
mus Kelly, a slave who made
good and got his own farm.
Who pays for those things?
Eddie Rabbitt comes on the
radio, singing "Drivin' My Life
Away." The speedometer
mysteriously inches up to 70
miles per hour, with "those
windshield wipers slapping out
a tempo, keepin' perfect rhythm
with the song on the radio,"
even though it realty® wasn't
raining that hard.
It's time for a caffeine break,
but there's no place to stop. We
pass the Victoria David Memo
rial Farm before reaching Hemp
stead. A sign there says "The
way you live could be killing
you."
Driving up and down High
way 6 could kill you too. Bore
dom, you know.
Highway 6 takes a left turn
here, heading toward Houston.
Hempstead is like Hearne, but it
looks a little more civilized.
It does have its redeeming fea
ture — the DiLorio Farms and
Roadside Market.
This operation has outlets on
each side of the road. Inexpen
sive fresh fruits and vegetables
are for sale, as well as a variety
pots and plants, eggs, honey
and other local products.
But today, the mud presents
an obstacle.
The gooey red clay has turned
to slush, and puts its mark on
one-half of a decent pair of ten
nis shoes. The sawdust on the
floor sticks to the slush and
tracks all over the inside of the
car.
The highlights of this stop are
a cactus that looks like a brain
and a large container of fresh
The countdown to 50 is on; we
reach it just past Prairie View
A&M. For some reason the town
of Prairie View has a travel ser
vice.
Houston is down the road; if
we had time, money and energy
we'd go, but one thing for sure,
touring Highway 6 tires you out.
.
... ' -- .' -
The end of the trip to the south wasn.'t
worth stopping for a picture. This was
taken out the car window going 55 m.p.h.
We should have taken their word for it — it really does run both ways.