Back to Thalia

Tonight, if I ever escape this insane asylum called work, I'm going home, fixing dinner and spending the evening with some old friends in Texas.

Not literally, of course. I'm still here in Halls, doing what I love and loving what I do.

But author Larry McMurtry has released the apparently final installment in his long saga of the life of Duane Moore that began years ago with "The Last Picture Show." And, tonight, before I tackle the American Revolution and John Adams, I'm going back to Thalia. The book is called "When the Light Goes."

I'm quite hesitant to return to that sleepy little Texas town. McMurtry is notorious for taking characters you love and doing crazy things with them. (Read "Streets of Laredo," his bizarre sequel to "Lonesome Dove.")

They're his characters. I guess it's his right. But they've bounced around in my head so long I feel some kind of claim on them, too.

Return I will, though. I once drove, as part of a vacation, all the way to Archer City, Texas, McMurtry's one-stoplight hometown and the model for his fictional Thalia, on some kind of crazy, quixotic odyssey.

I ducked into McMurtry's delicious antiquarian bookstore hoping I'd see him, but he wasn't around. I left on the shelf a first edition of James Reston Jr.'s biography of former Texas governor John Connally -- a move I've regretted for four years.

(Film buffs will know the town. Peter Bogdanovich filmed the cinematic version of "The Last Picture Show" there in 1970. I still contend that's one of the finest films I've ever seen.)

It's funny how books, and characters, can grab you. One of my editors, Larry Van Guilder, says they become like old friends, members of the family.

So it is with Duane. When last I left him, he was living in a cabin, going everywhere on foot, in love with his shrink, reading Proust at night.

I feel like this book is going to leave me terribly depressed. But, off I go, back to Texas, to spend a few hours with an old pal.

Mark this down: writers -- and readers -- are a sick bunch.

On the road (in my mind)

I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.

No, that's not the beginning of the story of my friendship with pal Dean Harned. It's the opening line to a true classic, Jack Kerouac's "On the Road."

Can't tell you how many times I've thought about jumping in the Xterra, picking a direction and taking off. I may do that next year around my 30th birthday.

I love the open road. Used to love it even more when gas was a buck a gallon. But there's nothing better than hitting the highway with nothing but open space and time in front of you.

Three summers ago, Drew Weaver and I took such a trip. We followed Horace Greeley's advice ("Go West, young man..."). After staying all night somewhere in Arkansas, we ended up in Oklahoma City, at the National Cowboy Hall of Fame and Museum. I knew I was going to love the place when they showed us the introductory video. Tom Selleck was the narrator.

From there, it was a quixotic jaunt to Archer City, Texas, in search of "Lonesome Dove" author Larry McMurtry. McMurtry keeps a home in Archer City, where he also runs the country's largest antiquarian bookstore.

Movie buffs will know the town. Peter Bogdanovich filmed the adaptation of McMurtry's "The Last Picture Show" in the author's hometown. It's a quaint place. They have a stop light, a bank, a courthouse and a Dairy Queen.

After Archer City, it was on to Big D. We stayed the night in a Super 8, then drove back to Arlington for the Rangers/Yankees game the next day. Hot as hell.

Saturday night we drove to San Antone, where we toured The Alamo that next day. Hot as hell.
I wanted to go to the beach. So we went to Corpus Christi. Sadly, there wasn't anywhere to stay -- at least not on the beach. Well, other than actually on the beach.

So we drove north, through Houston, stopping near the Louisiana border for the night. Somehow, we made it all the way to Knoxville the following day.

Anyway, I'm sitting here waiting on pages, thumbing through Kerouac's classic. But I wish I was burning rubber on the highway somewhere, stopping only for gas and when the urge hit me.

As it is, I guess I'll go get a milkshake at McDonald's.