There is no sight more gratifying to me than the open road, for the open road allows the body to wander and the mind to wonder. It offers an escape for the imagination and a way of life governed by freedom and fueled by curiosity. 

 

My name is Alexander, and I am a sophomore in Timothy Dwight College studying political science and history. Naturally, my day is complete with writing papers, reading research articles and attending lectures. And as much as I am a Yale student, I consider myself a student of the world with the open road as my classroom.

 

This travel column, On the Road, recounts several of my adventures on asphalt and all the lessons I have learned from the people, places and things I have encountered on all roads, from those well-traveled to those not taken. 

 

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My aunt was making breakfast by the time I got out of bed. Meanwhile, my father was packing our bags while my mother was watching a weather report on television. It was a balmy morning in Fort Worth. The temperature was just above 88 degrees. As the city sizzled, so too did the bacon my aunt laid magnanimously on my plate. I felt tired waking up, but the prospect of a hearty breakfast was enough to rattle me completely out of my lethargy and into a state of anticipation for the day ahead. 

 

My parents and I spent the previous day driving from the Panhandle to the Metroplex. The goal of this day was to travel south to San Antonio with several stops along the way. Being provisioned further by my aunt with cookies and water for the journey ahead, we said our goodbyes, made plans to see each other again soon and set off. 

 

Keeping up with the pattern of visiting as many national parks and monuments as we could on our road trip, our first stop of the day was the Waco Mammoth National Monument. We arrived shortly before noon. The weather made no noticeable departure from the temperature in Fort Worth. Waco was warm. And if I did not feel it, then I heard it. Cicadas were everywhere, their presence indicated by a buzzing that permeated the air. After a short walk through a thicket of trees, we made it to the monument’s dig shelter. 

 

The shelter was a tall and expansive structure. In addition to shielding visitors from an unrelenting summer sun, its main purpose was to protect fossil excavations currently being undertaken by researchers. Their presence was noticeable, for serving as companions to these erstwhile mammoths were a substantial amount of buckets, light stands and archaeological tools scattered across the ground. Juxtaposing this clutter were the fossils themselves. Many remained in situ, their skulls and husks jetting out of the earth like mountains of cream and dusty white rising from a barren landscape.

 

The discovery of the fossils came as a surprise. In 1978, two locals were exploring the region when they came across a bone protruding from a rock. Scientists at Baylor University realized it was a mammoth femur. With such a discovery, they quickly began excavating the site. Doing so, they discovered the fossils of a herd of mammoths buried under the earth. Since then, researchers from Baylor and all around the scientific community have flocked to Waco in an effort to preserve and study them. 

 

After spending a healthy amount of time looking at the fossils, we left and journeyed into downtown Waco, taking photos of the city’s suspension bridge before making another stop at the Dr. Pepper Museum. 

 

To the beverage connoisseur, Dr. Pepper reigns alongside Coca-Cola and Pepsi in America’s triumvirate of soda. The relationship between the three can best be described as the relationship between Harvard, Yale and Princeton. Coca-Cola and Pepsi share a rivalry as intense as the one between Harvard and Yale while Dr. Pepper, much like Princeton, just happens to join the mix. These competitions manifest themselves in everything, from marketing to one’s family. I know it all too well. My father loves Pepsi. My mother loves Coke. And I, brandishing my trademark diplomacy, choose not to get in between that rivalry. Instead, when given the option, I will very much take a glass of Dr. Pepper. Needless to say, visiting the museum proved to be a personally delightful, and later delicious, experience.

 

The museum hosted a variety of exhibits and artifacts so that each one could tell a certain aspect of the Dr. Pepper story. Antique soda fountains, bottling machines and carbonators recalled the beverage’s early beginnings and production. Preserved delivery trucks explained its growth as a worldwide beverage. A series of vintage signs and advertisements brought to mind Dr. Pepper’s standing as a beloved drink throughout generations. My parents and I took our time wandering through the museum. As we neared the end, we came across a historic exhibit about Dr. Pepper’s global popularity. There, my parents found a set of old glass bottles from the Philippines. In a moment, they went from middle-aged travelers to giddy schoolchildren. Nostalgia excites. Their demeanor belied their age as they recounted stories of buying and drinking from those bottles in their youth. My parents laughed after seeing them, both of them feeling old but also happy at how a faded memory from their childhood came back to life. We completed our tour of the exhibits shortly after.

 

Intending to make good use of the discounts that came with our tickets, we went to get Dr. Pepper floats at the museum’s soda fountain. Rich and refreshing, we ate them quickly, got take-out for lunch and began the drive south.

 

In two hours, I found myself in front of the Lyndon B. Johnson Presidential Library. It was big enough to humble anyone standing in its shadow and imposing enough to inspire a countenance of awe on the face of one tired and weary traveler. The library was a remarkable edifice with bold white walls and angles that reflected a strong sense of modernity. Standing ten stories tall, its architecture alone makes it worthy of a visit to anyone passing through Austin.

 

Opened in 1971, two years after Johnson left office, the library houses 45 million documents in addition to other materials related to his presidency. It is located on the grounds of the University of Texas at Austin with the skyline of the state capital easily viewable from its location. With time to spare, and given our interest in history, my parents and I decided to visit the library. 

 

We arrived roughly an hour before the library closed. By that point, the security officers were starting to discuss their dinner plans. People were headed out, not in. Unlike the Dr. Pepper Museum, the presidential library was quiet. Shortly after getting our tickets, we found ourselves in the library’s great hall. There, we were greeted by the archives. Standing four stories tall and encased in glass, its shelves were covered with books bound in red and gold. The books themselves were brilliant and cast in an amber glow. It seems that I found a distant cousin to the Beinecke — both structures were beautifully geometric in architecture, and both were easily capable of impressing anyone. 

 

As one would expect, the library had sections dedicated to Johnson’s early political career, his ascendance into the presidency following President Kennedy’s assassination and his administration. Artifacts put on display were as diverse in composition as they were in the subjects they covered. There were photograph galleries detailing the war in Vietnam, preserved documents pertaining to civil rights as well as items dedicated to educating visitors on the Great Society. As a history enthusiast, and someone who had just taken Professor Gage’s course on the “American Century,” I spent little time reading any panels and placards and spent more time inspecting documents and photographs. I also allocated much time inspecting the replica Oval Office with hopes of seeing the real one myself one day.

 

Keeping track of time, my parents and I moved briskly. With the afternoon slowly turning to evening, we headed to downtown Austin to make one last stop: the Texas State Capitol.

 

The streets of Austin were calm, quiet and darkened by the shadows of skyscrapers and of clouds passing under the Texas sun. We had 20 minutes before the capitol closed. My father, opting to take a break, decided to stay behind at the capitol grounds. Thus, my mother and I were left to perform a mad dash to and throughout the capitol. 

 

The capitol was wrapped in scaffolding when we were there. This, however, did not prevent me from appreciating the edifice’s architectural beauty. Built in the Italian Renaissance Revival style in 1885, its granite, a shade of sunset red, has clothed the building in its unique and distinctive pinkish hue. A formidable dome rested royally on its roof while its facade, sporting a healthy distribution of expansive windows, was supported by strong arches and muscular columns. 

 

Making our way inside, my mother and I moved through its corridors. Painted in white, they were tall and radiated an amber gleam thanks to numerous lights and the setting sun. A rushing river of tourists wandered through the halls and yet, despite the number of people, the building remained expansive. I suppose, then, that the oft-quoted saying held some truth — that things in Texas were indeed bigger. Proving this point further was the capitol rotunda.

 

The rotunda was breathtaking not only in its intricate design and artwork, but for its height. Resembling the interior of a hollowed mitre, it reached all the way to the crown of the dome and allowed visitors to access it on different floors. Keeping track of time, with the intention of getting to San Antonio before nightfall, my mother and I left the rotunda and made a mad dash throughout the entire building before it closed. With the legislative chambers closed, we passed through historical exhibits, preserved rooms and legislative offices before making it to the underground capitol extension. After an elevator ride, we found ourselves on the North Capitol Grounds. Taking some photographs of the state capitol, we walked across the entire park, met up with my father at the South Grounds and left Austin. 

 

It was near dinnertime by the time we checked in at our hotel in San Antonio. After dropping off our bags in our room, we got onto the River Walk to look for a suitable restaurant for dinner. By this point, we were as drained as a bottle of water in the summertime. With limited options proximate to our hotel, we settled for Domingo, a restaurant specializing in Tex-Mex cuisine.     

 

I ordered enchiladas verdes while my father enjoyed a shrimp cocktail. My mother opted for a burger. The restaurant proved to be an entertaining experience not for its fare, nor for the occasional breeze that would come in from the patio, but from the sound of shattering glass that emanated from the dining hall. A sharp crack, followed by a sparkling fizzle — the sound of a glass meeting its demise on an indifferent stone floor. We heard one glass shatter, followed by a second, a third and so on. It was as if the staff decided to play Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture with glasses. It seemed then that we were not the only ones tired and exhausted at the restaurant. 

 

Tired and looking forward to rest, we paid our check, left the restaurant and walked back to our hotel. At that point, it was well past 10 p.m. We did not bother watching the evening news or posting anything on social media. All we wanted was to get to bed. So, I settled into my bed, buried myself under a cloud-like comforter and stared out into the city. The streets below were kept awake by streetlamps and an occasional pair of headlights. Meanwhile, the skies above San Antonio covered the city in a blanket of starlight made soft by faint etchings of clouds and the glow of the Texas moonlight. Between the streets and the stars were highrises whose walls grew tired with the night. In the distance, one by one, their lights began to turn off. Windows began to fall asleep, transforming the faces of a skyscraper into a mosaic of black and yellow squares. Another window followed, then another, and another and another. And then, a tender hush fell over the city and all was still.

ALEXANDER MEDEL
Alexander Medel is a staff columnist for the WKND desk. His fortnightly travel column, "On the Road," covers his experiences on road trips across America. Originally from San Jose, California, he is a sophomore in Timothy Dwight College majoring in Political Science and History.