Day 26 – Ozona, Texas, to Galveston, Texas.
The van felt like a powder keg as we rolled out of Ozona. The sheer weight of the journey—26 days of road-tripping, navigating unfamiliar towns, a reality where every minute was new territory, and living in close quarters—had worn us thin. Silence was our default companion now, thick and introspectively oppressive. Even the landscape seemed to echo this mood: the dry, muted plains of West Texas stretched out quietly and endlessly, offering little solace to our frayed nerves.
We drove eastward, the Texas sun beating relentlessly, its golden rays casting long shadows over monotonous mesquite and scrub brush fields. I glanced at the dashboard thermometer—it read 104 degrees. This was summer in Texas: vast, unforgiving, and unapologetically hot. The scene encapsulates the desolation and beauty of this stretch of road. I stared at the same view for miles, wondering if we would ever reach the coast.
The slightly undulating plains are only broken by the occasional outcrop of large rock formations solidified by eons of time. In that stillness, I realized how travel can strip you down to your core—forcing you to confront the landscape and yourself. Something I loved about traveling. A world where one always finds themselves a stranger in a strange place. To encapsulate yourself in the unknown and embrace the fact that you are ignorant here. You may not know the roads, the language, or the customs. To be a child again. It’s what I love most about exploring a new path in both space and time.
It’s what I loved about living in Vietnam. Every day, every minute, every breath was an adventure into the unknown. Every task, no matter how menial—taking the trash out or going to get groceries for dinner—was an adventure. These thoughts of the cosmos and what it all means kept my mind from focusing on the silence of the van now as we bounded down I-10 East.
The silence broke only once Houston loomed ahead. The city’s sprawling skyline was a jarring contrast to the serenity of the plains. Deciding we needed a reprieve, I veered southward onto Texas 288, longing for the promise of salty air. The route took us through Lake Jackson and Surfside Beach, where the flatlands finally surrendered to the Gulf’s sparkling promise.
The drive along the intercoastal waterway was a balm for our weary souls. We rolled the windows down, letting the sea breeze invade the van. It carried with it the tang of salt and the cries of seagulls. The kids, previously sullen and withdrawn, began to stir, their faces lighting up at the sight of the water.
The toll bridge to Galveston marked our final stretch, and by 5 p.m., we arrived at the KOA cabin. The air was also thick and oppressive—Galveston was in the grip of a massive heat wave. But nothing could deter us from plunging into the sea. By six, we were all shoulder-deep in the warm, brackish water. The Gulf wasn’t the pristine blue of the West Coast or the Caribbean; it was murky, with its unique charm. It wrapped around us like a warm embrace, washing away the day’s tension.
The cabin was nice and straightforward, not overly luxurious, but a sanctuary nonetheless. That night, the oppressive silence of the van was replaced with the gentle hum of cicadas and the distant roar of waves. I emptied the van’s freezer stores and prepared most of the food we had left. A substantial amount, it would turn out.
Diem and I sat on the patio overlooking the marsh on the inland side of the coastal dunes. We watched the sky turn a fiery orange and finally began to talk—not just in monosyllables, but in honest conversations—the kind where you remember why you chose this journey and each other. We enjoyed a few drinks and complimented each other on our accomplishments. It took until day 26 to get angry at each other. A fact in itself that was compliment-worthy.
Twenty-six days ago, we left the homestead in Covington, Georgia. Since then, we have crossed the continent one and a half times. The sights we have seen included many of America’s treasures: The Gateway Arch, Mount Rushmore, Old Faithful, Four Corners, The Space Needle, the Golden Gate Bridge, China Town, and the Hollywood Sign, to name a few. Fifteen National Parks From Badlands to Joshua Tree and Yellowstone. Mount Rainier to Redwood, White Sands, and more.
We tasted wines in Nappa, ate fish from the throwers of Seattle, had an In-n-Out animal-style in Los Angeles, ate BBQ in Kansas City, and so much more. We have been all over the world, but no 28-day stretch of time will ever compare to the scope of what we have just done. And in all this, no one was injured or sick, the van had no issues, and our reservations and bookings worked out. We just oozed with pride of accomplishment as our discussion of this incredible journey we were winding down felt like a massive success and melted the tension from earlier in the day.
That sunset felt like a reward, a reminder of the beauty waiting at the end of every grueling stretch. As the sun dipped below the horizon, I thought of the miles we’d covered, the challenges we’d faced, and the memories we’d made. Galveston was our penultimate stop, and though the road home loomed ahead, for that moment, it felt like we’d found a small piece of paradise.
Click here for the National Park Services to explore some of the parks and monuments we’ve explored and more.
