TX Cowboy Profs don't cancel class ever -- even when the temps drop into the 20s.
Well, hell, I thought once the Texas Rangers got finished doing all their recruitin', there wasn't anyone left over to do anything else, much less anyone left over and qualified to be a Prof. Your guys are clearly tougher than ours are; maybe we can arrange a trade.
Did I ever tell you about that time I was driving across the Panhandle and had a whole posse of Rangers tailin' after me? That wasn't much more than three weeks ago. I reckon it'll be a while before they get all settled down enough to the point where it'd be safe for me to consider another raid down that way. It's too damn flat anyway, and I can't get no relief.
"driving across the Panhandle": I'll relate my own driving across the Panhandle story. (I hope I'm not repeating myself. My kids say I repeat the same stories over and over. It's not getting better as I age.)
My first-ever visit to Texas, and for decades my only visit to Texas, was in January 1976 on a winter-term cross-country geology field trip. They still do this every other year at the geology department of my alma mater, except now they fly across the country and miss Texas.
It was a brief visit: diagonally across the northwesternmost part of Texas, on our way from a night spent in Oklahoma City to a visit to Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. I don't specifically remember the route, but looking at a map, I suppose it was US 54, which I just drove for the second time in my life two months ago, in the reverse direction, on the way back from the nationals and the rogaine in California, and got a $199 speeding ticket at the Texas / Oklahoma border. But that's a different story.
We were in three vehicles, connected by CB radios. For reasons I can't remember, a student in my vehicle was curious about some bovines we were passing; maybe they were an unusual coloration? And for reasons I also can't remember, a student in one of the other vehicles supposedly might have known something about bovines. Whatever the reason, the first student got on the CB and spoke into the Texas ether, "Hey, Missy, do you know what kind of cows those are?" Before Missy could answer, a deep-voiced drawl came back over the CB: "Them ain't cows, them's steers." Or more like "stee-uhs". To this day, that voice sticks in my mind as my aural image of a Texan.
That last little story reminds me of a long run I did with Jerry Rice in California. I was living in Thousand Oaks in ‘92-‘93 and Jerry came to visit. We went for a trail run on trails that by now have given way to gated communities, up through an area called China Flat, and eventually into the back reaches of Cheseboro Canyon, and thence to the park entrance, where we had enlisted Rhonda to pick us up. Say 3 or 4 hours. A really fine run. Anyway, they used to keep cows up on top of China Flat, grazing more or less free range. Jerry asked me if we should be afraid of “those bulls”, and I said “grew up in the city, did you?”
Also, bison are not buffalo nor are they extra fluffy and cuddly cows.
o-maps, your story sounds familiar, what with a Southwestern geology road trip, CB radios, and bovine knowledge. I had a geology professor in college who was a big fan of bovines and, on a geology road trip from Rochester, NY to Arizona, he would occasionally interrupt his own geology lecturing, via CB radio to each of the other 13 vehicles, to comment on characteristics of the various breeds of cattle we were passing.