Country song brings back memories of Round Rock

I was listening to one of my mix tapes on my hi-fi stereo cassette player the other morning while I was piddling around in the kitchen when a Dale Watson song came up.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever heard any Dale Watson, but he’s what I call “real country,” which is probably why you may not have heard of him. He might be “too country” for modern country radio.

My favorite song of his is “A Real Country Song,” with the opening line, “Mr. DJ, won’t you please play, a real country song…”

Watson has another song I like, the one that played the other morning on my hi-fi stereo cassette player: “South of Round Rock, Texas.”

It’s not a song about Round Rock, it’s a song about the town south of Round Rock, which would be Austin, Texas.

The song reminded me of my year driving an 18-wheeler.

I stopped in Austin and I liked it. I would’ve liked to stayed longer for the good food, the live music all over the place and great radio stations.

I’ve been to Round Rock too.

But it wasn’t my choice.

From what I saw of Round Rock I got the impression it was to Austin what 1990 Rio Rancho was to Albuquerque, a bedroom community: Lots of houses, little else.

No, it wasn’t my choice to roll my big rig into a residential section of Round Rock.

It was a request from my co-driver, The Trinidadian.

The Trinidadian was not from the Colorado city of Trinidad.

No, The Trinidadian was a former resident of the Caribbean island nation of Trinidad & Tobago.

The Trinidadian had struck up an online relationship with some woman in Round Rock and he wanted to go see her.

Who was I to stand in the way of The Trinidadian and whatever?

So a stop was made.

“How long are you going to be, dude. We are supposed to

be in Wichita this evening,” I said.

“I will not be long,” he said. And with that he was out the door, hoofing it to a nearby house.

So there I was, parked in broad daylight in Round Rock, Texas.

I went back to my bunk and continued reading a book I found at a rummage sale in Ohio, “A Man in Full” by Tom Wolfe.

I fell asleep.

I was awakened by The Trinidadian returning to the cab of the truck.

I checked the time.

“Dude, you’ve been gone for three hours,” I said.

“There were matters to take care of,” he said.

As I got into the driver’s seat there was just something I needed to know from The Trinidadian.

“Dude, you’re married. And you’re always talking about your relationship with the Lord. What’s going on here? I’m not judging, I’m just curious,” I said.

The Trinidadian was quiet, looking out the window for a bit.

Then he turned to me.

“If the Lord directs me to lonely women, I must obey,” he said.

I laughed out loud.

“Dude, are you sure you’re talking to the right guy? I hear that Lucifer fellow is a slicker talker than a used car salesman,” I said.

“There’s no Satan in my head,” The Trinidadian said.

And with that I fired up the big rig, headed for I-35 and Wichita, Kan.

There was not a word from headquarters about a three-hour layover in Round Rock.

But it was probably an unauthorized stop anyway.

On a couple of different levels.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

[email protected]