The Great Dallas Expedition

Chapter 163: Big City Problems and Smoked Brisket Solutions

The big excitement this week was our trip to Dallas.

Even though we technically live on the road, there is something different about deliberately setting off for a destination that isn't a river, a campground, or a construction site. This trip felt like a proper getaway.

As we approached Dallas, the highways began multiplying. Two lanes became four. Four became six. Then suddenly there were roads on top of roads, giant concrete flyovers stacked in impossible directions, with people driving like true cowboys! 

The first mission was furniture shopping. Unfortunately, what looked like a simple roadside showroom on Google Maps turned out to be wedged between highways, high-rises, and parking spaces apparently designed for compact hatchbacks rather than a giant camper van.

By the time we parked, I had a genuine headache.

Fortunately, the moment we walked into the showroom, everything improved. The sofa I had been obsessing over was right there near the entrance. Nelson sat on it in several scientifically rigorous positions and declared it acceptable. We looked at tables, cabinets, and various beautiful objects and imagined living in our future home (which, at this point, was still 2D).

Feeling good and productive when we left West Elm, we decided to keep the momentum going and check out a few more stores before rewarding ourselves with lunch. On the map, the next cluster of shops looked conveniently close together. In reality, this was Dallas, which apparently means getting back on the highway even when your destination is only a few blocks away.

We arrived at Knox Street, a very fancy-looking part of town lined with trees, stylish cafés, expensive apartment buildings, and an Apple Store. Naturally, this also meant parking was a nightmare. Finding a spot for a normal car looked challenging enough; finding one for a 21-foot van felt like trying to dock a cruise ship in a mountain creek. I was ready to give up after circling a few times and suggested we just skip straight to lunch, but Nelson persevered and eventually found a shady spot on a side street.

By then it had started raining, so we made a run for the Apple Store.

Our mission was to resurrect our aging iPad, which dates back to the pre-Covid era. It had reached the point where it flatly refused to install any new iPadOS updates, despite our repeated attempts to delete photos, apps, and pretty much everything short of the operating system itself. We figured that perhaps an Apple specialist armed with mysterious Apple-only equipment might have better luck.

After a quick diagnosis, a guy named Chris took a look and told us he would book us in. Nelson and I obediently went to wait on some very modern-looking blocks at the back of the store. They looked cool. They were significantly less comfortable than the chairs we had just been testing at West Elm.

One by one, everyone else sitting on the blocks got called away by people in green shirts. We remained.

And remained.

And remained.

After nearly an hour, I approached another employee named Jacob and politely explained that we seemed to have been forgotten. It turned out that Chris hadn't actually booked us into the system properly at all. My name wasn't even in the queue.

:-(

To Jacob's credit, he immediately sprang into action. We were upgraded from decorative blocks to an actual table with actual chairs, which felt like a significant promotion. He connected the iPad to a MacBook and kicked off the installation process, explaining roughly how long it should take and assuring us someone would check on us.

This second wait was much easier because at least something was happening. We could watch the progress bar inch slowly across the screen and feel reassured that technology was being persuaded to cooperate.  About half an hour later, our elderly iPad emerged victorious with a shiny new operating system. We thanked Jacob, who had basically saved the day, and left the store feeling disproportionately pleased with ourselves.

We squeezed in a little more furniture browsing afterward, but by this point my attention had shifted completely from sofas and dining tables to food.

So we left Knox Street and headed east in search of lunch. Fortunately, lunch was about to be excellent.

Loro combines Texas barbecue with Asian flavors, which sounds slightly dangerous as a concept but turned out to be brilliant.  The atmosphere was relaxed and cheerful, with people lingering over food and drinks under the trees. It felt like exactly the kind of place you hope to stumble upon while travelling.  And the food was incredible.  Smoky, rich, flavorful, and completely different from the trout-heavy diet that had dominated much of our recent life. We ate far too much and enjoyed every bite of it.

As much as I love cooking in the van, there is a special joy in sitting down somewhere, being handed delicious food, and knowing that afterwards somebody else gets to wash the dishes.

Chapter 164: Murals And Murder Mysteries

With furniture shopping successfully completed, we moved on to the important stuff: pretending to be detectives.

Similar to our Seattle trip, we brought Escape the City, an outdoor mystery game that took us through Deep Ellum, one of Dallas' most vibrant neighborhoods. Deep Ellum feels like someone handed every building owner massive cans of spray paint and simply said, "Do whatever makes you happy."

Murals covered entire walls. Music drifted from bars and breweries. Street art appeared around every corner. Even on a weekday afternoon the neighborhood buzzed with energy.

Meanwhile, Nelson and I were wandering around investigating a fictional murder.  The game turned out to be brilliant. Rather than staring at our phones the whole time, it forced us to pay attention to our surroundings. Murals became clues. Storefronts became clues. Historical markers became clues. Every block seemed to reveal another piece of the puzzle.

At Blues Alley we stopped to admire the enormous murals stretching down both sides of the street. While we were taking photos, a passing truck driver offered to take a picture of us together. He seemed almost as invested in getting a good shot as we were.  He nailed it!

By early evening we had interviewed suspects, collected evidence, and confidently accused at least two innocent people. Solving crimes, it turns out, is harder than television makes it look.  Eventually we reluctantly paused our detective work before attempting the next challenge: escaping Dallas traffic.

Leaving the city proved almost harder than solving the crime itself. Even with Google Maps and two functioning adults, we still managed to miss an exit and spend several minutes heading confidently in the wrong direction.  By the time we reached Cedar Hill State Park, both of us felt like we had completed some sort of advanced driving certification.

Our campsite overlooked the lake, the evening air was warm, and the city skyline sat faintly in the distance.

The day had been stressful in places.

The traffic had been stressful.

The parking had been stressful.

But between the murals, the mystery, the friendly strangers, and one spectacular barbecue lunch, Dallas was rapidly winning us over.

Chapter 165: Mud, History, and Seventeen Courses of Happiness

The next morning began with what sounded like coconuts being hurled onto our roof.

Since there were neither coconuts nor tropical islands nearby, this was concerning.  After several minutes of confusion, we discovered the culprit: a male cardinal aggressively fighting his own reflection in our side mirror.  The bird was furious.  The reflection bird was equally furious.  Neither was prepared to back down.

The entire performance was made even more dramatic by the fact that he repeatedly returned for additional rounds after every apparent victory. By the end, the mirror was thoroughly decorated with bird poop and masculine rage.

Eventually we packed up and discovered another problem.

Mud.

The previous night, Nelson had unknowingly marched through a muddy section of the campsite while plugging in shore power. By morning, dried mud covered his boots and the cab area.    What followed was a sweaty cleaning operation involving water hoses, scrubbing, and increasingly muddy footprints. By the time we finished, both of us looked like we'd been working construction rather than sightseeing.

Therefore, we celebrated by taking showers.  Clean again, we headed into Dallas and visited the Sixth Floor Museum.

Standing in the building overlooking the site of JFK's assassination felt surreal. The exhibits transported us back into the early 1960s, capturing not only the event itself but an entire moment in American history.

What struck me most was how much confusion, secrecy, and poor communication seemed to fuel decades of conspiracy theories, similar to the Roswell incident. Looking through the evidence and timelines, it became obvious why so many people still debate what happened.  History feels very different when you're standing in the actual place where it occurred.  Afterward we wandered around downtown, visited the memorial, and enjoyed the sunshine before returning to Lower Greenville for dinner.

And what a dinner it was.

I had booked an omakase experience at Shoyo weeks earlier as a surprise for Nelson.  The restaurant seated only fourteen people while three chefs worked behind the counter.  For the next few hours, we experienced seventeen courses that somehow felt like both dinner and a masterclass.

Every piece of fish had its own story.

Every preparation had a reason.

One sushi in particular, Kohada, looked absolutely terrifying to me. Shiny silver fish usually triggers immediate suspicion. My brain immediately starts imagining overwhelming fishiness and childhood trauma involving cod liver oil.

But the moment I ate it, I understood.  It was delicious, and it was joyful.

Throughout the evening the chefs explained techniques, seasons, curing processes, and ingredients. We learned that making great sushi starts long before the chef ever touches the fish. It begins with fishermen, rice farmers, suppliers, and countless tiny decisions made perfectly.

On the drive after dinner, Nelson and I couldn't stop talking about it.  And back at the campground, we immediately started watching Jiro Dreams of Sushi.  There was something deeply inspiring about watching people dedicate their lives to mastering one thing, the 'Shokunin' spirit.  Whether it's sushi, fly tying, building houses, or even driving a giant van across America.  There is something beautiful about caring enough to keep getting better.

And as we fell asleep that night, full of sushi and inspiration, Dallas had officially won us over.