The motel phone jangled me out of a delightful dream in which I was staying in the most fantastic hotel imaginable, one with hundreds of rooms, each different than the next, some with swimming pools inside them, others with carpets of real grass. I'd just jumped into a pool the size of a small lake and discovered I could breathe underwater.

I looked at the clock as I picked up the phone. It was 11:13AM.

"Ma'am? Do you want to stay another night?"

"NO! I mean, uh, no thanks, I'm leaving right now."

Fortunately I'd had the foresight to pack up all my stuff in advance so I could sleep as long as possible and make a quick getaway in the morning. Good thing too, as the Indian proprietor was at my door moments later to collect the key and the remote control.

After eating 6 cloves of garlic (a known antibiotic, antiviral, antifungal, antiparasitic. . . and probably anti social life, though thankfully I don't have to worry about that too much these days) and sleeping for 13 hours, I felt like I had gained just enough ground on my cold to attempt the remaining 26 miles to Sherman, where I had a CouchSurfing host lined up.

Had I been healthy I would probably have stopped at the Sam Rayburn Museum on the edge of town, clearly an important figure in Texas history since the road I was riding on was named after him. Or I might have made the rounds at the Bonham Trade Days, which from what I could tell at a distance looked like a cross between a craft fair and a flea market. I almost certainly would have gone shopping for cowboy boots at a brightly colored Western Wear store in the town of Ector with a giant red boot for a sign. But no: I had limited energy to work with. I had to focus on getting to Sherman.

When I reached the tiny town of Savoy and saw, amidst a few empty storefronts, a dusty little shop with painted wooden signs in the windows advertising Coffee, News, and Dominoes, I kept right on going in accordance with my strict no-stopping policy. But I got about a quarter mile away and realized that while I didn't want coffee, I absolutely needed to see the inside of that coffee shop. I made a U-turn.

The Blue Star, I discovered, was not a coffee shop at all, not yet anyway, but more like some interesting elderly relative's attic, filled with a wonderful collection of old stuff: books, a tricycle, musical instruments, potted plants, vintage signs, paintings, and random junk. I walked into the backroom and found a couple guys working to clear out some piles of lumber. One guy, Bret, introduced himself and gave me a tour, explaining the history of the two adjoining buildings which were abandoned in the 70s which he'd bought dirt cheap when the owners passed away. He envisions turning them into a multi-purpose hangout, including a burger joint, cafe, library, and performance space. All this will happen in his "spare time" over the next year or two, but for the time being it's serving as a place he and his buddies use to play bluegrass music and dominoes (as evidenced by a large dominoes standings chalkboard). He jokingly invited me to stick around and help them clear out junk and sweep floors, which I probably would have done had I felt better. It's just the kind of place you want to hang out in and not leave, and when I did I was already plotting my return to northern Texas in a couple years to check on Bret's progress.

Visiting the Blue Star was the one memorable part of my day; the rest blurred together in a dreamy sickness-induced haze of sun, sky, breeze, and a million varieties of grass. In addition to the standard green grass like you'd find on your lawn, this part of Texas has brown grass, tan grass, yellow grass, yellow-ish tan grass, pinkish tan grass, and even purplish tan grass. Some of it has feathery fronds, some has spears, some has stalks and leaves. Some grows in clumps, some is evenly distributed. And there is one kind, the most dramatic grass I have seen, that has wide green leaves arranged in pairs, a long feather duster-ish top, and grows to over 10 feet tall. I tried to think about anything except how I felt physically in order to achieve a sort of minor out-of-body experience, the same way I do when I'm at the dentist's office and they're struggling to remove a stubborn bit of tartar under the gum line.

Joey had told me that if I ran into trouble he'd come get me with his car and bike rack. I felt like I was at the end of my rope when I finally got into Sherman, and thought about taking him up on his offer even though I couldn't be more than 3 miles from his house. I just didn't have anything left.

I admit I was a bit disappointed to discover I was only 4 blocks away, as this meant it would be very lame of me to call and ask for a ride. When I did reach Joey's house, exhausted, I was honored to learn that I was his very first CouchSurfing guest. I am also quite confident I will always be his least exciting CouchSurfing guest, since the first thing I did was lie down for a 3 hour nap.