[Continuation of Day 12, driving out of New Orleans...]
The dashboard thermometer reads 81 as I head west out of New Orleans on Interstate 10. I’ve finally decided that I’ll follow the long slow southern arc of Texas, rather than head diagonally across Louisiana toward Dallas and across north Texas. I struggled with the decision because the southern route is quite a bit longer and I need to be in Albuquerque by noon on Wednesday to pick up Lorelei at the airport there for our Santa Fe/Taos region adventure. But considering the current immigration reform legislation in Congress, I’m curious to see firsthand some of the conditions along the Rio Grande, where many Mexicans (and others?) enter the country illegally.
After I’m out of the city proper, I-10 seems to become one long low bridge over the bayou. Every few miles there’s a sign for this stream or this swamp or this bayou, but nothing really seems to change much. (Is there a difference between a bayou and a swamp? I must look this up.) My mind turns to the creatures that I imagine are down there, especially the water moccasins and other venomous snakes that I know nothing about. And me without my snake bite kit. Darn.
My plan for today is to get west of Houston, but I don’t have a specific destination in mind. I studied the map to see if there might be a place where I can easily dip down and see the Gulf of Mexico. It seems a shame to be so close and not put at least my big toe in. There’s a place that looks promising around Lake Charles and I’m mindful to be aware as I get closer. But this is Easter Sunday and the traffic is pretty heavy in both directions, and the road down to the Gulf looks a little sketchy on the map – kind of small and there don’t appear to be any towns down there. When I arrived at Lake Charles, I decide to just keep heading west.
It looks simple on the map, but navigating through Houston in I-10 turns into an adventure not unlike one of those space battles in Star Wars, the ones where the little X-wing fighters (or whatever they’re called) go weaving and dodging at blinding speeds while attacked by bad guys from all directions. It even feels three-dimensional, as ramps rise and drop. My little Saab feels dwarfed by all the Expeditions and Excursions and Suburbans and Denalis and Gargantuas, Godzillas and all the other SUV manifestations. Almost everyone in Texas seems to have one and they are enormous, and quite intimidating when traveling at warp speed. Along the side of the highway are frequently posted signs that read ‘Drive Kindly.’ The irony is not lost on me.
But I survive. West of Houston doesn’t really look all that promising and the sun is beginning to set. I’m anxious (guiltily) for a real bed after five nights on the ground in New Orleans, but still I (snobbishly) pass by the Lone Star Motel in search of something with a brand I recognize. My heart races when I see Holiday Inn Express on a billboard that begins to materialize. My pulse quickens still more when I see ‘Free Wireless Internet’ in smaller letters. And this nirvana in Sealy, Texas, is just four miles ahead.
I check in just before 8 pm and learn from the kind, rather puffy and soft, man at the front desk that the wireless part of the internet is only available in the lobby. In the rooms it’s wired. Still ok with me. He even loans me an Ethernet cable, since I’m traveling without one.
I head to room 120. It’s on the ground floor and I can park right outside the door. I note two white Ford pickup trucks, the big kind with the double rear tires covered by extended fenders. Each says ‘Halliburton’ on the door in red block letters. I have visions of Dick Cheney, Rumsfeld and the war in Iraq. A little unsettling, but I’m tired enough to let it go for now.
I’m hungry, but since it’s Easter Sunday, nearby restaurants are not open. I’ve pledged not to eat any food from a national chain on this journey and it’s my plan to eat local food as much as possible. A place called Whataburger is open, and it’s close by, so I decide to take a chance. (There’s an intriguing Mexican restaurant next-door, obviously one-of-a-kind, but it’s not open.) The Whataburger menu looks suspiciously like other fast food restaurants, with numbered specials, but I order a number 5 anyway. It’s a burger and fries with lettuce, tomato and ‘special sauce’ that tastes suspiciously like ranch dressing mixed with ketchup, and it suits me just fine. I try to find something to watch on TV, but end up going to bed after surfing the channels for an hour.
Day 13 / April 17, 2006:
In the morning – much too early in the morning, about 4:30 – the apparent work crews from Halliburton fire up their big diesel engines and let them idle for way too long outside my door. I’m not happy about this, but I’m not going to go out and confront them, so I roll over and try to sleep some more. I am able to sleep, but it’s fitful and I have a dream about being in a small airplane at an unfamiliar airport and it’s my plan to take off and fly somewhere. The problem is, my pilot’s license hasn’t been active for several years now so it’s illegal for me to fly. That, and I don’t know exactly how to fly this plane or how to use the radio to contact the control tower, and I’m not sure really where I’m going. And it’s night, so I can’t really see very well. I think I’m going to try to take off without anyone noticing.
I wake up about 6, throw my clothes on and head to the lobby for the promised continental breakfast. They actually have waffle irons hot and ready to accept one of the cups of batter placed on the side in a rack. I opt for the cinnamon rolls and take two, since they really look good, and they are. Even the coffee isn’t bad.
I spend a little time updating my website, writing email and exploring the website for Texas State Parks before hitting the road. I determine that I’ll spend a long day in the car today to get to Balmorhea State Park in west Texas. This will give me time to get to check out El Paso at least a little and the make it to one of three possible state parks in New Mexico for the next night.
I saw a bumper sticker that said ‘Everything’s Bigger in Texas.’ Oh, please, get over that. But it is one damn big state. When I entered the state on I-10 yesterday, there was a sign reporting that the distance to El Paso was something like 870 miles. That’s a very long way.
For quite a while out of Sealy I-10 is long and mostly straight. But it’s a different kind of long and straight than I’ve seen before on this trip, so I’m kind of enjoying it. The temperature is in the low 80s and the sky is clear. I have my sunglasses on, so I’m feeling pretty cool. Road trip.
Approaching San Antonio, I notice more and more signs of civilization. Navigating through the city on the Interstate is a little more complex than going through Houston because there are more options. In fact, I very nearly missed one important exit to stay on my route, but I braked hard and swerved sharply and no one got hurt. I’m pretty sure I angered a few drivers, but that’s their journey.
By the way, my new strategy to keep from getting upset at other discourteous drivers is to say to myself something like, “That person is on his own journey and it’s different from mine. For some reason he feels like he needs to be in front of me and that’s just fine with me. The rules of my journey don’t require me to compete with other drivers.” Surprisingly, this works for me.
West of San Antonio, the land becomes hillier. There are individual trees and groves of trees that I believe are live oak. The ground around these trees is light brown, obviously very dry, and I wonder where the moisture comes from to support the trees. There’s a lot I don’t know about trees. There’s a sign on the side of the road announcing ‘Woman Hollering Creek’ and I smile to myself at possible reasons for that name.
The temperature climbs into the low 90s and by 1:00 it’s at 98. Not long after it’s 100 and then 101 and then 102. For about a half hour, the dashboard thermometer reads 103 degrees and for the rest of the afternoon it fluctuates by only a few degrees, between 98 and 101. I pull off at a rest area so I can get out and see what 102 degrees feels like. There’s a strong breeze that carries the scent of pine and grass and the air is very dry. It feels nice, not like the oven I’d imagined. I’m very grateful that the air conditioning in my faithful car continues to work. I’ve seen a few ‘beater cars’ pass me by with the windows down and I imagine that between the noise and the heat it would drive a person mad. It would at least drive me mad. (Some would say that wouldn’t be a long trip.)
Just east of Fort Stockton, I notice several wind turbines atop a distant ridge. As I drive on, I see dozens and dozens more. It’s quite an array of windmills to produce electricity and I’m impressed. I note that some are turning and some are not. I imagine there’s a strategy to how many turbines may be in operation at any given time, based on demand, maintenance schedules and other factors. I congratulate myself on being so insightful, although, of course, I’ve not verified this.
I arrived at Balmorhea about 6 pm and get myself situated at the campsite. This is after the gate keeper has gone off duty, so it’s self-service. I take an envelope from the slot, find the fee schedule and figure out that I owe $11 for the campsite and $5 for one person entering the park, so I write a check for $16 (I did the math in my head), put it in the envelope, and put the envelope in the other slot. Then I drive into the camping area to see what tent sites are available.
There’s just one other person in the tenting area, but there are probably 6 or 8 RVs of various sizes parked in the spaces where they can plug in their electric cords and hook up to the water supply. I choose site 17 because it looks nice, it’s a prime number (if I can’t get #11 in a case like this, I’ll look for a prime number. Don’t ask why.) It also leaves 2 empty campsites between me and the other camper. That seems a nice buffer.
I set up my tent pretty quickly despite a pretty strong breeze. When I’m done, I decide to go introduce myself to the woman a few sites away, just to be neighborly. Also, she appears to be a lone woman with a dog, so I imagine she’ll feel more comfortable knowing there’s not an ax murderer on the lam just 100 feet or so away. On the brief walk over to her campsite, I mentally prepare for needing to claim that I’m a fan of George W. Bush, just in case this person may be of that persuasion.
It turns out, though, that my neighbor is a truly delightful woman from California by the name of Joan Carter. Joan has spent the last few weeks in Crawford, Texas, camping in the group that has coalesced around Cindy Sheehan, the woman whose son was killed in Iraq (I believe. Maybe Afghanistan?) who has been in the news over the last several months for seeking to speak to the President. He refuses. Quite a large movement has grown around her and Joan’s been part of that, last summer and again this month.
As Joan and I are talking, she calls my attention to a roadrunner walking through my campsite. There are also rabbits at the site and I see them hopping about all evening. Joan is a retired nurse and she lives in Morrow Bay, California. She has a wonderful dog, a coyote ‘blend’ named Micah, or maybe it’s Mica, after the mineral. On her way home from Texas, she’s going to visit a friend in Yuma, AZ. When I tell her about my journey and that I’ll be heading up Highway 101 from LA to San Francisco, she even invites me to stay in her guest room. It will be a perfect stopping off point for me and it was very gracious and trusting of her to offer. I do plan to take her up on the invitation. I contemplate the serendipity of meeting Joan and consider it a very good omen.
About 7 or so, an elderly woman drives up and rolls down her window to talk with Joan and me. She could easily have played the part of Aunt Bea on the old Andy Griffith Show, in her flower-print cotton dress and ample, nurturing presence. The woman explains that someone phoned her earlier in the day saying he was staying at the State Park in an RV and he’d like to visit with her. Aunt Bea thinks it’s a distant cousin from California that she hasn’t seen for probably 30 years. Neither Joan nor I fit the bill, and we’re not able to direct her to the caller, but I ask about the little store back in town and whether it might be open at this hour. I was especially curious about my dinner and whether I’d be able to acquire a few of the advertised homemade burritos. She told me that Juan usually stays open until dark or so, so my chances are good.
So I headed back to town and sure enough the store’s open. It’s fairly dark inside, but a very nice woman points me to the refrigerator case with today’s assortment of burritos. I choose two burritos – a green chili and a bean and cheese – and the kind woman heats them for me in the microwave. I also ask for a bag of ice and a small container of whole milk that will have to substitute for half and half in the coffee I planned to make in the morning. I paid for my purchases and drove the five miles or so back to the camp site.
The burritos were quite delicious, with the green chili raising a first-rate bead of sweat on my ample brow. I even foraged in the trunk and was able to come up with a glass of merlot to have with dinner. The sunset was spectacular as I feasted.
Among other recent lessons, today I learned NOT to try to make coffee in the dark using my new Jetboil. I thought I could do it, I really did. But it boiled over and made a mess. I had to clean up and start over. Successful the second time. Then I boiled water for my oatmeal and didn’t screw that up. Lesson number two (so to speak) came soon after: food that burns on the way in, pleasant as that may be, will also burn on the way out (recall last evening’s menu).
I took a walk around to see the natural spring pool. The state park here is built around a huge swimming pool that’s fed by a natural spring, constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps back in the 30s and ultimately made public in the 60s. It’s a desert oasis, really, and they’ve created a fine interpretive center showing the various species of plants, fish, birds and other creatures that are common there.
The pool itself is very interesting. It’s enormous and has an irregular shape, with a concrete deck all around. Spaced around the perimeter of the pool are steps leading in and out. The pool itself, though is just a natural pond, with sand and rocks covering the bottom. At its deepest, the pool is thirty-five feet to the bottom and people actually practice scuba diving there. The underground artesian spring flows through the pool as a natural system to keep the water clear and clean, no matter how many people may be using it. The spring also allegedly keeps the pool temperature a constant 72-76 degrees year round, reflecting the temperature of the rocks from which the spring flows, according to the literature.
By the time I return to my tent site, Joan is gone. Good thing I said goodbye the night before. She explained that she liked to be up and out early, getting coffee and something to eat down the road. I’m treated to more rabbit sightings and another roadrunner passed by as I packed up my tent and prepared to hit the road. I only managed to get one rather feeble shot of a roadrunner, but it will have to do.
Since I drove such a long way across much of Texas the day before, today’s itinerary is much shorter, first through El Paso and then up into New Mexico. I had checked out the New Mexico State Parks system website the day before and noted three likely places for me to camp that evening. My goal was to be less than two hours from Albuquerque, since I needed to pick up Lorelei at the airport there the next morning just before noon. I thought Elephant Butte State Park, right on a lake created by the dammed Rio Grande looked the most promising.
The road west from Balmorhea was once again largely flat, but the mountains rose dramatically just west of Van Horn, Texas. But still there was no radio station that my car could pick up. I’d push the scan button and the numbers would just whiz by without stopping anywhere. It wasn’t until I was about 80 miles from El Paso that I started picking up several signals – most of them Spanish. I glanced at the map and realized that the mountains I could see off to the left must be in Mexico and that I was in quite possibly a prime area for people trying to come into the United States illegally. People come here for opportunity and that’s also what I’m seeking right now.
Seeing the size of El Paso, I determine that I’ll just drive on through without stopping to look around. I figure that by the time I sort out something of historical or cultural interest, I’ll have eaten up too much time and besides, I think it’ll be more interesting to do some exploring around Elephant Butte (or, as I’m saying in my mind, “Elephant Butt.” How mature. But later I learned that this is how people in Santa Fe refer to the town and the park. More later on that.) But before continuing north, I spot a Starbucks sign and pull off I 40. I realize that I’ve not had a really good cup of coffee since I left home, so I splurge on a vanilla latte and it’s everything I hoped it would be.
Since it’s only about 2:30, I pass the two southerly state parks and head to Elephant Butte, trusting that they’ll have a tent site for me. To get to the park, I drive through Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. I’ve heard of this town, but never knew the story of how it came to have the name of a television game show. T or C (as many signs read) is a tidy little town with a lot of visible art. I make one pass through and turn around for another. Since I’m not equipped to cook dinner in my campsite, I thought it would be good to pick up a sandwich and keep it on ice.
The Happy Belly Deli looks to be ideal, and it was. There are only a few people seated in the small inside eating area. There’s also an outside courtyard seating area and several people are having lunch there. I approach the counter behind another man who clearly knows many of those assembled here on this afternoon. Before placing his own order, he asks for a coffee refill on behalf of an elderly one-legged man sitting at a table. (I wonder how he lost the leg and why he’s so very thin.) Then I placed my own order for a roast beef sandwich with lettuce, tomato and sprouts on whole wheat with mayo.
It was quite a wait for my sandwich, but I couldn’t figure out why. I chatted with the man in front of me who said he’s lived in T or C for about 2 years now, retired from the Air Force, although he appeared to be only in his early forties. He explained that the area is excellent for off-road motorcycling. I noticed that he was wearing quite an impressive white leather jacket with some kind of composite plastic shields strategically placed at the elbows, shoulders and a few other areas that must be subject to injury.
My sandwich was finally brought to me with multiple apologies. I think someone forgot something or set the order aside and didn’t notice it. I just smiled and said I wasn’t in any hurry at all. In fact, I also looked over the breakfast menu and made a tentative plan to come back for breakfast.
Elephant Butte State Park is perhaps six or eight miles from downtown T or C and the route is very well marked. The park claims to be one of the most active water sports facilities in the state. What they don’t mention plainly, though, is that the water level is very low. The lake there is formed behind a dam on the Rio Grande. I heard from some locals in Santa Fe that there are competing demands for the water by various communities upstream, resulting in very low levels by the time the river gets to Elephant Butte.
According to the young person at the reception desk, I had my choice of setting up my tent down in the sand by the lake or up in the ‘prepared’ campsites. If I camped down by the river, I’d need to haul my stuff down. If I should choose the prepared sites, I could park beside my tent. I chose the latter option because partly for the convenience, but the upper sites offered quite a nice panoramic view of the lake and the surrounding mountains.
After setting up my campsite, I headed straight down the sandy, pebbly ridge to the lake. Wearing my Crocs was not the best decision because sand, stones and very nasty burrs quickly make me remove my trendy footwear. But then there was the hot sand, and it was hot. And it was probably three 300 yards down to the water line. So far, the weather I’ve experienced in the southwest has been sunny all day and clear through the night. This results in very warm ground and the night air has been generally pleasantly cool, in the 50s. I had to pause every thirty feet or so, balancing on one foot to pull a burr out of my foot – they were particularly nasty, very sharp and painful. When I reached the water my feet were grateful.
The lake water was kind of murky, but I could see that the bottom appeared to drop off pretty quickly. There was a brisk wind blowing and the air was kind of cool, despite the very bright sun, so I wasn’t really tempted to jump in for a swim. A family of three had beached their outboard powerboat a little upstream from where I was. The dad was sitting on the boat smoking a cigarette while the mom and child, a son, walked up and down the river edge looking down at the water and occasionally pausing to pick something up (stones?). The cigarette smoke was kind of disturbing, incongruous in this ‘natural’ setting.
The climb back up the steep bank reminded me that I was at an altitude of about 6,500 feet, where oxygen isn’t so plentiful. And the sand was still hot. I carried my Crocs. When I arrived at my campsite, the shade of the adobe shelter looked very appealing, so I sat in my camp chair, low to the ground, writing on my laptop. The breeze grew cooler and I got my fleece jacket out of the car.
When the time was right and I’d done my quota of writing, I retrieved the Happy Belly Deli roast beef sandwich from my cooler. There in the trunk, was a bottle of merlot that I’d brought from home and I poured myself a glass. I actually did bring a stem-less wine glass from home, so much better than a plastic cup for wine. The sandwich was great, stacked generously with flavorful roast beef, and with a thick slice of tomato that was nearly perfect. The bread was moist and offered a sweetness that contrasted nicely with the saltiness of the meat. And the wine… ah, the wine. It took the chill off the evening very nicely.
When camping, it’s my habit to get into my tent on the early side, around 8 or so, to read. I’ve been alternating between The Tipping Point and Richard Bach’s Illusions – two very different choices, for sure. Each has its purpose in my alleged grand scheme.
It’s been two full weeks since I departed from home and today’s the day my lovely wife Lorelei McKinnon arrives at the airport in Albuquerque, where I’ll pick her up. I don’t want to be late, so I’m up early, about 5:30, and it’s still dark. I head down to the bathhouse to see about a shower and it’s a successful adventure. I was a little concerned at first that it might be a cold shower, but the water finally heated up nicely. It was another one of those showers with the valve you need to keep pushing every 15 or 20 seconds because the water flow stops. I did figure out that if I push the button 3 or 4 times quickly, the water would stay on longer, not the equivalent of subsequent individual pushes, but longer. I’ll take my lessons where ever they may appear and for whatever purpose is currently important.
I have in my mind that I need to return to Truth or Consequences to have breakfast at the Happy Belly Deli, but I decide to first take a look at the town of Elephant Butte (“A diamond in the desert…” according to a sign). There was nothing of interest there, so I navigated back down the road to T or C and parked right in front of the Happy Belly. I ordered a breakfast burrito and a cup of dark roast coffee – they had 3 options, and the dark roast was excellent. In accordance with my experience of the previous day, it took a while to prepare my meal, but I was not in a hurry. I knew I had plenty of time to arrive at the airport before Lorelei’s plane was scheduled to land.
I fired up my laptop and was thrilled to find that there was an open wireless network with a strong signal right there, although it was apparently offered by a nearby photographer and not by the Deli. I was able to check email and upload some of my writing from the previous evening. It was a nice internet ‘fix’ for me and it gave me something to do (besides eavesdropping on a fascinating neighboring table conversation about international travel) while waiting for breakfast, which, when it arrived, was too generous and very delicious.
Based on my now two experiences at the Happy Belly Deli, I discerned that a young couple, probably in their late 20s, owned and operated the restaurant. At one point the young man stepped outside the front door and turned back inside to ask who had the New Hampshire license plates. I pled guilty. It turned out that this young couple had moved to T or C about two years ago from Londonderry NH! They moved here because, even at their tender ages, they were tired of the weather in New England. Also, as my new friend explained, it was possible for them to buy a house in T or C, where real estate prices are very reasonable.
At another nearby table, another young-ish couple, but clearly well into their 30s and from some large city, judging by their attire and their demeanor, were poring over real estate listings. The man took out his cell phone and began a quite animated discussion with someone whom I imagined must have been in real estate, about a property that obviously captured their attention. They wanted to see it immediately. I wonder how that turned out for them. I was kind of put off by their insistent tone and wondered if they were really interested in moving to T or C or if they might just be more interested in the art of the real estate deal, something they might brag to their friends about. I hate it when I get judgmental like this, but it does provoke me when I observe situations like this, arrogant people intruding into a community. Maybe I need to look at this in myself.
When I paid my breakfast bill and got a cup of dark roast for the road, I chatted briefly with the female half of the ownership duo. She was also very pleasant and, when I asked about the origins of the name of the town, she explained that the TV producer Ralph Edwards apparently offered a reward of something like $30,000 – a sizeable sum back in the 50s – to a community that would be willing to change its name to Truth or Consequences, after the very popular TV show. This little town formerly known as Hot Springs, New Mexico, was the winner and the rest is history. The hot springs are still flowing nearby, but the name of the town no longer reflects this geological feature that many still enjoy.
I arrived at the airport about a half hour before Lorelei’s’ plane was scheduled to land, and I retrieved my wife easily, although a very tardy parking lot shuttle buss at the beginning of her journey back at the Manchester airport nearly caused her to miss her flight! And, of course, I need to write about our incredible five nights in Santa Fe, staying at the Dancing Ground of the Sun, a very nice, but quirky, inn located just a few blocks from the Plaza.
Please stay tuned…
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