Oregon Trail 2010 - GTT

GTT   Historians give accounts of farms, homesteads and shops across the southern United States in the first half of the 19th Century found to be abandoned by their former occupants with the cryptic inscription GTT chalked across the door or whitewashed on a wall.  The meaning was clear to all as a general forwarding address; GTT - Gone to Texas.  GTT also appeared appended after the names in the sheriff's records of  many a rascal who had skipped town for a place that was know to be rather tolerant of those harboring a disagreement with the law.  We, along with Isaac the tortoise, skipped out of Fresno and planned to be back in Texas in less than two days

With the late September sun on the rise we passed by plenty of farm activity between Fresno and Bakersfield.  Farm laborers pruning and burning after the summer's harvest, farmers discing under the the stubble in their fields and trucks hauling livestock or towing a variety of agricultural machinery.  We turned east in Bakersfield and headed over Tehachapi Pass, where the last of the citrus groves hugged the foothills and shared the fertile ground with rows of active pump jacks extracting crude oil from beneath the roots of the orange trees.  We had the makings of a "Kern County Screwdriver Cocktail" - a mix of orange juice and crude.

By mid morning we had before us the broad expanse of interstate highway rolling across the Mojave Desert.  How forbidding this expanse must have been even in the 1930's and 40's for travelers pouring into California, where even the isolated Joshua tree offered no shade to a sun dizzied wanderer.  With good pavement and a reliable V-6 powering us, our cargo and the blessed a/c across the arid rock ridges and gravelly loam of the desert plain, there was no doubt we would be all the way to Barstow before lunch and crossing the Colorado River into Arizona by early afternoon.  No sweat.  Isaac was stirring in his travel box in the rear of the cargo bed, perhaps he sensed he was in the ancient habitat of tortoise ancestors and was stirred by a call of the wild.  Of course, Isaac had only know suburban backyards since he hatched, but his impermeable scaly skin, hard shell and front legs equipped with claws designed to dig long burrows for a cool life underground during the scorching days were apparently moving him to use his God-given reptile equipment to make a home in this place.  The Mojave looked so god-forsaken to us hurried travelers hurling at 75 mph to escape the monotony of the wilderness but was home for those who were created to enjoy such places. Landscape is all a matter of perspective a wise painter once instructed his students.  For the most part, the a/c cooled interior of "The Q" kept Isaac's cold-blooded reptilian metabolism at a low rate and therefore he did not stir too frantically from his induced semi-hibernation state.

The miles rolled by, a stop for fuel and a stretch in Flagstaff - which is high enough in elevation that we are surrounded by pine trees and some late summer wildflowers.  We plan the remainder of our day, not in specifics, but in possibilities and options.  We pick several possible sites through New Mexico that could offer a night's rest, but the only real plan was to drive until we got to a good stopping point.  We came back into Gallup, New Mexico, only this time the setting sun is in my rearview mirror.  Nine days earlier we were here with the setting sun coming at us head on in the windshield.  We had now travelled full circle:

Reading the billboards advertising available rooms and meals in the far-and-few-between up-coming towns, we decide to try the "Historic El Rancho Hotel" at the east end of Gallup for dinner.  The hotel was built by a Hollywood movie mogul who needed a suitable place for the big studio actors and actresses to stay while shooting western movies in the area.  The lobby and dining room had autographed photos of Ronald Reagan, Gary Cooper, Doris Day and what must have been many other big names in their time - but whose faces and names seem rather obscure to me.  The high desert air was dropping into the 40's and so we ordered a hot meal.  Sue was intrigued by the "Famous Navajo Tea" that they offered as a hot beverage.  She asked our waitress about this "famous" house special.  Well, she informed us, "there are those who say our Navajo Tea reminds them of chamomile tea."  There is a good reason for that coincidence - the "Navajo Tea" we were served was likely chamomile tea.  Not the herbal tea medicinal plant used locally.  Our meal at the "historic hotel" (including the famous tea) was reasonably priced, so I paid our tab and bid happy trails to all of the stars and starlets as they  watched us walk into the setting sun.  We were not ready to stop quite yet, so we continued  our drive across the darkened "Land of Enchantment", settling in at Santa Rosa Lakes State Park.

It was about 11 PM when we unfurled the ground tarp, airmattresses and sleeping bags beside the vehicle.  We had perhaps missed the "civilian" campground and ended up in the equestrian section - no matter at this hour.  There was a pickup truck and trailer as the only other vehicle in the area and a lone horse in the corral across the road.  We had a full moon, radiant and silver in a cloudless sky that shown brightly in my eyes and would have delayed an easy sleep had I not been well prepared by a long day on the road (Fresno to Eastern NM) and quite ready for a detour into dreamland.  The last thing  I heard were the owls out in the moonlight bragging to all who cared to listen about their mouse hunting success.  I thought to myself, "This is good - no little mice to nibble on my toes as I slept among the sage brush, guarded by these vigilant nocturnal hunters.


We pulled off the heavy blankets after a refreshing night under the stars and the brisk air, splashed some water across our faces to wipe the sleep from our eyes and combed out a few stray hairs.  Quickly back behind the wheel, it was to be Tucumcari for breakfast.  After a rib-sticking meal with hot cakes, bacon and eggs, I called out to Eldorado, Arkansas to get an update on the pending oil well I was planning on drilling.  The drilling rig was still being repaired but the operator thought we would be ready to start drilling in about 3 days. [Enough time to unload one set of travel gear and reload with geologic well-sitting gear and get back on the road] With everything in order it was back to Dallas.  Another check with Grant at home let us know that he would probably be out jamming with the friends on his guitar when we came home.  OK by us.  By  late afternoon we were back at home, all was good and right with the whole wide world.  It was the

End of the Trail