Oregon Trail 2010 - Stage 2

The second leg of this trip was going to be the Big One - a 900-miler.  Wichita Falls, Texas all the way to Southern Utah.

We faced those miles and miles of Texas before us, skirting along the south side of the Red River, pushing US Highway 287 into the Panhandle.  Open, flat country begs for the sweet sound of a whirling odometer, but I know the Department of Public Safety wants me to slow down and enjoy the scenery, to take in broad horizons filled with scrubby mesquite trees as far as the eye can travel or the flat red earth soon be be seas of sorgum.  While driving this stretch, I have no radio or CD on, my passengers are mostly asleep, but  I enjoy an active life of the mind.  This environment stirs an old memory from back in high school.  There in my California History Class, Mr. Zapanovich lamented to us the fact that our rich California history was not well appreciated; while in Texas - "a place where even the jack rabbits have to carry a canteen to cross half of the state - they take inordinate pride in such a flattened and desolate place!" 

I also remember where I have seen the watchful DPS in action during previous trips across US 287; Henrietta, Estelline, outside Amarillo.  I am mindful of The Law around every small town out on this western plain.  Approaching Vernon (Home to the Prison for the Criminally Insane) I see a Pontiac in the fast lane quickly closing on me and then passing me.  I then see a DPS car quickly closing on the Pontiac and riding closely on his tail, but the Pontiac stays in the fast lane.  He has chosen poorly.  After a minute or two, the red & blue lights come on and off they go to the side for a little chat.  I slow down through town and round the highway curve on the far edge of Vernon and begin to accelerate up to the posted 70 MPH.  The DPS cruiser headed eastbound, quickly flips across the median and treats me to a light show.  I shoot a quick glance at my speedometer, 74 MPH.  Really?  Really, he is after me. I have my license, proof of insurance and registration ready to hand the officer once he walks up to my window.

"Is there an emergency?"

     I once worked with a guy, Spud Basham (I am not making his name up), and he was asked the   very same question; only his response was, "Yes, I'm out of peanut butter."  The officer said "What?" 
Spud confessed to the officer that he figured he had probably heard every other excuse so he thought he would try a new one.  The officer laughed and let Spud go without a ticket.

Feeling that humor was not going to be so disarming in this case, I truthfully explained, why no- there is no emergency, in fact I had just witnessed his partner pull a car over just 3 miles back and I was very mindful of my speed, just an unintentional excess as I was pulling out of town. I am sorry.  Looking at my license, "What brings you all the way out here from Garland?"  Well, my family is just getting started today on taking my wonderful daughter back to school in Oregon, she will be setting up her first apartment, so we loaded up the car with all the supplies she'll need and we are going to help her settle in [like any respectable law-abiding family would do]. 

"Oh, Thank you very much officer. Oh, yes I'll certainly be careful.  Thanks again for just the warning".  Major bummer avoided, we proceed uneventfully at the proscribed 70 MPH.  We passed "Cadillac Ranch" west of Amarillo where a series of Cadillacs are planted hood ornament first into a cotton field.  I nod to the DPS sitting below the underpass on the outskirts of town.  I think a topless woman driving a motorcycle just passed me.  No probably not - that can't be pleasant when colliding with large insects.  I should pay closer attention, but I am not going to speed up to confirm or deny this observation.

From Amarillo on, Old Highway 66 becomes the dominant motif.  Playing for tourist dollars, trying to resurrect the faded glory of Highway 66 (if ever it was truly glorious); Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, and an old TV show from the early 1960's - I doubt that many Americans living today have an affinity or even nostalgia for the Chicago to San Bernardino route that facilitated the Dust Bowl migration into California.  Route 66 has been rerouted, paved over and mostly forgotten, such is our American History.  We stop for lunch in Tucumcari, New Mexico at an old diner on "Historic Route 66".  I must say, one of the best chicken fried steaks I have ever had.  We begin to pick up interesting geologic formations along the road as we drive across New Mexico; festooned cross-bedded sandstone from ancient river systems, fresh looking black basalts and finally some handsome mesozoic sandstone cliff and mesas.

A quick bite to eat in the late afternoon in Gallop, NM.  Inga finds one local Gallop restaurant, in the heart of Navajo Country, particularly amusing, "California Fast-Food Chinese Restaurant".  It must be good, because across the stateline, Window Rock, Arizona has the same franchise.

Wind Whistle Cove

We are still headed west as the sun sits low on the horizon, and then in twilight we turn north, past Canyon De Chelly in NE Arizona, looking for a landing spot in Utah.  Around 11 PM we pull into a favorite location of mine, Wind Whistle US Forest Service Park, about 30 miles south of Moab.  I over-nighted here a couple of times before, and the place has average 1/2 person per stay (not including myself).  This night in late September, the place is chalked full.  There is even someone set up in my campsite.  I lay down the ground tarp over the salmon-pink sand and inflate a couple of air mattresses, while the ladies unroll the sleeping bags.  We sleep the night on moonlit desert ground among the pinion pines and sage.  After a long days drive, what a privilege to spend the night under the stars among ancient sandstone cliffs in the American West.  As I settle in, I am grateful to experience a night where the plasticine wrapped, heavily-padded, over-package and tactilely insulated modern existence is peeled away.  The owls hoot and the distant coyotes howl and primal satisfaction follows me into a world of rest.

Desert Varnish (Manganese Oxide) Making Tiger Stripes on rim of Wind Whistle cliff

Morning at Wind Whistle - No Paparazzi Please!