And guess who was waiting for me to get up this morning?
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| Hey Rocky--you up yet? Relax, Boys. He's just sleeping. |
With the tent fly removed I had a clear view of the starry sky all evening just like sleeping in the Planetarium. All the birdie sounds silenced after sunset, then the mammals started up. Javelina were oinking and squealing in the bush behind me, and one lone coyote was wailing for his wayward pack. And then some fuzzy tailed tree rat made a series of chatters like a squirrel every five seconds (I timed the little bugger) for hours on end. I wanted to throttle him, until another of his species got tired of it too and they had a spirited conversation about that until he finally shut his nut trap.
A road runner sprinted across the campground but I had no better luck squeezing off a picture of him than Wiley Coyote ever had hitting him with an Acme cannonball.
Today was a relocation day. I blew through typical west Texas backdrop along a laser straight road. Traffic was so light it was unusual to meet a vehicle. Motorbikes were at least equal in number to cars. The only town of interest I encountered between Big Bend and Del Rio on Hwy 385 and 90 was Langtry, the home of the famous Judge Roy Bean. Roy Bean was a saloon keeper in the town who was appointed Justice of the Peace for the region. His responsibility was to establish order and deal some justice west of the Pecos River. He had just a single book of statutes to follow which he purportedly never read, and dispensed justice on the porch of his saloon before a live studio audience. Every offense was punishable by fine, which he would put in his pocket. He named the town after Lilly Langtry, starlet of the 1890’s by whom he was quite smitten.
The saloon/courthouse is preserved in its original state.
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| As it was... |
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| ... as it is. |
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| In Langtry when you appeared before the bar, you appeared before the bar. |
Finally The Bruiser has had an oil transfusion. Considering the high running temperatures I used a thicker grade, and he now purrs like a big cat. If he could turn around and lick my face I am certain that he would.
We are the sole occupants of a campground at the Amistad reservoir near Del Rio. Just as I was unpacking I heard a roar across the campground, and looked up to see the biggest dust devil I have ever encountered. It tore through the centre of the campground in a fury of noise and swirling dirt, picked up a garbage can from the site across the lane and pitched it 60 feet towards me as it followed the road out. My maps went flying but it otherwise missed me. Ha!
Noodles, beans and canned fish are getting tiresome. It is time to eat something green. Old cheese doesn’t count.
