Being in a remote place doesn’t guarantee privacy.
Several times in the night cars cruised through the landfill/campsite looking for something to do in the wee hours. One can only imagine what. The ground is littered with broken bottles, beer cans, shotgun shells and condoms. Here in Texas, teen boom boxes thump out high volume Johnny Cash. At 3 AM one car paused outside my tent, then elected to burn donuts and spray gravel and noise before roaring off. It could have been much worse knowing that everyone down here “is packin’”. And what was the setting for that “Chainsaw Massacre” movie? I forget.
For the first night camping so far it was not bone chilling cold. Quite pleasant, actually, apart from the odd annoyance. Stars are brilliant and surprisingly numerous in the clear canopy overhead. Scorpio was posted up in the southern sky in vivid imagery, the kind of thing one would normally see only in a textbook. Wind velocity was in the gale force range in the morning, however, and if anyone had posted a video of me trying to fold my tent it would make for pretty solid entertainment.
Regrettably, the only way out of the northwest corner of the state is via I-10. Nonetheless, The Bruiser and I girded our loins and did our best to keep apace of the traffic.
I-10 at its finest. Note the dust storm up ahead.
I post one picture of this, only because it is illustrative not because it is interesting. Because it really isn’t. I-10 is flat, straight, gusty, dusty, featureless, and unpopulated, and constructed for the sole purpose of getting out of here as quickly as possible. Even the state legislators must share my view given that they set the speed limit at 80 mph. Truck traffic was not heavy, mercifully. Semis have the aerodynamics of a patio brick and at 85 mph they create a minor storm. But we hung on, stayed focused, and I do my best to ignore an itchy nose when there is not an available hand to scratch it.
Wind gusts continued throughout the day. In fact while setting up camp tonight the wind rolled the tent across the campground. If it blows steadily it is relatively easy to compensate for. When it changes direction suddenly or hands a blindsided Bertuzzi body slam it does make for an interesting ride. But not to worry, The Bruiser has lots of mass, /handles well, and shrugs off the offending body checks with composure and style. We are developing a kind of man/machine mind meld where each is an extension of the other.
It would be fair to say that we are also getting just a little bit road weary. One of us needs an oil change, and both of us need a bath. I promised the Bruiser that we will attend to that oil thing soon, although it is difficult to do when the engine is so hot after even a short run.
But I did score a shower when passing through a state campground. We were just scoping it out but rejected the idea of staying there because it seemed a bit sterile (we prefer the much more interesting desert style or garbage dump ambiance), when what should appear before me but a bath house! It was sublime! Sorry, Bruiser. (I couldn’t fit him through the door)s. Your turn next.
Turned south on Hwy 17 near Balmorhea to follow a scenic route to Ft. Davis. And indeed it was. Dry gulch canyons cut through old lava flows with their columnar joints (those six sided fractured columns that we also see on the road to Whistler) weathered and rounded. (Spheroidal weathering, remember?) And trees! Wondrous trees! Not many, but they were green.
 |
| Look carefully the the wildlife. |
Ft. Davis is the site of a military compound from the early 1800’s. These guys were the buffalo soldiers and Indian hunters, but ostensibly stationed here to maintain some order in this new frontier.
That was a bit of a bust, wasn’t it?
 |
| A local business. |
