Tomorrow Liz flies home to Louisiana and I return to NYC. That meant driving from Big Bend to El Paso, about three hundred miles. We had all day, so it shouldn’t have been onerous.
But overnight, everything changed.
The temperature dropped from over one hundred degrees to mid-fifties in the morning and the temperature never climbed above sixty. And the wind had picked up to near gale force conditions. It didn’t just move branches, it lifted sand into the air, at times nearly obscuring the road.
I was grateful we had explored Big Bend yesterday. Today would have been an entirely different, and far less pleasant, experience.
At times, the car was pushed sideways. Sand pelted the windshield, and clouds of it scudded past in thick bursts, reducing visibility to a blur.
We stopped in Alpine to fuel the car. While there, I went into the tourist office to ask for an alternative route to get to Interstate 10. The friendly gentleman suggested we drive on route 318 through Fort Davis and up to the town of Kent. It was a great suggestion, a beautiful drive taking us through several canyons and microclimates. In some places the scenery resembled the parched desert of Big Bend. In others, there was lush green with rows of healthy green trees. This is cattle country and we saw several herds.
The big surprise was Kent. As far as we could tell, the town consisted of a single abandoned home and the on ramp to the interstate.
When we needed a bathroom and to stretch our legs, we stopped at a handy Valero gas station. Not only did it have clean bathrooms, but I loved poking their eclectic merchandise. There were tourist souvenirs galore; shot glasses in the shape of cowboy boots, “only in Texas” picture frames, postcards, T-shirts, and baseball caps.
You could also buy all the gear you’d need to look like an authentic cowboy (I doubt any real cowboys would buy their gear there). Chaps, 10-gallon hats, gun belts, and boots were all on display. If you were feeling particularly vulnerable, you could also pick up brass knuckles, a stun gun, or a knife that looked capable of serious damage.
Back on the highway we were blown around while driving 80 mph (the speed limit). Around us big rigs were mostly keeping to their lane, but the occasional fierce gust would cause them to weave. I was extremely careful passing.
And then, slowly, the landscape changed again. Billboards appeared. Then fast-food chains. Then traffic. After the vast, unpeopled expanse of Big Bend, El Paso felt almost jarring, a return to a familiar, commercial, crowded world, full of choices but lacking tranquility.
We had left something behind that doesn’t easily translate to the rest of the world.