Entering Texas at El Paso on December 8th, I made it through and out as fast as possible. From the freeway, El Paso is 25 or more miles of run down housing, brick warehouses, refineries, cemeteries, and railroad tracks that weave in and out of brick warehouse districts, all of it covered by a smoky haze. It reminded me of the Paris suburbs, where their minorities are relegated, as seen from the above ground Metro--minus the graffiti. The houses all seemed to have been built at the same time, maybe during WWII, of the same cheap materials, and were uniformly lacking in maintenance. The freeway, old concrete, created a distinctly unpleasant whistling sound mile after mile and the haze penetrated the state, obscuring the nearby mountains, for at least a hundred miles. I understand the economy is good and housing prices are rising.
I drove miserably through Texas, stopping first at Pecos, home of The First Rodeo and the legend of Pecos Bill. To be Pecosited means to be killed and dumped in the Pecos River. I met two genial old guys from Quebec who had more fun bantering in Franglais than I thought possible. Each had his own brand new $100,000+ RV and they hooked up on the road from time to time. Both were halfway crippled from accidents and age but didn't let it slow them down.
My heater was not working, I discovered, and it was so cold I could see my breath inside the RV at night. I opened up my sleeping bag and spread it over my bed, and slept warm, at least.
As I approached Midland--oil country--I saw oil derricks pumping away on both sides of the road, from the roadside off in both directions, giving the grass, pavement, and the air, seemingly, an oily feel. It was so cold I stayed at a motel in Midland, one of those sour but cheap rooms that have big, deep old TVs nobody would steal and the room you're in is a no smoking for the night you're in it, at least. I can't distinguish it in my mind from the one I stayed in the next night at Abiline. In one of those two places I rode my bicycle four miles through streets where snow covered the sidewalks to watch the Steelers play at the best sports bar I ever saw.
It was so cold I hardly took any other pictures.
I arrived in Dallas on December 12th and spent the night at my old friend Terri Martin's, reconnecting with her two sweet and exciteable children. December 13th I dropped my RV off at Blue Moon RV Repair for what would turn out to be sixty-two hundred dollars of repairs and tires, and flew off via Southwest Air's seemingly standard three stop trip to San Francisco and home.
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