Art And Life

I was tempted to label this entry in the West Texas saga as simply "Roadside Kitsch" but that would be unfair. After all, even the most enthusiastic road tripper (Me! Me!) needs something to look at, even if it is a promoted cut out in the desert.

"The Giant of Them All" by Edna Ferber was the inspiration for a movie directed by George Stevens and when it came out in 1956, before I was born no less, it was also the ill fated James Dean's swan song.

No wonder then that the location of the Texas position of the shoot has been memorialized with this scene where the mythical Reata Ranch scenes were shot. The car below has the extraordinary quality of appearing to follow you as you walk past it.

The artwork was created by John Cerney of Salinas, California (my old stomping grounds) in 2018.Great stuff and throughly worth the stop. Note there are signs warning trespassers from broaching the fence onto the ranch property!

We drove on to the next stop. A young couple who had preceded us at the Giant stop were already at the Prada Marfa art work and they got back in their Subaru and turned back to Marfa 37 miles away! We at least stopped in passing...they drove 76 miles to just to check this stuff out! Good for them actually and I'd probably have done the same.

Mind you the road is empty and straight and just to prove the point here is an accidentally fuzzy picture (one of my spray and pray failures) to make sure you understand you aren't missing anything:

This one-piece "museum" was built in 2005 and has been through every kind of criticism and vandalism and controversy you'd care to name. No one important has yet noticed it is located in Jeff Davis County ( he of the now discredited Lost Cause fame. Controversy stalks the land!).

It was classified as a museum to avoid having to be classified as a roadside advertisement, an indignity it came close to suffering when Playboy put up a giant model of a bunny nearby. No good artwork goes unnoticed but the state only noticed this one when Playboy plagiarized the idea. The bunny was rated as unauthorized advertising but Prada Marfa survived. Read all about it:  Prada Marfa Wiki Link

It is apparently a popular spot though we had it to ourselves. There are security cameras now after the monument to Miuccia Prada (net worth 4.8 billion) was vandalized. I did notice mysterious dark stains on the back wall so I suspect a porta potty might not go amiss next to the artwork/museum. Not everyone travel with their own toilet I'm afraid.

That's me having fun on a blusterous cold winter day. Rusty suitably enough was ignoring me. He preferred the art. Not bad for a selfie dunce.

Boo hiss. We had to get on I-10 at some point and join the flow of eighteen wheelers carrying vital Chinese made Christmas stuff back and forth across the land. I asked my wife what she wanted for her birthday (we pretty much ignore the commercialization of Christmas) and she looked startled when she realized it is fast approaching January. Then we passed the "Mountain Time Zone" sign, our clocks went back an hour automatically and the topic of conversation changed.

Draw a veil over El Paso, an important commercial hub and industrial city whose sole attribute of outside interest is the fact you can look over the river from the freeway and admire the slums of Ciudad Juarez within a stone's throw of your expensive bourgeois van. Which paused for a second while we took a hot shared shower ($14) at the Love's Truck stop just off the freeway. What a lovely thing a prolonged boiling shower is after a week of rugged desert living. I don't think wipes cut the muster when it comes to cleanliness but there we are.

While Layne indulged I slipped out and took Rusty for a walk in a neighborhood where local dogs don't get out much apparently. They found him annoying especially as he ignored them.

A side note here about pre-Christmas travel. The alert and patient reader will have noted my remark about long lines at the border in Presidio as Mexican Americans return to Mexico for the Holiday loaded with cheap US merchandise. 

We saw "trockas" everywhere on the freeway that closely resembled the loads borne into Mexico at the border.

It's worth bearing in mind the border around here is closer or further depending on exactly where you are but it's never far away.

And then we started our final approach to Las Cruces, New Mexico, and its small suburb called Mesilla, a town I had for some reason wanted to return to after our only previous visit some dozen years ago with the late great Cheyenne of fond memory.

The Brothers Karamazov In Texas

This section of our trip starts in Presidio and ends at Marfa, a town whose name makes me feel I have a lisp. In an effort to understand why it's not called Martha (so much easier!) I looked into the matter and discovered the housekeeper character's name in the novel The Brothers Karamazov is Marfa and her name was suggested by a fan of the novel at the time of the town's founding. None of which makes saying "Marfa" sound any less like a speech impediment. But first, Presidio:

Presidio is I fear is not an attractive town to the bourgeois eye. I wanted to see the bridge for reasons mentioned in the previous essay but beyond that it was early afternoon and we were ready for lunch.

We drove back from the border looking for somewhere to pull over that might be a least bit attractive until at last my navigator found a small city park.

I have no idea if this is the same chain as the stores of fond memory in The Keys but my wife the attorney (she multi tasks on this expedition as attorney, chef, bottle washer, navigator and admiral) pointed out the spelling is the same:

It turns out the first European known to arrive in the area of Presidio/Ojinaga was a refugee from Florida. Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca (his last name translates to Head of a Cow, just so's you know...) arrived here during his extraordinary eight year journey on foot across the continent from somewhere near Tampa Bay (probably the Bradenton area). If you haven't heard of Cabeza de Vaca you could do worse than read about his epic journey on foot. I saw a movie about him years ago and that sparked my interest. Apparently while in this area he performed a surgery on a local chief removing an arrowhead from his chest. Those early explorers, much reviled these days had some extraordinary talents and determination.

We modern explorers in our comfortable Conestoga wagon pulled up at the park and let the junior explorer out to have a look round. Layne (the chef) was in her kitchen mixing tuna fish for wraps and I stood around being useless in the sun with a camera. All was as it should be.

It was a dusty corner of the world which has not apparently seen much municipal involvement lately.

It was a lovely day and even though Presidio lacks a certain flair I was glad to be there watching Rusty managing to enjoy himself no matter what.

The toilet block looked splendid but I cannot say for sure as the place was locked as tight as a bank vault. Luckily we carry our own porta potty for such moments as these.

The scenery came up a bit short but I find all things interesting in my pursuit of the unknown. Curiosity keeps you youthful they say. Fearful cynics point to it as a likely cause of premature death. Take your pick.

Perhaps I was going mad on our way north toward the misnamed Marfa but I saw the face of the Grinch accidentally carved into the mountainside. Later we stopped in a pull out and in a biting wind, a cold front was approaching rapidly, we did our daily video exercises to the encouragement of Daniel of the Body Project, Layne snug in the van me standing heroically out in the breeze trying to keep my post-catastrophe metal parts running smoothly. It cracks me up how you can take your world with you into the most unlikely places when you live in a tin box.

We did eventually get to Marfa but first I fear I must be honest and say I was a blithering idiot on the way there. I trust poor old anonymous will weigh in with some heartfelt sarcasm from the anonymous couch of the permanent stay-at-home and fearful troll to keep this happy traveler in his place! This was our goal, the famous county courthouse and West Texas landmark:

 The drive north across wide open desert views felt liberating. So much so Layne got in the bed and started her shoulder exercises, necessary to keep bedding in the new shoulder joint she was gifted in Tampa in a previous life.

“Road work ahead” the sign said. It wasn’t road work it was La Migra setting up a temporary control point on the highway to Marfa. Oh shit I thought Layne isn’t supposed to be in the back. Too late! We were jammed in line. The work truck in front had four laborers in it and I bet they got questioned as that would be a great disguise for a Mexican to travel inland. A fruity slow moving Campervan? Surely not. I swear I thought he motioned me to keep moving so I rolled on through. In my mirror I saw the young border patrol officer climb into his patrol car not aggressively but with an air of resignation. I kept driving slowly hoping for the best. 

It went well actually. I’m glad it wasn’t Officer Frank Betz this time who delighted in pulling me over on the Boulevard and yelling at me for some perceived infraction or another. Odd that because I put up with his radio mumbles much more patiently than some of my colleagues in dispatch! I miss him when I’m getting pulled over apparently. He and I worked together for a very long time and I have fond memories of stealing his French fries at the dispatch desk.

Anyway the young border patrol agent was very suave and took a look apologetically in the back and talked to us for a bit (No he never had seen the magical lights at Marfa) to let his colleague know he had given us the third degree and off we went. He never did ask how I passed the checkpoint alone in the front seat and when he pulled me over Layne was sitting there all belted in. Perhaps I did blow through guiltily faster than I thought I had. And no, I never mentioned I had been a dispatcher...blah...blah...etc. I like to take my medicine when I deserve it.

The bloom was off Marfa when we got there. Never did weather transform so quickly, from a lovely 70 degrees in Presidio down to 40 degrees, windy as hell, with temperatures plummeting to 24 degrees overnight in Marfa. It was a shame really as Marfa is a funny little town, an outpost of culture and the arts, pretension perhaps and signs of some name brand madness in a world of down to earth ranching, but I should have liked to have seen more of it. Curiosity moved me to just see if there was a dial tone in the payphone handset and I heard crooning instead.

We parked opposite a luxury hotel of extreme loveliness, bright with Christmas decorations and the warm glow of yellow foyer lights on a frosty evening. "209 dollars," I read to my wife from their web page, "Forty dollars for Rusty and a room with a fireplace and a balcony." She glared at me and we drove off. The Hotel Paisano is named not for an Italian immigrant but the nearby mountain range. 

Blame the railroads for development around here so this is just like the Keys where hotels sprouted as soon as rails brought fresh visitors.

High end clothing available for those who understand that stuff.

Layne gave up and retreated to the van out of the wind but Rusty was made of sterner stuff and I was attached to him by bonds of friendship and more importantly a leash. So I was stuck out there.

Eventually I had enough and we made for our chosen (free) sleeping spot. Controversy surrounds the Marfa Lights phenomenon. Apparently a local landowner paid for the rather splendid viewing spot built in the desert on Highway 90 east of the town by about a dozen miles. 

The building houses toilets (very important!) and a platform to sit or stand and wonder at the desert night sky. There are glowing red lights included to let you see your way without destroying your night vision but I am told the mysterious lights in the desert are a glowing phenomenon seen clearly from time to time.

I gravitate to the theory that the lights are an outgassing from the Earth's crust set alight by electric activity in the atmosphere. I am no expert and have never seen them but the alien spaceship theory leaves me cold. Years ago I heard a good explanation for the Bermuda Triangle which is an area of ocean that occasionally drops planes out of the sky and sinks ships at random. Scientists as you can read handle this stuff with ten foot poles!

That theory explained that methane gasses rising at random from the ocean bed come up under ships destroying their flotation in the dense water and similar occurs to planes flying through the sky that encounter one of these invisible pockets of very light gas. I don't see why a similar theory wouldn't work here. No one knows so your choice of theory is as good as mine. I liked this Colorado Promaster with Citroen badges fore and aft. In Europe the Promaster is sold under several names including the Citroen Jumper. Our Promasters are actually based on the original Fiat Ducato.

It was a freezing cold night with howling winds rocking Gannet 2. We had our insulated window covers in place and our little portable electric heater was on full blast (at 100 amps!). We had a strong Verizon signal so watched the Holiday editions of the British Baking Show trying to ignore the howling storm outside. It was very snug.

The overnight temperature dropped to 24 degrees cold enough for Rusty to elect to sleep (soundly and loudly) on our bed, but he does not like to be covered, unlike us as we burrowed deep under our duvet sleeping bag. 

If there were any lights we didn't see them, nor did we try. I did pass a couple of huddles of young people under blankets when I took Rusty for his last (freezing) walk of the day. I thought they were mad but it was a Saturday night (I think) so they obviously thought it was a good way to spend a weekend  evening.

We weren't quite done with West Texas just yet!

The Rio Grande

The best place to start here is to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and to offer an apology. I am building a record of our journey and at the rate we are moving every day counts. Normally I'd take a day or two off for the days we all celebrate as vacations or family gatherings but I am taking advantage of WiFi and some time not moving to catch up on this page. 

This part of our trip took place along the north bank of the Rio Grande, the Big River which as you will see is really not that big at all. Worse, Mexicans call it the Rio Bravo del Norte, the Fierce River of the North, and I can't say as the sections we drove alongside looked at all fierce. Bear in mind as we shall see the river was once considered too difficult to navigate.

First we passed through Terlingua itself which locals I now know call "The Ghost Town." One man has bought up most of the town, a local Spottswood you could say and his name is Bill Lay and he owns…the lay of the land in town. The tepees are for rent so if you want an "authentic desert experience" or something there they are, and they aren’t worker housing. 

Everywhere else has authentic desert living out in public for all to see. 

Chris of Get Lost Tours told us of a massive steep climb at one point along Highway 170, we couldn't miss it he said, so every time we faced a massive dip we looked at each other and said: Could it be worse than this? Rest assured it could.

The road from Terlingua to Presidio is mostly freshly paved and smooth so the driving was easy, even with only one hand on the wheel, and I hope my pictures illustrate at least to some modest degree the spectacular nature of the terrain. It went on and on for an hour of driving, about 70 miles depending on which two points you measured. The intensely beautiful stretch may have been only fifty miles long but it went on forever. 

The reason the river is the border between Mexico and the United States is because both countries signed the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848. The treaty created the southwestern United States as we know them today, a concession of over half a million square miles of territory in exchange for $15 million dollars with promises to respect the rights of the settlers in what had been Mexican territory. 115 thousand Mexicans chose to remain in what was now the US and become US citizens. The treaty was a complex arrangement but for our purposes, driving the river bank it made the river the boundary between two countries.

As you can see the Mexican side of the border is quite impenetrable. If you look at a map of the area there is nothing much for miles to the south of the crumbly cliffs overlooking the river.

The beauty of the rugged terrain has an added advantage for a US traveler in that this section of border is not only unguarded but it is surprisingly peaceful. Here we saw no law enforcement, indeed hardly any other cars drove past us.

In a world dominated by 9-11 and border controls and fences and walls along here you can drive unimpeded and enjoy nature in pristine form. 

Additionally the state of Texas has secured public land in the area known confusingly as the Big Bend State Park. We had plans to travel straight through unfortunately but I could have spent a lot more time mooching around here. You drop by Park Headquarters and talk to the rangers and enjoy back country camping, river rafting and I don't know what all else with a simple park permit.

What ho!? I see...teepees? This was our first encounter with a picnic area dressed up in rather peculiar style. 

I know, it looks goofy but really they were rather fun. In a world where we find ourselves fearful of treading on ethnic toes at every turn I thought these simple shelters were hilarious. I over photographed them.

It should be noted they provide real shade and even if your voice reverberates a bit when you ask for the mayonnaise I imagine a traveler stopping for lunch in summer would be grateful for the airy shade.

The weather was perfect, dry air seventy degrees and quite warm enough for shirt sleeves as we went for a walk through the accidental rock garden next to the teepees.

Rusty trotted through nose down and we stood on the bluff above the river and enjoyed the quiet.

Bearing in mind you can park for twenty four hours in picnic areas in Texas we could have stayed the night and I was ready to hang out and read and laze in the sun but we had a date with family members in Tucson so Herself was ready to move on.

I don't think he was ready to get back in the van. The longer we find ourselves in the desert the more he likes it.

I find the joy of traveling with my home outweighs any memories of motorcycling. I dare say I would take up riding again in a stationary life in a quiet backwater but for travel you can't beat having your home with you.

Photography doesn't translate grades and inclines well but we finally found Chris's steepest hill. There was a convenient pull out. 

We looked over the wall into the abyss. Emigration from Mexico would look like this for miles upon miles, above.

Apparently the grade is not actually recommended but it was the best the engineers could do when they built the road. I had long since put the van into Tow/Haul mode to hold back gear changes in automatic mode on the grades, but now I stuck the manual shift into second gear and we coasted down the extra steep grade without needing to use the brakes. There was no traffic so we could coast as slow as we liked. 

It was glorious.

A couple of bridges were getting upgrades which was nice to see even though it felt a little stupid sitting at a red light in the middle of nowhere!

The desert out my window as we waited:

We happened upon an open space with a prominent sign advising no overnight camping for whatever reason. It was broad daylight so we stopped.

We had the river bank to ourselves and wide open spaces for the former stray dog to run in.

I looked across the river to a lonely Mexican Ranch on the other side. I could see some barbed wire as a clue.

Rusty suddenly went on full alert and started pointing. For some reason I left my camera in the van and was using my Apple 12 mini cellphone. Thus the two javelina drinking at water's edge are mere black dots. Sorry about that:

They scrambled up the bank and disappeared. Meanwhile my little hunter gatherer found a snack on the river bank. He wrestled the tortilla into submission and elected not to share any with me.

Here's another spot I could have lingered before driving on to the next picnic area for a free night's sleep but we had miles to make before dark.

There was a resort nearby and I think the land was their’s but somehow left open for passersby to stroll and enjoy. We left no trace.

The fading board explained that R T Hill who was a member of the first river raft down the Colorado repeated the experiment here to prove the Rio Grande could be traversed down the canyons. I think those expeditions were incredibly brave as once you were committed the only way was forward.

That was a good walk.

Your home where you go. Our sink drains to a gray water tank under the van so we don't leave messes as we go.

It was about lunchtime when we arrived at Presidio where our drive would take us north to Marfa and away from the border. I took this photo in the days leading up to Christmas and as you might imagine Mexican Americans going home for the holidays had their vehicles piled high with gifts which apparently Mexican customs were not processing as fast as one might like. The line was impressive enough we skipped all plans to cross before the holiday.

40 years ago I rode across the bridge on my Vespa 200 which had brought me here from New York over several months and quite a few encounters. I stopped at the intersection and pulled out my tripod and my Rand McNally and photographed myself planning my route. There was no Facebook to tell me Mexico was dangerous and I slept on the streets in my sleeping bag, talked to everyone I met in Italian as I knew no Spanish and spent a couple of happy weeks seeing Mexico. I was 23 and feckless.

If I denied there is an element of nostalgia in this journey I'd be lying and that would be a terrible thing to do at Christmas.