I’m afraid that once again, I must begin with an apology. What began as a travel blog has morphed inexorably into a fairly discursive book-length tome at this juncture. Maybe a saga. It can’t be controlled; it has a life of its own. I’ll understand if you want to quit.  That said, here goes:

At the time of the last post, we were wrapping up our stay in Tucson. Leaving Tucson, we actually followed our plan for a change, and pursued a southeasterly course.  We paused in Benson, Arizona, for lunch at the Horseshoe Café, where among other things we saw the world’s tallest cowboy. Or at least the cowboy with the world’s longest legs.

At the Horseshoe we met a couple who are members of the Southern Trails Association. Pulling and living in a large trailer, they concentrate on studying and experiencing trails – in particular the Santa Fe Trail. They've also participated seven times in organized RV group forays to help with Habitat for Humanity projects in various parts of the U.S. (something we think we’d like to do too).

Though it wasn’t particularly on our way to anywhere, we couldn’t resist stopping in the town of Tombstone, Arizona.  Originally a booming silver mining town in the late 1800’s, Tombstone owes its lasting fame (and maybe its continuing existence) to the “Gunfight at the OK Corral.”  In fact the town seemingly  is devoted to nothing but the Gunfight at the OK Corral. The streets and storefronts have been restored and/or re-created to preserve the look and feel of the 1880’s. 

We of course had to attend the live reenactment of the gunfight – for a price.

Hardly any tourists were in town; just serious history buffs such as ourselves. 

Next stop: Bisbee, Arizona, another Southern Arizona mining town. We stayed at the Queen Mine RV Park – probably the best of its type (basic side-by-side parking on a gravel lot) that we’ve visited. We arrived to find a sign: “Sorry, we’re full,” but found that in fact one campsite had become available just that minute. Good luck struck again. The Park had nice views of the historical section of Bisbee, and of the crater created during years of mining for copper – and really good showers. 

On from Bisbee. We drove through southern Arizona along the Mexican border through Douglas to Portal. From Portal to Chiricahua National Monument we traveled on Onion Saddle Road, a winding, washboard dirt mountain path – 25 miles in two hours, dust flying and settling in every nook and cranny of the rig.

In “Blue Highways,” William Least Heat Moon described his own trip over Onion Saddle Road this way:

Onion Saddle Road, once I was committed to it, narrowed to a single rutted lane affording no place to turn around; if I met somebody one of us would have to back down. The higher I went, the more tha idea unnerved me – the road was bad enough moving forward. The compass swung from point to point, and within any five minutes it had touched each of the three hundred sixty degrees. Ruts and craters and rocks threw the steering wheel into nasty jerks that reached to the spine. I understood why, the day before, I thought there could be no road across the Chiricahuas: there wasn’t.

Arriving eventually at Chiricahua National Monument, we found that the campground was full to the brim. We tried our entire bag of tricks: whining, chatting up the camp host and the ranger, trying to look as old, pitiful and infirm as we could, but nothing worked. So we hiked around and took some photos.

We had two options for overnight accommodations: a) We could drive 40 minutes back over the winding, dusty Onion Saddle Road to a disbursed national forest campsite. Or b) We could huddle together with some other rejects on a patch of ground near the entrance to the Monument, in a little circled wagon train. We chose b).   

Chiricahua National Monument is right up there among the most beautiful and interesting places we’ve visited. The area was called “standing up rocks” by the Chiricahua Apaches who were its inhabitants for centuries.

It was a holy place for the Chiracahua; Cochise and Geronimo hung out there. The pinnacles in the area resulted from superheated volcanic particles forming rocks that were cracked by ice and eroded by water over millennia, leaving a vast collection of spires and balanced rocks. At Chiricahua we caught the morning shuttle to Masai Point (named for Masai, a Chiricahua Cherokee who stole a horse, was chased by soldiers to the point, and disappeared without a trace).  We hiked from there on a beautiful, hot, long trail for nine miles back to the visitor center. On our way we saw many of the sites for which Chiricahua is famous. 

In the end we were pretty thrashed after our all day hike, and decided to move on. That evening we drove four hours into New Mexico, to Pancho Villa State Park. We didn’t arrive until after 9:00 pm – We blundered around in the dark, found an empty site, and hunkered down for the night.

Pancho Villa is in a desert setting and turned out to be a very nice place to spend some time, especially at this time of year when it’s sunny and hot -- but not too hot. We had heard about the park from people we met on our travels. It’s just a mile or so from the border; you can park on the U.S. side and walk into Palomas on the Mexican side. Everyone talks about the Pink Store in Palomas.  It is in fact a two-story pink building visible from the border crossing, on the main street of Palomas. It stocks a huge quantity of Mexican-made products and, most importantly, it provides its customers with free margaritas when they come through the door.  They also serve a good lunch and a seranade.

Pancho Villa State Park is on land once occupied by Camp Furlong, an important U.S. Army installation at the time of the Mexican Revolution in the early 1900’s. Camp Furlong was the site of the last invasion by foreign troops in the Continental U.S. (if you don’t count 9/11). Two original Camp Furlong buildings remain in the park (we camped next to the original jail building).

Original Jail Building, Camp Furlong

While at the park we visited its museum, devoted to the history of Camp Furlong, of the adjacent town of Columbus, New Mexico, and of the Pancho Villa raid on both of them.  Please excuse the dive into history below, but I found it fascinating.

In the pre-dawn hours of March 9,1916, 500 of General Francisco (Pancho) Villa’s troops crossed the border from the South and invaded the town of Columbus, New Mexico and Camp Furlong.  The battle lasted only one 1½ hours, but resulted in the burning of several Columbus buildings and the deaths of 75 raiders, ten American civilians, and eight U.S. soldiers. 

Pancho Villa

The history of events leading up to the raid was complex and full of cloak-and-dagger intrigue.  In the run-up to World War I, Germany was eager to avoid participation by the U.S. as an ally of France and Great Britain.  One German strategy was to intervene in various ways in the Mexican Revolution, arming various factions and manipulating events to encourage the participants to threaten U.S. interests, both in Mexico and in the U.S.  German funding of arms purchases and shipments to Pancho Villa’s faction at one point even involved the Catholic Church in Chicago serving as a funding conduit. The Germans hoped to keep the U.S. busy dealing with Mexican insurgents, diverting American military resources to the southern border and keeping them away from Europe. These machinations of the Germans back then seem eerily reminiscent of today’s intrigues by the Russians (and no doubt many other countries).

Villa’s forces were at one time preeminent; Villa was well-positioned to claim the presidency of Mexico.  He was even involved in high-level negotiations with General Pershing, his eventual antagonist. 

Eventually though, the U.S. recognized rival General Carranza as the legitimate president of Mexico. Villa continued to fight, but began to struggle for supplies and munitions for his troops. It’s thought that the raid on Columbus and Camp Furlong were mainly an attempt to acquire horses, rifles, and machine guns from the camp.

Villa’s raid prompted a swift response from President Wilson. He sent General John J. “Black Jack” Pershing and a force of 10,000 troops to Camp Furlong, and from there into Mexico on the so-called “Punitive Expedition” to catch and punish Villa and his troops. The search for Villa ultimately led American troops 500 miles into Mexico, but they never caught Villa (Sound familiar? See: “War on ISIS.”). 

The expedition did turn out to be excellent preparation for the new, modern, conventional war in Europe, though. Pershing’s troops stayed in Mexico for about a year, providing training in trench warfare, and introducing for the first time the use of trucks, armored vehicles, and airplanes in warfare.  Pershing ultimately went on to become commander of the American Expeditionary Force on the Western Front in World War I. 

Columbus, New Mexico became the site of the first U.S. military airbase, in 1916. A total of eight cloth-coated biplanes were based there, and were used in the unsuccessful expedition to hunt down Pancho Villa.  The planes (Curtis “Jenny’s,” the Model T of airplanes) were severely under-powered and proved virtually useless. Seven of the eight planes crashed, and the remaining Jenny was withdrawn from service and burned.  

Readying the Jenny's for Action.

Strolling around the park one day I met Jim and Bev, a couple enjoying a glass of wine at sunset (they told me they only have a glass of wine every Sunday and Wednesday). 

  

We chatted and I discovered that Jim had been a product engineer at Ford in Battle Creek, Michigan for 35 years. He retired at age 55 and in 1992 he and Bev moved to Silver City, New Mexico, where they’ve lived ever since.  I asked if I might get a photo of them for the blog, assuring them that I only use people’s first names. They were fine with that, but Jim said I could use his last name too. It’s Pershing. “Any relation?” “Yes. Black Jack Pershing’s Great, Great grandfather was my Great, Great, Great, Great, Great grandfather. We’re third cousins three times removed.” 

Jim went on to say that John J. Pershing acquired the name Black Jack while at West Point. He was a stern, rigid kind of guy and wasn’t liked much by the other cadets. He was also known to be a champion of black people in general, and in particular of black soldiers, whose skill he admired. So the cadets came to refer to him as “Nigger Jack Pershing.” The West Point officials put a stop to that, so they began calling him Black Jack instead. Jim produced an abbreviated family tree to show how the relationship went. The great, great, grandfather Frederick immigrated from Germany in the mid-1700’s. 

After our stay at Pancho Villa, we pulled up stakes and headed north. But we didn't go far; we only drove about 60 miles to reach City of Rocks State Park. We considered camping at the nearby Faywood Hot Springs RV Park. 

We stopped in at the office and asked a few questions. Are there places to hike here? “Well, you could walk around out on the land, but you’d have to be careful of the longhorn cattle.” 

Are they dangerous? “Well, the bulls can be pretty aggressive during the mating season.”  When is the mating season?” “I’m not sure.”

Then we inquired about availability of sites. “We’re pretty full. I think our RV sites are sold out completely tonight.”  Are there sites without hookups where we could stay in our small motor home? “We have a few tent sites left in the clothing optional section. You’d probably fit there.” We decided to take a look at the state park.

City of Rocks is unique. Rock formations referred to as “kneeling nuns” cover the area where campsites are situated. 

We landed one of the only available spots. It was beautiful, but not for the faint of heart. 

City of Rocks is aptly named for more than one reason.  The mostly vertical rock formations look a little like buildings in an urban area, with naturally occurring “roads” winding among them. And the campsites themselves when occupied resemble a little village of “tiny homes” tucked among the boulders.

The rocks were produced by a huge volcanic eruption 35 million years ago. This event was 1,000 times larger than the 1980 eruption of Mt. St. Helena. The local landscape was blanketed with layers of hot ash. As the blanket of ash cooled and formed the rock, it shrank, forming cracks. Over time the cracks were widened by the action of freezing and thawing water. 

During our stay, we hiked for five or six miles around and through the rocks. We were fully clothed. We didn’t encounter any raging longhorn bulls.

It must be said that City of Rocks didn’t let us down in the desert sunset department. Personally I’m getting tired of sunsets, but here are the City of Rocks versions:

We took a long day trip from City of Rocks to take a look at the Gila Cliff Dwellings. 

The dwellings are located near the headwaters of the Gila River, birthplace of the great Apache chief Geronimo. 

The Gila caves were created in the course of 28 million years of geologic history, first through deposits of lava from two large eruptions, later covered by a conglomerate of sediment eroded from older volcanic rocks. The conglomerate was then eroded by water unevenly, creating alcoves – some of which eroded further into large caves.  

The caves probably were used by various indigenous groups for 10,000 years or more, for temporary shelter. The caves were inhabited and improved with rooms constructed with chinked rock walls about 700 years ago by Mimbres Indians, a subgroup of the Mogollon culture. The Mimbres group was a pueblo culture that for unknown reasons retreated to cliff dwellings for just one generation – from about 1250 to1280. 

They left a record of their stay there through pictographs, some of which are still visible. 

There was a period spanning four or five generations when many, many puebloan groups (many tribes) in the area abandoned their pueblos and became cliff dwellers. No one knows exactly why this happened; it must have been very inconvenient to live in caves high up in the cliffs, away from water sources, crops, and game animals. 

For thousands of years prior to this era, two major cultures lived side by side in the area: the Mogollon and the Anasazi. Then, around 1200, the two cultures seemingly merged. The merged culture led to more recent puebloan tribes such as the Hopi and the Navajo. 

The Apaches came to this area of New Mexico after the Mimbres, around the time of the Spanish explorations of the 1500’s.  The Apaches successfully resisted the invasion of Europeans for over 300 years, until finally Chief Geronimo surrendered in1886.

Returning from the cliff dwellings, we stopped at the Gila Hot Springs for a soak. Unfortunately the clothing optional baths had not yet opened for the season, but we had a nice clothed soak. 

 

Interesting People We’ve Met Department: Our camping neighbor at City of Rocks was Carlton. He was very interested in collecting gems. He told us of a place called the Dust Devil Mine in Eastern Oregon where one can go and dig up rocks. Any gems discovered will be purchased from you by the mine owner at wholesale prices, or you can keep them for yourself. I asked Carlton if he would mind if I featured him in the blog. Not only did he agree, he told me that he had a very interesting life story that I might want to include.

Carlton is on the road full time, living on his pension from the military. He is a brilliant inventor by his own account. He gave us an example – the squash-less fly swatter, that will kill flies without popping their bodies and making a mess. Walmart ordered two million squash-less fly swatters, but later reneged on the deal.  He attributes this and other reversals of fortune to the Mark of the Beast, which was visited on him in 1965 when he drowned while swimming at The Wedge in Newport Beach, California, and was saved by Jesus. 

At this juncture, as best I understood Carlton’s account, he refused to affiliate with organized religion, was saddled with the Mark of the Beast, and was made the target of vetting and vesting, which he has been fighting against during all of the ensuing 52 years.

Interestingly (or not) I myself had a near-death experience in the 60’s not far from Newport Beach that was eerily similar to Carlton’s. I too was caught in a riptide, driven to the ocean floor by a succession of brutal waves, became physically exhausted, and thought I was a goner. Like Carlton, I survived the ordeal. To my knowledge, though, Jesus wasn’t directly involved, nor was the Mark of the Beast. His description, though, did engender goose bumps and a strong sense of déjà vu.

Unusual Places We’ve Stumbled On Department: On our way east from City of Rocks through New Mexico, we stopped at the Adobe Deli. Situated on a country road about 10 miles outside Deming, the Adobe Deli occupies the site of the Lewis Flat School, a public school that closed in 1977. The Adobe Deli is so remote, unadvertised, and unidentified that it seems you just have to know it’s there to find it. 

Inside, the deli is hard to describe, to say the least. It’s crammed with an eclectic collection of kitsch, including stuffed game animals, a phone booth with a stuffed wildcat perched atop it and occupied by an Indian wearing an army helmet, various retired road signs, foosball and shuffleboard setups, a scale that promises “your exact weight” for a penny, etc.  

 When we noticed they had Shiner Bock on draft, we had to order a couple of glasses, with which we toasted our late dear friend John Pohlen. 

John introduced me to Shiner Bock some years ago and told me it could only be purchased in Texas. It became a running joke between us when I found Shiner in dozens of locations all over the country, each instance of which I reported to John. By the way, at the Adobe Deli we split what we both agreed was the best burger we’d ever tasted, anywhere. If you ever find yourself in Deming, New Mexico, look it up.

On our way to our next destination we visited the Fort Selden Historic Site. Fort Selden was built in 1865 to protect American settlers from thieves and Apache raiders.  At the close of the Civil War, black infantrymen were sent to Fort Selden (among other installations on the frontier. They were dubbed “buffalo soldiers” by the Apache themselves, in recognition of their ferocity in battle. 

Fort Selden as it looked in the late 19th century.

Buffalo soldiers.

Statue honoring the buffalo soldiers.

By the late 1880’s the Southwest was largely settled, and army garrisons were no longer needed to protect the citizenry. Fort Seldon was closed in 1891 and in the ensuing 126 years has devolved into ruins. 

Fort Selden today.

We visited briefly at the White Sands National Monument. We weren’t inclined toward a long stay there. 

Maybe I’d seen enough explanations about the ways plants and animals get enough water to survive in the desert -- we’d been in the desert by then for about six straight weeks and I was ready to move on. Still, we arrived at White Sands just in time for the ranger walk in the dunes at sunset, and it was a good one. 

White Sands is the largest area of white sand in the world at 275 square miles; the next largest is four square miles. The sand really is white. It’s pure gypsum, brought from the surrounding mountains by water that flows to the low basin where the water evaporates, leaving crystals that are bounced by wind until decimated into white sand grains and blown into ever-shifting dunes. Sunset on the dunes was lovely. Another desert sunset….

 In Alamogordo, New Mexico we finally had occasion to camp in a Walmart parking lot.  We had finished our walk at White Sands and had no particular plans, so we did a little grocery shopping and settled in near one other rig toward the back of the lot near a gas station. 

 Immediately we had a problem. After dinner we couldn’t find the dish detergent anywhere. It’s an amazing fact that we have lost, and so far have been unable to find, any number of possessions on this trip. All of them presumably are somewhere in the six foot by twelve foot space that we call home. But we can’t find them. Luckily we were camped next to a giant store that’s open 24 hours a day, so I hopped out and ran in to get some detergent.

Other than that, the experience was disappointingly uneventful. We had been advised that Walmart parking can be a colorful experience – an opportunity to meet and greet the diverse group of people who have nothing better to do of an evening than to hang out in a Walmart parking lot.  Through the entire night we heard a solitary distant freight train making its way across the desert at 3:00 am, and then at five o’clock the rumbling of a trash can on wheels, pushed by the night parking lot clean-up man with his broom and dustpan.

On to Guadalupe Mountains National Park in Texas. 

 We were very lucky to get a spot in the park – all the campsites had been full every night for a month. Guadalupe is in north Texas, not far from the New Mexico border. Parts of the rugged mountains were a reef in the Delaware Sea 270 million years ago, thrust upward over the millennia. Lots of fossils of ancient marine animals. 

Part of the same reef (the part that wasn’t thrust upward) is underground about 50 miles away in the Carlsbad Caverns.

The Guadalupe campground is pretty basic, but the view from our rig was great. 

Our rig is in the center, peeking out from behind bigger rigs.

On our first day we took a pretty vigorous 6-mile hike, to the “Devil’s Hall” and beyond. It was only supposed to be a 4-½ mile hike, but we wandered off the trail by mistake and added a mile or two. 

The next day we hiked to the Pratt Lodge (built in the 1930’s by an oil man who loved the area) and beyond to the Grotto – close to 10 miles in all.  

 On the road again, we packed up to leave Guadalupe Mountains National Park. As we were leaving, the camp host approached and said, “High winds are coming today. Don’t go over the Guadalupe Pass to El Paso – the wind there can flip over big rigs. You’re short and tall; that’s bad.” Since we were heading in the opposite direction we weren’t overly concerned.

Our next destination was Carlsbad Caverns National Park, back in New Mexico once more after a short one-hour drive from Guadalupe. 

The caverns tour entailed entering the cave opening and descending 800 feet into the depth of the caverns while walking a little more than a mile of steep downhill path in the dark (We couldn’t see the path or our feet). We took it on faith that the path was smooth, and that we weren’t going to trip over any bumps. We didn’t really have a choice.

The caverns themselves were overwhelmingly impressive. They were formed from the same 250 million-year-old growth of reef in the Permian Era Delaware Sea that accounts for some of the Guadalupe Mountains. In the caverns though, the reef material wasn’t thrust upward, it sank into the basin below the mountain ranges. Then the action of water and minerals carved out deep underground the incredible features of the caverns. 

In all, the self-guided tour of the caverns lasted about three hours.  We grabbed a quick lunch and set out for West Texas, hoping to reach Abilene by evening. This wasn’t going to happen. 

Driving east through New Mexico toward the border with Texas, the wind picked up. Then it picked up some more.  At one point we heard a loud noise and our sunroof hatch began to flap in the wind; we had to stop and re-secure it. After a couple of hours we stopped in Eunice, New Mexico, practically at the Texas border, to stretch our legs. Looking at the rig, we saw that the wind had ripped off the shroud protecting the rooftop air conditioning unit.

We had no idea when that had happened, where the shroud might have blown to, or what shape it might be in. What we did know was that the wind was becoming ever stronger.  We forged ahead into Texas, and things got worse. 

We determined to stop at the first town we came to and to “go to ground” until the wind abated. En route we made some phone calls, trying to arrange to replace the shroud. In our (burgeoning) experience, Airstream dealers are the best (only?) bet for this type of cabin problem. We called the nearest Airstream dealer – in Dallas, five hours away. They said they might be able to help but it would be four weeks before they could even look at it. We called Airstream national headquarters to see about ordering a replacement shroud. “That item is no longer available. I can give you the URL for the Westfalia website. They may be able to help.”  We looked up the web site; it was entirely in German, with no contact information.

The first town we battled our way to through the wind and dust storm was Andrews, Texas, an oil town pretty close to the middle of nowhere. It was late afternoon, and the wind was still howling.

We did some grocery shopping. In the market, seeing no beer or wine, I asked a young guy where I might find some. “Oh, beer you can get at the gas station. I don’t think anyone sells wine in Andrews – you’d have to go to Odessa [60 miles away].”

With the help of more advice garnered at the grocery store, we found a great Mexican restaurant and had a really good dinner, which we felt we deserved. 

After our meal we went to get some ice for our coolers. 

While I tried to hold our Styrofoam cooler in place under the chute and pull the handle, suddenly 20 pounds of ice dumped out all at once. A big chunk of Styrofoam ripped loose and blew away, the cooler tipped over, and almost all the ice fell to the ground.  I tried to chase the missing chunk of Styrofoam, but it was moving way faster than I could. No dice. 

But I salvaged most of the ice by scooping it from the ground into the coolers --and devised an ingenious way to repair the broken cooler. 

Kate looked up the weather forecast for the next 24 hours. High winds, heavy rain and hail, possible tornadoes.  We looked for a place to shelter. We almost parked in an automatic truck wash building, but the video camera there deterred us. We ended up spending the night at the Andrews Municipal RV Park – full hookups, no charge.  

The night was peaceful -- no rain, no tornadoes that we noticed. But in the morning the wind kicked up again. The weather forecast was still threatening. So we decided to stay one more night in Andrews. To while away the time during that day, we did our laundry at the Texas Load’em Laundry Mat. We took care not to to use the machines in the “oilfield clothes only” section.   

That night we planned to attend the advertised Friday Enchilada Fest at the Catholic church. We arrived promptly at 6:00, but found that it actually had been 

the Friday Enchilada Fest lunch. We had missed it. So we settled for the senior buffet at the Western Grill.

Next day there was a break in the windy weather and we hit the road again.  Heading east toward the Dallas-Fort Worth area, we found ourselves in the vicinity of Sweetwater, Texas. Sweetwater is the home of the “World’s Largest Rattlesnake Roundup,” and (according to our travel book) home of “the best fried chicken in West Texas,” at Allen’s Fried Chicken. We missed the rattlesnake roundup by two weeks, but we decided it was worth the five-mile detour to try the fried chicken. Were we right.

As we entered Allen’s, the waitress asked, “Water, coffee, or tea?” I asked if they had iced tea. She looked at me as if I might be a Martian or insane. “Yes,” she said finally. I guess iced tea Is the only kind of tea in West Texas. Dumb question. “Go ahead and sit over there, y’all.”  We had no sooner sat down than the entire table was loaded up with plates of fried chicken, meat loaf, two kinds of mashed potatoes (one with butter, the other with more butter), gravy, biscuits, okra, green beans, pinto beans, carrots, coleslaw, candied yams, peach cobbler, and more.

Soon we were joined at the table by Peggy, Ted, Christina, and Nell (short for Ronell). We all dug in, and whenever it looked like we might run out of anything, a full platter was brought to replace the empty one. During the course of the meal, we all got to know each other. 

Peggy was born and raised in Denton, Texas (the little one, with a population of 25 or so - not the big one near Dallas).  She became the unmarried mother of a son at age 17; her parents cared for her baby while she finished high school (She'll always remember, the school wouldn't let her attend the prom).  She retired recently after working most of her life as a bank teller. Ted worked for the Texas Southern Railroad for 35 years and is now retired too. 

Peggy and Ted were married 11 years ago; they’re both deeply involved in the good works of their local church. They participate in church projects including mentoring troubled adults, building and operating a youth center, building and fixing up buildings for other needy churches in Texas, and helping support drug addiction services (Peggy: “Meth is the biggest problem. If anyone in this town asks you for a $20 loan, you know what it’s for”).

Christina is from the Fort Worth area; Ronell is from New Orleans. The daughter of an evangelical preacher, Christina had her first child at 19 (Christina is now 28, Ronell is 37). She met Nell when “I was on a three day binge smoking ice. I went to a party, my date ditched me, and I met Ronell and his homeboy. I left the party with the two of them. Ronell’s homeboy was planning to trick me out, but Ronell could see what was coming -- he took me to a Walmart and stole something so we’d both get put in jail and we’d get away from his homeboy.” 

Once Christina and Ronell, respectively, got out of jail and got clean, they met again by chance and decided to move to Sweetwater and start a new life with Christina’s infant child. They just arrived recently. They met Peggy and Ted at a church event. Nell had no employment prospects and was looking for work. Peggy and Ted offered him a job helping them with renovations on their house. (“You need to know, I’m a felon,” Nell told them. “So what?” said Peggy.)

Our turn: Kate and I filled in the four of them on the First World, white bread story of our RV travels and the terrible problem of the lost shroud. Ted and Peggy immediately had a suggestion. We should go to Family RV in Sweetwater for help. So after lunch we did. As we left Allen’s Fried Chicken, we discovered that Peggy and Ted had paid for our lunch. Oh, and it was really good fried chicken.

Off we went to Family RV. 

There we met A.J., who looked over our situation, eventually climbing on top of the rig to examine the air conditioner.

“The serial number is 333,” he called down to us. “Guess they didn’t make too many of these.” A.J. concluded that they wouldn’t be able to find and order the correct shroud,  if  they tried to make and install a shroud from scratch it would likely blow off or fall off, and if they tried to replace the air conditioner with one of their standard models it would cost $1,000, but it wouldn’t fit and probably wouldn’t work.  We had already found out from the service department at Airstream national headquarters in Ohio that the shroud replacement part is “no longer available,” and that to replace the air conditioner with a unit that would work, we’d have to wait at least six weeks for an appointment, leave the rig with them for a week, and it would cost $5,000. Meanwhile, A.J. told us that we could just drive around without a shroud and unless the a/c unit took a direct hit from major hailstones it would work fine. If it were to get wet in a rainstorm, it would dry out in a few days and work fine also.

Crazy as it sounds, we decided to turn around, drive 200 miles back to the area where we thought the shroud had blown off, and see if we could find it. If we could, maybe A.J. could find a way to patch it up, re-install it, and secure it.

So off we went, back through West Texas oil country. 

It’s amazing, when you start looking closely, how much junk there is strewn along a highway in oil/cattle country. Plastic bags, bottles, cans, an RV sewer hose (not ours), and – shrouds. The first shrouds we found didn’t seem like they could be ours, but we took them on board just in case. 

The next roadside shroud looked like it could be ours, so we added that to our in-rig stock. 

Finally, almost exactly 200 miles west of Sweetwater, we found what we recognized as definitely our shroud.

To be more accurate, Kate found our shroud. I was just her driver.  Some pieces had broken off, but Kate found almost all of them. It could be fit together like a jigsaw puzzle into almost the whole original. It wasn’t clear if we had anything more than a venerable museum piece. It seemed unlikely that it could be reassembled, reinforced, and reinstalled in any way that would render it functional. But we had a sense of pride, and by now a bit of and emotional attachment to our good old shroud. Maybe A.J. could breathe life back into it. At any rate we jettisoned the other junk we had accumulated, and accorded our shroud a place of honor in our tiny house on wheels. 

We spent the night in Hobbs, New Mexico, another oil town, but a big one (population 43,000).  Then we headed east, back into West Texas again, this time through seemingly endless fields plowed and planted with cotton crops.

We were headed back to Sweetwater. We wanted to be there first thing Monday morning when they opened, to show A.J. our trophy and to beg him to do magic to it.

On our way east, we stopped briefly in Lamesa (pronounced la-MEE-sa). Lamesa’s claim to fame is the Sky-Vue Drive In Theater, the first place Buddy Holly ever performed outside his hometown of Lubbock, Texas.

It doesn’t look like there’s much action at the Sky-Vue any more.  

Still, we’re the only people we know who have actually visited there in person. It made us feel somehow close to Buddy.

We reached Sweetwater in the afternoon. In the past 24 hours we had left Sweetwater, traveled 400 miles, and arrived today in…..Sweetwater. After some difficulty with directions, we arrived at the Sweetwater Lake Municipal RV Park. We were greeted by a nice lady who said her name was Pinny.

She said we could park anywhere, and asked if we had any experience with faraints. We looked at each other blankly. “Faraints are about the size of redaints, but their sting is worse.” Apparently there were quite a few faraints in the park, and they tended to hang out near the water and electrical hookups. We said we’d be careful.

The park itself was very pretty, with lots of grass and trees, and hardly anyone else camping there.

The weather was beautiful, and we had a very pleasant stay.

Bright and early the next morning we rolled into Family RV of Sweetwater once again. A.J. wasn't there, but Greg was very admiring of our success at finding the shroud. 

Greg said there still wasn't anything they could do to repair or install our shroud, but he referred us to a company in Canada that he thought could make us a replica. Breakthrough!

I called the company and at their request sent them about a dozen shroud photos from different angles, and a full set of measurements. They said they'd get back to us. In the mean time, the shroud occupies our kitchen space when we're on the road and lives under the rig when we're camping.

Onward to Fort Griffin State Park, near Albany, Texas.

Fort Griffin was one of several army outposts established in the mid-1800's to protect pioneer settlers from marauding Indians -- in this case the Comanches. The state park includes ruins of the old fort, and is home to the official purebred herd of longhorn cattle maintained by the State of Texas. We were greeted at the information center by Jane, an artist, a writer, and a bit of a local historian. 

Jane spoke to us for an hour or so about the local history of Shackelford County, seemingly without taking a breath. This is a talent we've seen more than once among Texans. 

Jane explaining why they don’t let longhorns run free in the park any more.

The town of Fort Griffin that grew up adjacent to the army installation was infamous in its day -- full of saloons, brothels, and an array of merchants catering to cowboys, buffalo hunters, and gunslingers (even Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday spent some time there). When the Civil War began, federal troops were needed elsewhere. The fort was closed, and merchants moved to nearby Albany, by then established as the terminus of the Texas Central Railroad.  

We camped at Fort Griffin State Park's very nice campground, a pretty place featuring lots if trees, grass, and the sounds of longhorns lowing. And we had the entire campground almost entirely to ourselves. 

Almost entirely to ourselves except for raccoons. We committed the cardinal sin of camping and left our cooler, with a package of beef in it, outside overnight; The next morning we found the result. 

Where’s the beef?

Luckily I was able to make yet another ingenious repair to the cooler.

While camping at Fort Griffin we spent a day in nearby Albany. Albany is a really unusual small Texas town (population 2,000). A premier attraction is the Old Jail Art Center, located appropriately enough in the old jail, built in 1877. 

The Old Jail was closed in 1929, fell into disuse, and was rescued from demolition in 1940 when it was purchased for $350 by Robert Nail. Robert was raised in Albany, part of an extended family that became wealthy dealing in cattle and oil. He attended prep school in the east where he was mentored by Thornton Wilder, and in 1929 entered Princeton University, where his classmates included Joshua Logan, Jimmy Stewart, and Jose Ferrer. He returned to Texas after graduation and in the course of his career wrote several successful plays, including the Fort Griffin Fandangle, which is still performed today.

Descendants and relatives of Robert Nail donated family collections of 20^th century modern art and Asian art, and opened the Old Jail Art Center in 1980. Since that time it has become the primary cultural resource for the region. On our visit we were greeted by Holly, who filled us in on the history of the families and of the Center. 

Kate and Holly laugh it up.

The collection at the Old Jail was eclectic and impressive – not exactly what you’d expect in a small Texas country town. 

 In addition to giving us information about the Center, Holly also told us that rattlesnake season was in full swing, that the local rattlesnakes have learned not to rattle, and that baby rattlesnakes abound at this time of year and they’re the worst because they haven’t learned self control so they dump all their venom with each bite. Holly also shared with us the news that a huge storm was coming later that day, and that a similar storm a week before had featured hailstones as big as softballs that smashed car windows and pulverized vehicles. Taking heed, we found shelter in a local car wash and hunkered down for the night. 

In the middle of the night there was a brief thunderstorm with a lot of wind and rain, but no hail that we knew of. Another threat of disaster averted.

Onward we drove after the storm, toward Dallas. We stopped for a couple of nights at Mineral Wells Lake State Park, which was wonderful. We got a very private site, smack on the lakeshore, with fish regularly jumping out of the water, and tall reeds where tons of birds came at twilight to sing a while and then settle down for the night. 

We discovered (too late) that you can fish without buying a license, and they will loan you a rod and reel for free if you’re camping at the park. I want to come back.

On the other hand, we had a sort of alarming conversation with Ranger Kern. We asked him if there's anything else to watch out for besides rattlesnakes. "Oh, sure. We got cottonmouth, copperheads, black widows, brown recluse, scorpions, fire ants, wasps, chiggers, and poison ivy. There's bears and alligators further south." We said we'd be going to Dallas the next day. "Oh, they got some BIG alligators in the rivers around Dallas.” 

Remember the maxim: “Don’t talk to rangers."

On to Dallas, alligators or no….

But first, on our way we stopped in at the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth. Part of the museum was designed by the inventive architect Louis Kahn, and there was an exhibition on his life and works in progress when we visited. 

Well worth the brief detour.

We arrived in Dallas just in time to join the send-off of the Stanford Women’s Basketball team from their hotel to the semifinal round in the Final Four.

Kate hangs out with coaches 

Tara Van DerVeer and Amy Tucker.

Stanford unfortunately was eliminated, but we saw one of the great games of all time when Mississippi State broke UConn’s winning streak, and we had an unexpected chance during or travels to spend time with our friends Dave, Marian, Nancy, and Mary. 

Dave and Marian

          Mary and Nancy           

Now we’re off to somewhere east – who knows where?

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