A thousand miles and more

I traveled hundreds of miles. Hundreds of miles across dry desert arroyos dotted with Saguaro cacti, through the vast, brown expanses of New Mexico, the ironboard-flat farmlands of Texas and through the wooded bayous and swamps of Louisiana, I saw it all.
 
Driving across the country with nothing but some good music and my own thoughts was something that I've always dreamed of. For the past several years, however, my top priority has been getting my career in order. Thousand-mile road trips weren't really an option. But since undergoing heart surgery in November, I had quite a bit of time on my hands. Not to mention a beautiful woman waiting for me in Louisiana.

It was time to go, time to see the country I'd only spied from airplane windows, the country people like Jack Kerouac saw from the window of a passing car and were so inspired to write about.
 
Day one: San Diego to Las Cruces

It was a cold, foggy morning when I set out across the foothills and mountains of San Diego County, carefully making my way down to the desert floor of the Imperial Valley. I arrived in Yuma at dawn, a city that, despite being just two and a half hours from home, I had never visited. There I crossed the famous Colorado River into Arizona, trying to keep my eyes on the deserted highway as I marveled at huge, rocky desert mountains in the distance. From there it was a straight shot across miles of arid desert, through Gila Bend and the Sonoran Desert National Monument, where I drove through a mountain pass that almost made me change my mind about the lack of beauty in the desert. I never thought I'd use the word breathtaking to describe a desert, but there was something special about this spot that left an impression on me; there was something in the rugged, rocky peaks and white sand arroyos dotted with Saguaro cactus that spoke to me.

Through Arizona, I stopped in small, nowhere desert towns like Willcox and Bowie to stretch my legs and to look at historical markers. I fell in love with an old railroad depot in Willcox, where I snapped dozens of pictures and thought about a bygone era when the towns were centered and built on the tracks. Across the street from the depot in Willcox was a one-block historic district, but two crazy-looking characters hanging out in front of an abandoned building made me think twice about checking it out.

Train depot in Willcox, Arizona

Thousands of pecan trees were spread out in neatly-planted rows in Bowie, directly across from run-down old houses and what looked to be the remnants of thriving roadside businesses built in the days before Interstate 10 cut through the small town. I considered stopping to buy pecans at a small stand - and some homemade jerky - but changed my mind at the last minute.

Pecan trees in Bowie, Arizona

I next found myself in the land of Walter White and Jessie Pinkman, wide open valleys with nothing to break the wild winds but a few bushes. New Mexico looked to me like miles and miles of desolate grassland broken here and there by wild, jagged mountain peaks. I could almost see that rusted RV parked down a dusty road, chemical smoke billowing from it in the distance. Vince Gilligan really knew what he was doing when he chose the wastelands of New Mexico as the backdrop for Breaking Bad; the two went together like peanut butter and chocolate.

Late in the afternoon I finally began to see the familiar spike-toothed peaks of the Organ Mountains in the distance, a sign that I was nearing Las Cruces, where I had planned to spend my first night. I checked into a La Quinta Inn, where, unfortunately, the room smelled a bit like someone had been cooking human feet in it, and after a decent meal and a couple of beers, I fell asleep eager to start the next leg of my journey.

Sunset in Las Cruces, New Mexico, bathing the Organ Mountains in pink light.

Day two: Las Cruces to Abilene

I was up bright and early the next morning, ready to get closer to Monroe and excited for a stop in Roswell. The route I planned would take me up next to those peaks of the Organ Mountain range, through a pass and down into the White Sands Missile Range. From there it was through the town of Alamogordo, up into the pine forests of the Sierra Blanca range, onto the brown flats of Roswell, then a crisscross of Texas cotton fields to Abilene, where I would spend my second night.

Up through a small pass in the mountains, I started down into the enormous valley housing the White Sands Missile Range, an ominous and mysterious place dotted by secret military installations that could be seen shimmering in the distance. I pulled into a turnout and captured the still of the valley just as the sun peaked over the horizon, basking the entire area in a red glow. Heading down the hill, signs warned that the road could be closed for hours when missile tests were being conducted. Out there on the range was the Trinity Site, where the first nuclear weapon was detonated in July, 1945 as a part of the Manhattan Project. Also somewhere out in the valley were two enormous, intersecting runways built to train shuttle pilots. In 1982,  Space Shuttle Columbia was forced to land there because of poor weather at other landing sites.

Sunrise over the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico

While I'd heard of the White Sands National Monument, I really didn't know anything about it. So as I approached the site that morning, I decided to stop in. It ended up being one of the most rewarding stops of my trip.

White Sands National Monument is a sea of white sand dunes spread across the desert floor, constantly shifting and changing shapes in the wind. For a small fee and a short drive from highway 70, you can explore the dunes. And it's something that you really have to see for yourself to appreciate. I arrived shortly after dawn, with only a handful of other visitors spread throughout the park. I marveled at how beautiful the place was and can't begin to explain the absolute silence. It was an amazing experience.

White Sands National Monument, New Mexico

From the quiet sands of the monument, I went on through Alamogordo, a city that had long ago made headlines during the Trinity test and most recently for the excavation of a landfill containing some 700,000 unsold Atari E.T. video game cartridges, which were later sold online. Some reports indicated that the once obscure games were selling for $500 and more. Some crazy business.

I passed up through some beautiful mountain peaks, where patches of snow still dotted shady spots under large pine trees and wild streams coursed through ravines and canyons. This was Billy the Kid country, made famous by the young outlaw during the Lincoln County War. I drove through a long, winding valley dotted with ranches that eventually opened up to a desolate and windswept country void of anything taller than scrub brush.

I was excited about passing through Roswell, eager to see some of the UFO freaks for myself. But Roswell turned out to me more of a normal town that I had thought. I drove past a UFO museum, but because there were no freaks to gawk at and with so many miles ahead of me to reach Abilene, I kept moving. I don't think I missed much.

McDonalds sign just west of Roswell, New Mexico

UFO Museum, Roswell

To the border of Texas and beyond was country as flat as I had ever seen. I passed the gates and gravel drives of countless ranches, their barns and outbuildings visible in the distance, usually shielded from the wind by groves of large trees. Oil wells also dominated the landscape, the pumpjacks methodically working away. 

With no major highways to lead me to Abilene, I drove along two-lane country roads bordered on both sides by cotton fields, sometimes getting caught behind tractors and enormous farm equipment that blocked both sides of the road. In a a forgotten small town I stopped for a cheeseburger and cherry limeade at a Dairy Queen, watching as people in overalls and straw hats came and went for their lunches.

I finally reached Abilene in the early evening, glad to have finally get out of the car and rest. I had big plans to find a restaurant and enjoy a good meal and drinks, but in the end I just ordered a pizza and crashed early. It had been a very long day

Day three: Abilene to West Monroe

My day began before dawn, where I set out across the rainy Texas flats for West Monroe, Louisiana, via Fort Worth, Dallas and Shreveport.

As dawn broke, I passed through an area of Texas that I really found beautiful; rolling hills covered in trees and more of those ranches. I stopped for gas in a small town called Ranger, thinking that I would like to see what this part of the country looked like during the summer months, when all the vegetation was green and thriving.

I passed through Dallas, cursing the traffic and sloppy drivers, then began my last leg on to Monroe, through a crazy rainstorm where big rigs roared recklessly past me at 90 miles per hour. It was quite the white-knuckled drive. I made it to Monroe early in the afternoon, thankful to be off the road and back with my girl.

Homeward bound

Day one: West Monroe to Dallas

Short of about two dozen layovers at Dallas/Fort Wort airport - most of which I spent running through the massive terminals trying to make flights - I had never been to the area and spent any time there. On top of my list was a visit to Dealy Plaza, where, on a brisk November day in 1963, President John F. Kennedy was gunned down. I had always been fascinated by the story and the countless conspiracy theories that surrounded it. During my time at the Register, I had even done some research and written a short story about Lee Harvey Oswald's time as a Marine at the former El Toro Marine Corps Air Station.

I left West Monroe early on a Sunday and drove the four hours to Dallas through blinding rains. I arrived shortly after ten a.m. and was able to check into my hotel room at the Fairmont, which was located downtown and near the West End. It was a short walk to Dealy Plaza and the museum that was established inside the former Texas Book Depository, the building from which Oswald is accused of shooting JFK (according to the Warren Commission, that is).
 
When I arrived at the plaza and bought my ticket for the museum, what I found were hordes of tourists, many of whom I watched walking around smiling, laughing, running out into the middle of the street to take selfies at the exact spot where JFK was shot. The spot - marked with a white X in the center of Elm Street - was overrun with people when the traffic light at the top of the hill slowed traffic. To put it lightly, I was disgusted.

I suppose it's just a personal problem of mine: I assumed and expected that people would visit the spot and act respectfully, somber even. I expected people to be dignified, not take family photos in front of a white X where a man was killed. But I was wrong.

The former Texas School Book Depository

X marks the spot...and where people run out into the street, perhaps satisfying some type of morbid fascination.

Tourists take photos of JFK assassination spot, Dealy Plaza

I spent as much time as I could stand inside the museum, which takes visitors through a series of exhibits on the sixth floor of the building. The corner window, from which Oswald supposedly made his three shots, was sealed off by a glass partition. But it was so full of tourists that I eventually decided to cut out. My time outside on the plaza had really put me in a foul mood, and I was muttering to myself about the disgust I felt with human nature. I was there to learn about the assassination and to pay my respects...maybe I was in the wrong mindset.

My mood didn't improve after returning to my hotel room and watching the Chargers throw away their chance at the playoffs with a disappointing loss in Kansas City. I had decided I was going to meet the team wherever they played the next week if they'd won, so those plans circled the drain.

Dallas skyline

I had a quiet dinner of country fried steak and Lone Star beer in a steakhouse downtown, then hit the rack early: My Monday was going to take me all the way from Dallas to El Paso, a 10-hour drive across West Texas.

Day two and three: Dallas to El Paso/El Paso to San Diego

That Monday was one of the longest days I ever spent on the road: I spent countless hours and miles crossing the wastelands of West Texas. Other than nearly running out of gas and coasting into a Chevron station on fumes about 100 miles outside of El Paso, I saw and did nothing significant.

I got on the road at the crack of dawn Tuesday, determined to beat a major storm headed into the San Diego area and get through the mountains before the heavy snow fell. Luckily I made it, and arrived home early in the afternoon.