We awaken. After a
minimal last breakfast on the road, we load ourselves once again into Pearl.
With barely suppressed excitement, she heads north toward Amarillo. We’ve
reached the last day of our long journey, and we all know it, none more than
Pearl. Reaching I-40, we drive a bit west to Cadillac Ranch.
I’m excited by today’s
only planned stop, Cadillac Ranch. For the uninitiated, in the 1970s an art
group buried ten Cadillacs halfway in the Texas dirt, nose first, the fins and
back of the cars remaining above ground. I read about Cadillac Ranch as a
teenager. I remember the breathless excitement and buzz around who could
possibly afford to spend that much money on art. I mean Cadillacs? The American
dream car?
The creators of
Cadillac Ranch must have spent all of their money on Cadillacs and allocated
nothing for site preservation and defense. Boy am I disappointed! The boys
approach the sculpture, noting many pieces have fallen off of or have been stolen
from the cars, diminishing the whole. A cattle fence blocks Sven and me,
keeping us out, but doesn’t stop any determined ambulatory person. Assholes
have spray-painted all over the cars. Stalactites of paint drip off of the old
cars. Yuck! The self-same vandals can’t even take their trash with them. Myriad
empty spray paint cans litter the ground. (I later read that the artists
encouraged vandalism of the vehicles. Yuck! What an ugly part of humanity. Why
can’t people just leave things be?)
Disillusioned, we
jump back into Pearl. We stop at the next gas station to buy Advil, ice,
coffee, bad donuts made from repulsive quasi-edible oil products (the Bear’s
favorite) and tea.
We hope that luck rides
with us for we have seven hours home at the very best. Unfortunately for us, the
weather prophets have predicted snow for Denver.
Circling Amarillo,
Pearl turns north on route 87. We plan on taking 87 through both Texas and New
Mexico, then picking up I-25 where Colorado starts. But for now we’re still in Texas.
We see a lot of last year’s dead yellow brown grass. The land begins to roll. We see cotton
fields, green and irrigated, the only green in the landscape.
Slowly, as the
land rises, we begin to see mesas and scrub brush cloaked in winter’s brown. Off
the roadside, we find dried deep red gullies and every once in a while a
canyon. Pearl cruises through brilliant late winter sunshine oblivious to the clouds
ahead.
We cross into New
Mexico. Excitedly, we see mountains in the distance. Do we see glimpses of
home? Uh-oh, not mountains—clouds. Pearl takes us farther into the state. Now
we really do see a mountain here and there. First we see conical hills dotting
the land, then more mesas higher and higher. Oh boy, we’re 20 miles from the
Raton Mountains, where Colorado begins. We smell home! We see rain ahead but we
have been seeing it for the past two hours. Pearl still basks in the sunlight.
Colorado now, we
approach cloud-covered Raton Pass. As we ascend, driving up and over, we encounter
rain and rain and rain. Dejectedly, we pass Walsenburg again. Educated now, we
don’t stop at the atrocious Alpine Rose Cafe for tea. Per Bloodroot, only
non-foodies and other war criminals eat there. The rain slackens a bit then
takes a breather. We stop at a roadside rest and cook lunch.
After lunch, back
on the road again, snow begins. Heading ever north, we merge with heavy
traffic. I-25 forcefully teaches us that we really live in one big city that
starts in Colorado Springs and ends in Fort Collins. A mere ten hours after we
awoke in Texas, we land at our house. Boy is it good to be home!
What impressed me?
The beauty of America, of course. I treasure my memory of Taos museums,
Carlsbad Caverns, Big Bend National Park, Johnson Space Center, Lake Fausse,
Avery Island, the Laura Plantation, historic battlefields, Sixth Floor Museum,
and Poverty Point. I loved meeting the
different people in Terlingua, Texas, and Lafayette, Louisiana.
What touched my
heart the most? I still think about how we live in the Denver wealth bubble,
certainly compared to northern Louisiana. I hadn’t realized that the bubble
didn’t extend beyond here. I am saddened by too much of our country living in
poverty, still divided along racial lines, even all these years after we tried
to change it.
We spent four
weeks together, didn’t kill each other (though greatly tempted) AND still speak
to each other, despite visions of duct tape covering mouths.
What treasures now
grace our home? Looking through our new trinkets, we find a NASA Johnson Space
Center Christmas ornament, a Laura plantation ornament, a Tabasco magnet an
Alamo mission magnet and a Poverty Point State Park magnet. Keith believes that
the refrigerator will fall through the floor due to the weight of the magnets. Altogether,
this trip yields a coffee table book on samurai armor, eight more magnets,
three coffee cups, a sweatshirt, a polo shirt and three Christmas ornaments.
And we have seen a
part of America I never dreamt of seeing. I overcame my fear of Texas and
Texans. I realized that I still don’t like drunks (New Orleans). I love
history. We saw some official history (the battlefields) and unofficial but
equally real history (the Laura Plantation & New Orleans parks). Life is
good.
Fin
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