Standing at the Gates of the West

The mood improved in Junction. I've always thought highly of this town, and I've broken down here before, so I've got the name of a good mechanic. I took a refreshing sink-shower at the truck stop to wash the garage grime off me, applied benadryl to my ant bites, got some chelada for me and some water for Dixie. 241 miles to Fort Stockton was going to be a piece of cake and once I was there I was practically to Marfa where I could get a dog-friendly hotel room at the Paisano take a real shower and unwind with a beer. I was enjoying the tunes (pandora: Notorious BIG station) and cruising along, making great time and enjoying the solitude of the changing landscape. The mountains were getting bigger, the temperature was dropping and the sun was sinking in the west.

Driving west down I-10 is always a race against time. The goal is to go balls out as fast as you can during the day, when the speed limit is 80, because once it gets dark, the speed limit is 65 and the long dark desert stretches last forever. I made it within 40 miles of Ft. Stockton and was getting tired and really had to pee. Unfortunately, there were no exits and I soldiered on. The first place I hit in town I stopped to use the restroom. It was totally a scene out of the movie Clerks, these two bored dudes were listening to happy hardcore and telling dirty jokes. "People still listen to happy hardcore, it wasn't even good when it was popular" I thought to myself, their taste in music and lack of chelada caused me to venture further in to town. Although it felt like 10 pm to me, it was only like 6:45 I was (in retrospect, regrettably) hell bent on eating subway I stopped for a soapy sandwich. Then another stop to obtain chelada, and another to fuel up and heading out. When I checked the GPS, I had 74 miles to go. UGH. I had confused the more senic route via Balmorhea with the more direct and utilitarian (non-mountain pass) route via Alpine.

I left Ft. Stockton glimmering in my rear view and turned off I-10 to head down 67 to Alpine. As I did this I switched my music to ... MARFA PUBLIC RADIO... woo hoo. I was greeted with some trippy indie rock and blue grass to soothe my nerves as I navigated what I'm pretty sure is the DARKEST road in north America. The whole way to Alpine I passed two cars, headlights so bright and so distant I thought they were space ships... this is the kind of stuff the Marfa lights legend is made of. Alone in the desert dark with some great music. A perfect ending to a perfect day. Oh, no, wait, it gets better.

After breathing a deep sigh of relief and dodging strategically positioned Alpine police officers (hiding where the speed limit changes from 30 to 35 and back to 30) Music with Farley came on and the topic of tonight's show: The Rolling Stones from 64-67... really? Really! It could not have been more spooky and perfect. And if the mysterious forces of Marfa were not strong enough already, when I had finally arrived at the hotel checked in and popped open my laptop, the phone rang, and it was Mercer ready to play. We went to Padre's (an amazing bar in an old funeral home) with the coolest retro pinball and shuffleboard I have ever seen and had a nice cold beer.