Left Austin in the dark of night heading up 183 avoiding Toll Road Perry's money grab. After daylight arrived entering the Texas' Panhandle I ran into three hours of heavy rain that left ponds on parking lots and flooded areas on service roads. The route passes through wind farms, cotton fields where giant bales lie under cover along with loose cotton. Grain is grown here as well and elevators mark small towns. Fields are dotted with pumpjacks. Supposedly Billy the Kid lies buried in Fort Sumner.
I spent a restless night in Lubbock and drove on to Albuquerque. From an aging KOA to the luxury of the American RV Resort where pop corn awaited and breakfast in the morning is complimentary. The sudden hale storm beat off some of the dust I'd collected.
West along old Route 66 on I-40 one climbs to the continental divide West of Gallop, NM at over 8000 ft. Having a kamikaze coyote immolate itself under my tires was just one more passing occurrence. Entering Arizona one learns one is entering the largest Reservation on Earth. Exits are dotted with Indian Trading Posts and Casinos. The Buttes and Mesas create a spectacular panorama but the undulating landscape becomes uniform desert scrub that comes with blowing dust, unstable roadbeds, and sudden gusting crosswinds. Cattle dot fields that hardly seem able to support them.
The aging KOA in Flagstaff is located in a pine forest where campsites are packed in like sardines. At 7000 ft I felt the altitude. It cools off there at night.
No comments:
Post a Comment