I am in Parker, Arizona. It is scorching hot here. Records highs supposedly across AZ today. (And yes, I have lots of water and sunblock.)

I’ll be in California within the half-hour.

Tonight… tonight I will be in…

I am under 300 miles away from LA. I will have a full update either late tonight or tomorrow morning.

Day 28
Start – 8197.1 km
Finish – 8331.4 km
—————-
134.3 km or 80.6 mi

I’ve fallen somewhat behind on my updates. However, I’m mostly caught up on photos. So let’s go back to Day 28.

Safford to Globe. Waking up in Safford, I took a look at the public shower (not plural) at Roper Lake State Park and decided against it. The park? Beautiful. The shower? Not so much.

An incredibly short and uneventful day. Somewhere along the drive, I became tired of the desert scenery. I became tired of being alone. The people I meet… they are nice interludes in a symphony that is long and tiring in places. But they are there for a minute, and then the lull of their voices is gone. The image of them is gone from my mind. Was it Dave or was it Steve? Did he have a sister or a brother in an institution? Does it matter?

I thought about this trip. I let go of concerning myself with what others thought of my reasons. I’ve let go of their interpretations. And then I pictured Kevin Spacey in American Beauty.

I thought about the fact that I’m driving across this country on a scooter – a 50cc scooter – and the absurdity of it. I wondered about how it was all going to end. This trip. This life. Where would I go? I know that I’ll be in LA for a while, but for how long, I can’t say. Two weeks. Two months. Two days beyond the reunion?

I’ve tossed around in my mind for a while the notion of setting up shop in Costa Rica and flying models in for shoots. It could work. Currently, this notion is the front runner.

I’ve debated following the path of Tommy and heading north to the Redwoods and into Washington State. Maybe go across the northern part of the country. But why?

I love South Beach. It feels like home to me. I frequently question whether I didn’t make a mistake in leaving when I did, though. I’d like to go back. But…

I don’t intend to find (nor am I searching out) some deep inner meaning on this trip. I know myself. I’m comfortable with who I am. There are things which I’d like to change and mentally, I’ve made the hurdles on some of those things on this trip. Trivial things. And while I’m not searching for some magical zen place, I would like to find a place in this world where I fit. A place that fits me. Not necessarily some physical place. Just some place. Some place where external meaning exists.

I would like to find Love.

Words, they climb all over you,
Til they uncover you,
From where you hide.

And in this moment,
I need to be needed,
With this darkness all around me,
I like to be liked,
In this emptiness and fear,
I want to be wanted,

‘Cause I love to be loved,
I love to be loved.

I didn’t set out to find Love on this trip, either. I DID set out to rid myself of the circles in my mind which have kept me from allowing it. It would be nice to experience Love in this life. It would be nice to experience that.

Hm.
That was a little deeper than I intended to dive. And depressing on top. (Sorry about that.)

The question I’ve been asked a lot on this trip, though, and one I don’t have any reason to ask myself (as I know the reasons): Why? And why on a scooter?

On the way to Globe, I stopped in Bylas, an Indian reservation (I believe). On the outskirts of town was a convenience store; this is where I stopped. As I sat outside, an old Indian man appeared. He said he had walked there, but I never saw him coming. We talked for a while. I wanted to ask questions but I didn’t. After a while, he asked me, “Why on a scooter?” I said because it was tortuous. He laughed. Then he looked directly at me and said… well, he said some things. I finished my drink, got up, said goodbye and thanks, and left.

I would tell you what he said, but it’s secret vision quest stuff. (Secret except for those of you in the Secret Vision Quest Club!!! If you have your decoder rings handy, enter X – 2 – F – i -4. Therein lies what the old Indian said.) I can disclose, however, that he did tell me the secret to trans fats and how to manage them.

Honestly, I don’t remember much else of the trip that day. With the exception of the Indian, it was relatively uneventful. I had intended to go all the way to Phoenix, but when I stopped to grab a bit in Globe, I was so exhausted from not getting a good night’s sleep the night before, that when I saw the budget motel across the street, I was done for.

I watched a lot of TV. I watched Cast Away that night, I believe. I realized that Scooter is my Wilson on this journey.

Day 29
Start – 8331.4 km
Finish – 8475.5 km
—————
144.1 km or 86.5 mi

Two things: I was actually in Miami on Friday. Only, it was Miami, Arizona. I didn’t feel at home. I had a burrito for lunch, a decision I would later regret. I took some photos. They didn’t quite have the same feel as the last set of photos I took in Miami. I was glad I saw this desert town. Then I quickly left.

Secondly, somewhere west of Miami and east of Superior, Arizona, the road was entirely desert mountain roads. Steep grades up, steep grades down. And on the climb up, the road was seriously under construction. They let traffic from wherever they started pass on this two-lane road, while our band of merry travelers waited for the Stop sign to turn to a Slow sign. The traffic passed and we sat. And sat.

And sat.

I smoked three cigarettes under the desert sun. I calculated the square root of two. I developed an algorithm for ending world hunger. Then some guy three cars up in an air-conditioned SUV got out to stretch. Asshole. Everything was lost; my mind turned to air conditioning. And cold water, not the hot water in the bottle wedged between the backpack and the seat behind me.

Eventually, they let us go. And here, I would like to apologize to the 268 cars behind me on that long climb. Yes, the speed limit was 25mph in that zone and I was trying my hardest to go that fast, but I couldn’t. I had to get over those mountains just like you, though, and that was the only road.

I was elated when I reached the top. And then the most frightening part of this trip commenced. A 50mph descent on steep grades with a long line of large vehicles behind me, their passengers insulated by doors and windows and airbags and cushions and tons of metal that would barely be scratched by my tiny scooter. As the first steep grade neared it’s end, there was an emergency truck pull off. I took it to rest, collect my wits, and to let the rest of the cars behind me go. The end of that line of vehicles never came.

At some point, a break came and Scooter and I got back on the road, still descending. The next vehicle to appear from behind the curve… to appear behind us… was an 18-wheeler. A killer, not a coma-maker. Certainly on this road. Patches of sand. Loose gravel. I’m fearful of every little thing on this road as another steep grade lies ahead. Thankfully, the trucker stayed back a good distance.

I was flying. When I reached the bottom, I was so glad to have not wiped out or been run over. I realized that I don’t really fear death. I fear lots and lots of pain before death.

I rested in Superior, Arizona. I continued on Highway 60 to Phoenix. I continued on Highway 60 well into where it turned into a 10-lane freeway. After one too many “exit only lanes” foiling my driving into Phoenix, I pulled off and ended up in Gilbert. Or Chandler. Or possibly Mesa. I don’t know. I found a coffee shop and grabbed a coffee.

Went to go find a hotel for the night and Scooter wouldn’t start. OK. It’s hot. Understandable. But he’s been resting a while now? Hm. I wait for a while. An hour later, he won’t start. I push Scooter about a mile to a hotel I had seen as I got off the freeway. I’m thrilled to learn that Lord of War will be on tv later that evening. I work on photos and fall asleep late into the night.

Day 30
No travel.

I find an authorized Kymco dealership in Mesa (where I have spent the night). I check out and hope that Scooter will magically start. He does. Only with lots and lots of smoke. Crap. I begin to think about California and it’s clean air regulations.

I head over to Logan’s Valley Motorcycles. Tell Jeff about the crap oil that I put in the last time I filled. It was all I could find.

“It smells funny, doesn’t it,” I ask.
“Smells like weedeater crap.”

The oil was messing up Scooter. They cleaned him out, gave him good oil, changed the spark plug, and I was ready to go. Great, great guys working there… I was surprised by how inexpensive it was… friendly people. If I lived in the Phoenix area, they would be the place I rely on, no doubt.

Finally get on the road and I haven’t seen Phoenix yet. I haven’t even been in to Phoenix, actually. I’ve been over in Mesa. I begin to head west. I cross a bridge. Scooter cuts out. Damn it.

I call the shop, they send someone out to do a pickup. I know they’re going to be closed Sunday and I hope that it’s something minor that can be easily fixed. After a while, one of the mechanics is out there. He tries some stuff with the scooter. Nothing is working. He stands up, looks….

“You know you’re out of gas?”

Doh! I blame the heat. It’s frickin’ hot here. It’s 4pm by the time I’m riding again. I realize that I’m going to spend another night in Mesa. I go find a cheap hotel and call it a day. So ends 30 days and nights.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 7823.3 km
Finish – 8197.1 km
——————–
373.8 km or 224.28 mi

The highlights: crossing the Continental Divide, watching the sunset in the mountains of Apache National Forest in Arizona, wiping out (and getting bruised all over) in the mountains of Apache National Forest in Arizon, Scooter overheating 50 miles from anything on a road where I saw one car the two hours I was on it, and finally…. entering the last time zone!!!!

Let’s back up to the day before, though; the day I woke in El Paso, went into Juarez, Mexico and drove to Columbus, New Mexico. I had decided that since I was so close to the border that I should really go into Juarez, if only to buy cigarettes. And that’s pretty much exactly what I did.

I parked Scooter in the southern part of El Paso close to the border and went across the walkway into Mexico. (Sorry Scooter, to leave you behind.) As I crossed the border, I realized, Mexicans love plastic bags. Everyone carries one. I also realized I kind of stood out. I looked like American Tourist Guy. Naturally, I would be approached by everyone trying to sell something.

“You need a taxicab? Info? You want to see monuments? A hotel? Medicine?”

“You need a massage? Beautiful women? I have beautiful women. They can give you a massage.”

“No, I just want a pepsi really. Can you tell me where I can get a pepsi? Also, I’m in need of some plastic bags.”

I buy a pepsi. I plop my butt down on a milk crate, one of a hundred on the street, and the only free one around that I can see. I appreciate its sturdiness and think about how well it would sit on the back of Scooter. I wonder how Scooter is doing across the border in El Paso.

I drink the ice cold Pepsi. I rest for a while and watch the people.

Time to get on the road. I stop to buy some cigarettes. Cheap. Very cheap. I leave. I spend 45 minutes in customs to come back to the US.

“The purpose of your visit?”
“Buy a pepsi and some cigarettes. And you know, I was so close to the border, I thought I should come over. Do you know Christian? He’s Mexican, I think. He doesn’t live in Mexico, though. He lives in Miami. No? Ok.”

As I enter the US, I look at a sign saying that cigarettes not bearing a Texas mark on them should not be brought across the border. I’ve broken a law and I’ve barely crossed the border. Thankfully, I’ll have burned through all of the evidence before anyone finds out.

I leave El Paso and begin the drive to Columbus. Highway 9 is desolate. It is one long straight road. There is nothing. No buildings with the exception of a US Border Patrol Facility as I got onto Hwy 9. As I drove that stretch of road, I would frequently pass parked patrol trucks. White with green lettering and red lights. Many would fly by me going in one direction or another. Except for them, I saw maybe five cars in sixty miles.

Along the road, I pass these interesting stone structures. I stop, take photos. These structures dot the road for the next several miles.

I reached Columbus, sitting just on the border of Mexico. The lights of Palomos, Mexico, were visible in the distance at night. An old man stops me and asks me a lot of questions. I answer them. He gives me directions to the deli and bar in town.

I setup camp and drive to the deli/bar. Two border patrol officers eating pizzas. A big empty room playing “I like Big Butts” sits over to my right. I have the cheeseburger and fries. I head back to camp, read, pass out.

Day 27 arrives. I drive up to the library, amazed that the town had one. Even more amazed that they had wifi. Of course, the wifi wasn’t working so I left there at 10am and headed north to Deming.

The drive is miserable. Cross winds across flat lands leave me and Scooter struggling to maintain a speed of 30mph. It’s tiring. I stop often.

Jehovah’s Witnesses make the soft sell to me at McDonalds. Give me directions to the library. Wifi finicky at the library so I use one of their computers. Welcome to 1998. I get directions to Safford Arizona, a long stretch. I would head north on 180 through Silver City and then take 78 to 191 into Safford. I would be going far more north than I had planned. I would’ve used Google’s walking directions to shorten the trip but at this point, I didn’t want to risk running into roads that weren’t roads. I take the shortest route possible, which as it turns out, is the long way.

More impossible winds leaving Deming. The drive is mentally exhausting and physically draining. South of Silver City, I pass through two small mountain towns. In the second town, Bayard, I make a wrong turn and head 10 miles out of my way. It doesn’t sound like an enormous deal, but when you’re traveling 20-25mph on mountain roads, making a wrong turn isn’t something you really want to do.

I eventually make my way back to Hwy 180. I drive through Silver City. About 50 miles out, I cross the Continental Divide. (For those who don’t know, the Continental Divide is where the Indians originally split America into West America and East America. It’s a fact.)

Throughout the drive, I am having to stop often to rest; the climbs, the slow speed, and the weight of the pack are wearing me down in every possible way. I think Scooter will make it, but I never will.

I reach Hwy 78 and turn left. I have been climbing hills and mountains for miles now. I have been running him full throttle. A mile down Highway 78, Scooter cuts out on me. I think, “I’m not going to die of thirst, I’m not going to starve… I’m fine.” One car passes by and stops.

“You need help?”
“No, I’m fine. Scooter just overheated; need to let him cool down.”
“Are you sure? Because there are no cars on this road.”
“I’m fine, thanks, really.”
“Alright,” he says with uncertainty before driving off.

That was the last car I would see on that interminably long stretch of road. Twenty minutes later, Scooter is ready to roll.

I had looked at the terrain map beforehand and knew I would be crossing the highest mountains on this drive while on Hwy 78. And I did. Halfway through the mountains, I enter Arizona. At the state line, I stop and put on my pullover, put on my jeans. It’s noticeably colder. I pack up my camera as the sun is nearly down. The last decision turned out to be one of the smartest.

As I’m making the descent through the mountains of Apache National Forest, the scenery is insane. And then, all of a sudden, there’s a scenic overlook across the road and the view is magnificent. It’s upon me instantly and so I nearly slam on my brakes to cross the road where I would stop and take pictures. I cross into the overlook, Scooter probably going 20mph and he falters underneath me on the gravel and dirt and rock area I have entered.

I go face down, the weight of the backpack slamming against me as I hit the ground, and every large rock before me goes into my chest. I slide forward on the gravel, Scooter slides with me. And on top of me. Eventually, I realize everything has stopped and I’m in pain. My left wrist is killing me. My chest is killing me, and my left foot is pinned underneath Scooter and the crate. Scooter is still running.

I can’t simply pull my foot free. I can’t bend to free it with my hands as the backpack is preventing me from moving around. I take off the backpack and slide my way closer to the scooter. I get my foot out and get scooter up.

I’m instantly grateful for my helmet as my head had slammed down into the ground. I’m also grateful for the gloves. And I’m grateful for having put the pullover and jeans on. Scooter’s back brake handle is partially broken. I feel for him. I’m okay. Just seriously, seriously in pain.

I pull out the camera and take shots. I think, “These shots better be masterpieces for all of this effort.” They aren’t. But they are my memory instead of wiping out on the side of a mountain in Arizona.

My left wrist is killing me. I get back on Scooter and braking is torture on my wrist. My chest hurts near my neck. I wonder if I’m bleeding internally. I wonder if I’m bleeding underneath my shirt. I wonder if I picked up the Swine Flu in Juarez. I beat myself up for not being more cautious.

I’m down the mountain and it’s night. I come to some crossroads town. Safford is 40 miles away. I don’t know if there are mountain roads ahead. I don’t know if it’s flat. I know there is little traffic. I decide to drive on to Safford.

I wind up and down hills. Guard rails on my right. Slow traffic lanes. I’m sure I’m on mountains. Few cars, but enough to make me nervous as I’m uncertain about the emergency lane. I eventually make it to Safford after seeing the lights of the town in the distance from miles away. I don’t know where I’m staying, only that there are numerous state parks in the area.

I see a sign for Roper Lake State Park. I stop at a gas station, ask how far it is. 4 miles. I drive to the park and, to my surprise, a ranger is on duty at the gate. I get a site, we talk, I am exhausted. I apologize profusely for arriving so late. He tells me of the natural hot springs hot tub that I can relax in, if I want. I’m too tired for that. I notice the clock in the station and it says 10 til 10.

“Is that the correct time?”
“Yes. We’re on Mountain Daylight Time.”

I have reached the final time zone. Day 27, complete.

About the photos: I have SOOOOO many photos to go through now (from Juarez, Mexico to Safford, Arizona)… I’m going to do an upload later today when I stop to rest. Today isn’t going to be crazy driving as the other days. I’ve uploaded a few of the photos (where they always are) here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Day 23
Start – 6641.1 km
Finish – 7175.8 km
—————-
534.7 km or 320.8 mi

Day 24
Start – 7175.8 km
Finish – 7586.4 km
—————-
410.6 km or 246.4 mi

Had I been able to connect to the internet at all in the past day and a half, I would have posted an update earlier. However, that was not to be the case and, as you can see, I’ve been doing some driving. And I’ve been driving through ghosts of towns; towns where there are no signs to mark them off. Towns that are small outcroppings of less than a handful of buildings in vast barren lands. The end of day 23 had me in Balmorhea, at Balmorhea State Park specifically. Tonight, I am in El Paso. I have reached the western edge of Texas. I have crossed another time zone and am now in Mountain Time.

I have seen some amazing things over the past two days. I wish so much that I could have photographed all that I saw. However, I’m going to look at cameras tomorrow and hopefully, will not miss any more of this trip. I did shoot some video, which, I guess the best way to present, is in a montage. It’s just not the same, though. I hate that I didn’t have a camera for this. I would pass places and it would just bum me out that I couldn’t capture it. I’ll try to have the video together soon. But not tonight.

So we Begin Again

Where did I even start yesterday morning? It seems like forever ago. And it was. It was 550+ miles ago. My god. Devil’s River. Sonora. That’s where it started. You know, I made the decision before leaving San Antonio to head north and follow the interstate rather than head south on 90. I can’t say whether that’s been a good choice or not. It’s certainly been interesting, though. Driving from Sonora, the roads were deserted.

De. Sert. Ed.

Occasional cars would pass but they were few and far between. My plan for yesterday was to land at Balmorhea State Park, which I eventually did. From Sonora to Fort Stockton, the landscape turned more dry. The beginning of desert lands. I would cut through mountains with sheer walls of rock on either side; warning signs on entering that high cross winds were ahead. A long and winding climb would lead to one steep downhill thrill of a ride on Scooter.

The first stop was Ozona. Quaint. Strange driving in, in that I expected a more desert sort of town, yet here was this quaint town with a green park and stately mansions on the main road coming into town. I had intended to rest in the park, then I spotted this great coffee shop across the street, with free wifi no less. Stopped in, grabbed a soup and sandwich, took a break. Ozona looked like the last “green” town I would drive through. Gone were the farms and the fields. Now, it was ranches. Large barren areas with more dirt than greenery. Mountains of stone and sand all across the horizon.

I Ran, I Ran so far Away

Drove through Iraan and it was the first truly desert town I had seen. I don’t know how the people live there. However, they did have a nifty attraction. How much money the tourism industry is bringing into Iraan’s economy, I couldn’t say. My guess would be the price of one admission fee to see world’s oldest caveman (less the refund due to severe disappointment).

Somewhere between Iraan and Fort Stockton, I ran across a gas station. As I pulled up, there was a white minivan to my left, four bikers to my right. I found myself instantly talking to the bikers, and less connected at all to the family of four traveling to Wallyworld. The bikers were from San Antonio, heading back after being in Arizona. “Find a hot blond in LA and say hi for me,” one of the guys says as I leave.

I will. Crap, I forgot to get his name. I’ll just describe him to the girl, I guess.

Nice fellows.

At 4:44pm, I reach 7,000.0 km on Scooter.

Fort Stockton has a Mammoth Roadrunner

I reached Fort Stockton, hoping to find a camera store or large electronics shop, not knowing the size of the town, only that it was the largest town that I would pass through yesterday. No luck. Fort Stockton falls into the small-town category with a Walmart being THE place to do your shopping. I grabbed a bite to eat and asked the server where the public library was so I could get directions to Balmorhea from there. (I failed to get the directions to Balmorhea before I left Sonora that morning.)

“Drive down to the last light and take a right by the big roadrunner,” she says.
“Is that a sign…? A billboard…?”
“It’s a bird,” she tells me.

I think she’s being a smartass until I come to the last light and there before me is a big roadrunner, the size of a pickup truck. A big brass or copper or some-sort-of-metal roadrunner. Town statue… monument… something.

The library is closed which isn’t a problem. However, their wifi (for whatever reason) is secure making internet access there impossible. Stop in two hotels to use their connections. Bad connections leave me unable to connect for more than a couple of minutes at a time. I’m able to pull up a general map of the region, but I can’t get to walking directions which I have been using to get from point A to point B.

Crap. Looking at the map, my only option was to take a tremendous detour, north to Pecos and then back south through Saragosa and on to Balmorhea, adding roughly 60 miles to the drive. I’ll never make it before dark.

Beta Testing Google’s Walking Directions

And here I’d like to thrown in a word about Google’s walking directions. When selecting walking directions, Google notes that this service is in beta. I’ve become an unwitting beta tester, it would seem. In most instances, the directions are great. (You know, except when you have to walk across rivers and such.) Going through cities, though, they don’t factor in whether you’d like to walk through the crappy part of town or whether you’d like a more scenic and safe trip.

They sometimes, too, (in rural areas) pick roads that aren’t public roads. Yesterday, for example, I was to turn left on a named road. 1.7 miles down, I was to turn right (onto an unnamed road). When I marked off 1.7 miles, I stopped at the “road” before me.

Ranch. “J & J Cattle Co., Beef Pens” read the sign above the closed gate. I look across the road at the other gate. Two cows stare blankly at me. And I think, they are wondering if I’m on a rescue mission. Maybe they’re wondering how exactly I intend to rescue them on a scooter. Which one of them would go first on my back seat? Sorry cows, I’m just looking for a road. Love your work with hamburgers these days.

Anyway, this wasn’t a road that I could nor would travel. I circled back and hoped that the road I had been on would take me to where I was going. It did.

Balmorhea: A Step Back in Time

I reached Balmorhea around 9:30 last night after driving north through the plains to Pecos and taking 17 south to put me almost exactly dead west of Fort Stockton. I watched the sun begin to set in Pecos and along the drive, the Texas sky was…. it was incredible. Just to see that sun set across these vast Texas lands, with only a few clouds running along the horizon… Once. It should be seen at least once.

I pull into Balmorhea, stop at the first general store I see, confirm directions to the state park.
“If you’re an early riser, come in and I’ll fix you some breakfast before you get on the road,” he says. On the road, everyone I meet is this friendly.

And then the world went back in time. Balmorhea. Population 527. I pass by houses, not too unlike the ones on the approach to Texas (many moons ago). I sense I’ve been here before. I know this life. I was a kid. Curtains from 1973 draping windows on quiet, immemorable homes. Lights on. I picture a console tv.

I reach downtown and the world shifts again. It is Saturday night and it would seem that everyone in town is on Main Street. In their cars. In the park. Walking. A snow cone shack. Strung lights on small homes turned restaurants. I get the eerie feeling that it is 1954. Roy Rogers is popular with the young people and old. I want to stop. I feel I’d be welcomed into a stranger’s home for the night.

I drive on to the state park. And visible here, too, are echoes of an era long since gone across the rest of the US. Families… children… teenagers… young adults… whoever wasn’t downtown is spending their Saturday night at the park. At the motel or in the residences or at the campsites. It is like a very, very small town festival almost. Children throwing lighted glowsticks into the sky. Parents talking. “The commander wants me to re-enlist…” I picture a large banner welcoming him home when he returned this time.

It was another world.

I set up camp in the dark, flashlight on my head helping me manage. Beetle mound to my left. No bother. I pass out to the sound of a close by stream.

When I awoke this morning, the sun was hitting the desert mountains on the horizon. Two roadrunners are scurrying across the ground before me, looking for food. Rabbits near the bathroom.

Scooter Issues and why I love Beach Scooter

I am leaving to go into town, hoping to find internet so that I can figure out how I am going to get to El Paso. I stop at the park office to pay my fees. The ranger and I talk for a while about the trip, and how to get to El Paso without getting on the interstate. He gives me a Texas map (which I probably could’ve used since Beaumont). He advises heading north back through Pecos, taking 652 west and then riding 62/180 into El Paso. In fact, that is the only way to go. He then warns me not to get stuck on 652. “There is nothing on that road.”

This wouldn’t have concerned me in the slightest except for the fact that as I was packed up and getting ready to leave camp and pay my fees on the way out, Scooter wouldn’t start. Scooter had cut out on me yesterday in Fort Stockton. Overheated. Now, Scooter wasn’t overheated, he just wouldn’t start. I call the guys at Beach Scooter. On the phone with the mechanic, and within minutes, Scooter is ready to go.

Pecos is Dying

I drive north to Pecos. If there is a town in America that is more run down and dying than Pecos, I would love to see it. Buildings that are demolished by fire or storm or whatever just remain as they are all over the town. Empty buildings left and right, in town and on the outskirts. Downtown…. empty save for one parked car. Businesses shut down. I stop at a picnic area just on the edge of town as I’m leaving. Empty bottles of beer everywhere. There may be a history in Pecos, but at some point, this town will itself become history. It doesn’t seem far off.

I eventually get on 652. And like the ranger has said, there is nothing. Not a building, not a sign, not a thing. In the 42 miles of road, joining Hwy 268 and Hwy 62/180, one group of cars passed me. And that was it.

Crossing the Guadalupe Mountains

About 15 miles out from Hwy62/180, I see the Guadalupe Mountains. They are impressive in the distance. As I approach, I realize how massive they are. And then I run into problems. I take a break when I reach Hwy 62/180. When I begin again, Scooter is maxing out at 30mph. I am baffled. There is little wind. It’s a struggle. There are cars on this road, although I wouldn’t call it traffic. El Paso – 129 miles. This is going to take a while.

I stop in a rest area, complete with air conditioning, wifi(!), and staff. Staff member comes up to me and asks me the usual questions. (I really do enjoy these conversations; every one is so different.) Then I tell him I’m maxing out at 30.
“We’re on an incline.”

Well that explains that. Everything around looked flat except for the mountains in the distance.

“Once you reach the top, you’ll sail down the other side,” he tell me. Miles ahead is the top.

The drive was insane. The view on this road of the mountains surrounding me was just incredible. I would pass through another set of mountains about 30 miles outside of El Paso and the landscape through this entire region is just phenomenal. The high point through the Guadalupe Mountains on Hwy 62 was 5695 ft. And the descent was fast! My god, that was fun. And as much fun as it was, I so badly wanted to just stop and photograph everything that I saw. But I couldn’t.

I had to reach El Paso before nightfall. I was tired. At some point after the Guadalupe mountains, the scenery changed to prairies. Vast fields of yellow. Desert Fauna. Hillsides.

A final stop

One lone truck stop. A shack of a building. The only gas station I had run across since I had left Pecos. (I don’t fill up; I had refilled from my extra gas can a short while earlier.) Two old-style pumps, one pickup truck and a cadillac in the shade of a nearby tree. There’s an elderly man inside with an oxygen tank, watching the sci-fi channel on a 19″ tv on a card table. A handmade wooden shelf of canned foods, thinly populated. Small selection of cold beverages.

“How much for the Beanee Weenies?”
“$1.59.”
“What about the Cracker Jacks?”
“89 cents.”

Sold.

Twenty miles outside of El Paso, the road becomes divided. Street lights line the divider. Gas stations. Life. My journey through the western part of Texas is now nearly complete.

I have no new photos to show you. Hopefully, tomorrow, I’ll be back in commission. Until then, the rest of the photos from the trip are here. (All of the photos in this update are video stills.)

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 6095.1
Finish – 6395.3 km
—————
300.2 km or 180.1 mi

Day 20? A Tale of Two Journeys. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Slept peacefully last night after a somewhat tortuous night on the beach, standing at the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico, watching the waves crash on the beach. Not a soul in sight for as far as my eyes can see. Just the moon hanging there as the clouds underneath sail inland. All the while, I think of the girl.

And I realize, this is it. This is my life.

When I woke up, I was sure it was 11 in the morning since I had slept so soundly, the soft flapping of my tent in the wind putting me to sleep. 6:29am. I lounge. I shower, pleased that the facilities here are clean and not like the ones from the morning before in Port Lavaca (the worst I have run across so far). I head into town to plan my day.

Around 11:30am, I leave Padre Island. I avoid the traffic of Corpus Christi and, instead, take Highway 361 to Port Aransas where I take the ferry to Aransas Pass. The port town is quaint, I notice. I like it. Not that I would live there, but I can picture a life there. And then I picture that life spiraling into madness from boredom.

The drive is good. No, the drive is great. I knew that the wind would be at my back, and it most definitely was. Scooter is staying between 43-48mph for most of the drive. I am whipping down the roads of Texas. I have left the massive farmlands and am now in a more rural farm country. An area where the farms are manageable for a single family. I stop in Beeville and rest and make my Christmas Card for this year. Somewhere north of Pettus (or maybe south of there), the roads become hilly. I see cactus now in the pastures. They look like weeds springing up.

The drive is still fast, even with the hills. Only once does my speed drop below 35mph. Many times, I would let off the gas to avoid hitting 50. I eventually come to Floresville to rest before the upcoming battle I know waits for me on the road into San Antonio.

“Do you need a hand,” Michael asks.
“No, just resting.”
50cc. 45mph downhill. The wife is from Miami. He’ll say a prayer for me.

I head into San Antonio. Highway 181 which I had been enjoying suddenly becomes I-37. And it is rush hour. And there is construction. And shoulders are closed. After a few minutes of that, I exit the highway into the crappy part of town. Or maybe it’s the nice part of town. Not sure since I’ve never been here before. After an hour, I make my way to a crappy hotel.

They left a light on for me. They also left a dubious stain on the wall. And apparently, by the smell of things, they left a burrito in the room three or four days ago (hidden in either the dated dresser or underneath the bright Texas quilt with pictures of orange bears or possibly in that catastrophe of a bathroom). Dinner at the IHOP next door and my day is over.

Today, I see the Alamo. It will be entirely anticlimactic, this I know. All the more reason to see it. After that, I begin my journey my west through the desert. As of 8:39am CST, I still don’t know which route I’m taking. I have to plan for the next four days out. and planning for multiple days isn’t something I’ve done on this trip.

As a bonus, for your viewing pleasure, I’ve put together this artful video.
Um…. yeah. I probably shouldn’t spend so much time alone.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.