There was something incredibly serene about West Texas – and for all of the people that were concerned that I’d go batty in the desolation, honestly, I felt more uncomfortable in Las Vegas.
Let me explain – I’m not exactly a wild child. I don’t party, I’ve never been to a club and well, there are certain parts of the human anatomy that I’m STILL not old enough to giggle at. I’m a prude in every sense of the word. I don’t pretend, sometimes I wish I would.
Again, it was uncomfortable. I got one good shot of the car – but otherwise all of the neon lights and drunk people would be distracting in the picture. Once I left, it was a bittersweet feeling. Leaving one of my best friends (who happens to live in Las Vegas), leaving a new good friend (who happened to be there from San Diego “on business”), and knowing that I had a stretch of alone time to myself were pretty stimulating and scary all at once.
I loved the desert East of Vegas, it seemed purifying and I now know that those whacky cacti with arm type things DO exist. However, it wasn’t me either.
West Texas, however, seemed just like me. Antisocial and awesome. The only thing on the interstate with you in West Texas are big old pick up trucks with deer rammers on the front (um, I don’t know the technical name) and Semi Trucks. With a speed limit of 80 and absolutely no sign of civilization it’s hard not to want to put the hammer down.
But I didn’t. I have too much respect for my machine. It does still have to get me home. The vast open spaces, the random oil rig and the whole “pioneer into the west” mentality was so totally me. It seemed unexplored, I felt like Pocahontas. Not a bad way to feel.
I also got some pretty good thinking done – which tuckered me out. I took a nap.
My advise to you, if you’re looking to travel through West Texas make sure you allow time to stop in Fort Stockton and eat at K Bob’s and take a nap. It will make it so much more pleasurable.